On a quiet night, Nobuzan fell asleep among the ruins, her body feeling weary. The whispers in her subconscious led her to another world, filled with darkness. “Who is calling me?” she cried in uncertainty, “Where is everyone? Why do I feel like I never existed?”

  “You are not alone, Nobuzan,” a soft yet hoarse voice crossed the darkness. “Only you are trapped in this memory.”

  Nobuzan looked up, finding her figure—a young female spirit, her face hazy. “Who are you?” she asked, feeling fear envelop her heart. “You… who remembers me?”

  “I am the shadow you left behind,” she replied. “In the real world, your name will soon fade. But here, I can still feel your lost dignity.”

  Nobuzan pondered, her heart trembling. “I once had a family… once had a role. I…” Her voice faltered, “I want to mean something like I used to.”

  A child’s spirit emerged from the mist, pointing at Nobuzan with a trembling finger, “It’s all in vain. The Oda clan has fallen, your family is gone. What else do you hope for, Nobuzan?”

  Nobuzan bowed her head, her voice barely audible, “I… I don’t know. If I disappear, what will remain? Please, don’t let my shadow fade…”

  As Nobuzan sank into a spiral of forgetfulness, Fitran sat outside, watching her sleeping body, his heart trembling with tension. A void light surrounded the altar where Nobuzan lay. In the real world, Fitran’s face was cold, showing no empathy, only the dark calculations and determination that enveloped his soul.

  Fitran turned his gaze to the cracked sky, a soft voice shaking the silence, “If she disappears, all the Oda family’s bets will be in vain. I will not let everything slip away without a witness… without a story.”

  “With the voidwright spell and the knowledge of the Astral Theorist, I must infiltrate your dreams, Nobuzan. This is not a rescue mission, but an effort to give meaning, even though our world is nearly destroyed.”

  Fitran stepped into the empty mist path, his voice flowing calmly, “Wherever you hide, Nobuzan, remember—no dream can escape reality. I am here not to comfort, but to ensure you remain.”

  Nobuzan squinted, her voice trembling with fear, “Fitran? You’re here? Don’t, I don’t want to remember. It’s like accepting an endless punishment.”

  Fitran approached, his gaze piercing through the darkness, “It’s better for you to bear this burden than to be ignored. Are you willing to be a victim of this spiral? Or stand before the spirits that continually demand your faults?”

  Nobuzan knelt before the old female spirit, tears halted, “Mother… you’re here too? Don’t take my memories…”

  The mother spirit merely stared at her, her voice like frozen wind, “You were born from weakness, Nobuzan. All your efforts are merely delays. The world does not need those who fear choices.”

  Nobuzan hugged herself, her figure dimming, “I have no strength… I’m tired, Fitran. This world only gives wounds.”

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  Fitran stepped closer to the spirit, his voice trembling, “Look at me, Nobuzan. If disappearance is your choice, I will erase your name from the annals of history. But if you want to live, face them. This memory is a battlefield, not a playground.”

  A young male spirit, a figure from the past filled with wounds, looked at Fitran with sharp eyes, “You are not here to help, Fitran. You only want to control the situation. Why do you care about Nobuzan?!”

  Fitran smiled coldly, his steps firm into the vortex of spirits, “Because the world needs more than just winners. The world needs those who have fallen, to witness the fall of the Oda clan. I want history not to repeat the same foolishness.”

  Nobuzan looked on with doubt, “What’s the point of enduring in a world that forgets?”

  Fitran looked directly into Nobuzan’s soul, his voice soft yet firm, “Stand up. Face your shadows. Speak your name—revive every wound, do not let emptiness ruin meaning.”

  Nobuzan trembled, slowly rising, “I… I am Nobuzan. Daughter of Ryumaru. The neglected wife, the failed mother, the woman who feels not good enough. Yet, I still exist.”

  The echoes of past spirits flooded the room, some screaming, others laughing bitterly, “That’s not enough! The world will forget you!”

  Fitran turned, his body slicing through the spirits as if he were an undetected wind, “What you need is not recognition, but the determination to fight against extinction. If they want to take your name, fight for it with all your anger. Turn pain into your strength.”

  Nobuzan gazed deep into the gray vortex of her dreams, tears flowing, “Then I will endure, even with one bitter memory.”

  “My child… if you endure, all burdens will weigh on your shoulders. Are you ready to suffer forever?” The mother’s voice sounded faint, creating a suffocating feeling in her chest.

  Nobuzan did not answer with words; she only nodded. Her voice now firm, “I do not need a perfect world. Just the wounds that make me real.”

  Fitran touched the energy around him, his palms vibrating with the glowing void spell. He looked at Nobuzan and said, “When the world wants to erase you, call my name. I am the guardian of the cursed name.”

  “All these whispers of shadows remind me of sorrow,” Nobuzan replied, her face holding pain. “Will you always be by my side?”

  Fitran, with a smile full of secrets, added, “More faithful than a deity—I do not promise happiness, only honesty.”

  With a deep tone, the voices of past spirits roared, “Nothing is eternal, Nobuzan! Even your name can be stolen!”

  Nobuzan stood firm in the midst of the dream spiral, her decision flowing strong in her voice, “I do not need eternity. Just one soul that remembers I fought, even if I failed.”

  Fitran approached, pressing his hand on Nobuzan’s shoulder, “You are no longer a victim. You are the legacy of wounds. The world may write a new story, but it will never erase the wounds you have carved.”

  The dream world began to crack. The spiral lost its grip on Nobuzan. “I do not want this world to forget me,” she said, her voice trembling. “If I disappear, Fitran, let the Oda clan know that heroes are not the answer. We endure, not just survive.”

  Fitran looked at Nobuzan sharply, “They worship heroes, but words only carry burdens. What do you choose to keep in your heart?” His voice was flat, yet there was a stirring tone.

  “They must endure as humans, even though this world is suspicious,” Nobuzan replied, solidifying her resolve. “Will you stay by my side?”

  Fitran stepped carefully. “I will follow your steps, Nobuzan. Every wound you choose will become part of us.”

  Nobuzan’s body slowly recovered in the real world. In the rising silence, Fitran opened his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You are starting to rise. Remember, not everything that is lost will be lost forever.”

  Nobuzan looked at him, a lively gaze in her eyes, “I’m back. Even though this world is terrifying, I find myself here, with you.”

  Fitran smiled coldly, “A little courage is enough; the rest remains a matter of wounds and time. We will face it together.”

  The night remained dark, the world full of ruins, but Nobuzan—though wounded—now shone brighter under the sky of the Astral Theorist. “Are you sure we can endure?” she asked, her voice softening. Fitran walked away without looking back, “We are part of this story, Nobuzan. Nightmares and history will always accompany us.”