The Hollow Spine had no dawn.
Just a dull gray that bled through the trees, thick with silence and cold.
Yor hadn't moved from the stone door.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
His body ached, his limbs stiff from the hours spent sitting there, but something deeper held him in place.
Not fear.
Not fatigue.
Something nameless.
Like if he left now… he would forget what he'd just begun to remember.
---
The spiral on the door had dimmed, but it hadn't disappeared. It pulsed faintly, not as a light, but as… a heartbeat. Slow. Patient. Timeless.
Yor placed a hand on the stone again.
It was cold now.
Just stone.
But the silence around him had changed.
No birds.
No wind.
Even the mist had stilled.
---
And then—
A sound.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Not in the trees… below.
Like someone was walking beneath him.
His eyes widened.
He stepped back, slowly, boot pressing into wet leaves.
The ground beneath the spiral—he could hear it now.
A second heartbeat.
Faster.
Uneven.
Not his.
> "Something's down there," he murmured, almost afraid to hear his own voice.
But the air didn't answer.
Instead, a shape passed behind the trees.
Quick.
Too quick.
He turned to follow—but saw nothing.
Only mist.
---
He waited.
Still.
Tense.
Then it happened again.
Another shape. This time, closer.
Lower to the ground.
Not walking.
Crawling.
---
He stepped back toward the stone door, hand reaching instinctively for the small blade at his side—a gift from his father years ago, dull from disuse.
But when he looked again—
There was nothing.
No shape.
No sound.
Just that endless silence, pressing closer now, like it wanted inside his lungs.
---
Then came the whisper.
Soft.
Just a breath.
> "He remembers…"
Yor spun.
No one.
He could feel his heartbeat now—his own, fast, rising to his throat.
> "Who's there?" he called out.
No answer.
But a trail had appeared in the mist—subtle, but real.
A narrow path, slightly darker, cutting through the white.
He shouldn't follow it.
Every instinct screamed to stay.
But instincts meant nothing here.
Only choices.
And his had already been made.
---
He stepped off the stone, leaving the spiral behind.
The mist thickened instantly, wrapping around him like fingers.
The path led into the dead trees—gnarled and black, their bark cracked like burnt flesh.
The farther he walked, the quieter the world became.
No footsteps.
No breathing.
Only that hum below his feet—faint, like something mechanical buried in the earth.
---
Minutes passed.
Or hours.
Time didn't move here.
It just waited.
Until finally…
He saw it.
A clearing.
Small.
Circular.
At its center stood a twisted black tree, unlike the others.
Its branches curled inward like claws clutching something unseen.
And nailed to its trunk—
Was a mask.
White.
Smooth.
Featureless.
Except for one thing—
A crack down the center, bleeding ash.
---
Yor stepped closer.
Each step felt… heavier.
Not with weight—but with memory.
Something inside the tree knew him.
And the mask—
It was humming.
Not sound.
Not vibration.
Something deeper.
A feeling.
Like when you see a face in a dream you've never met, but somehow loved once.
> "This tree…" Yor whispered.
The air pulsed.
And suddenly—
The mask turned.
No eyes. No mouth.
But it looked at him.
Straight into him.
And spoke:
> "You took too long, Satoshi."
Yor staggered back.
> "Who—what are you?"
No answer.
Just more ash, trickling from the crack.
Then—
> "She's slipping… You left her too long in the gray."
Yor's eyes widened.
> "Yuna…? What do you mean—what's happening to her?!"
The mask didn't move.
But the tree began to bleed.
Not red.
> Black.
Like ink.
Like shadow.
Like memory unspoken.
And from that blackness, a voice—another voice—emerged from the tree:
> "Would you trade your name… for her life?"
Yor stood frozen.
Mouth dry.
The air grew thick. Heavy.
Like a choice was forming in front of him—and once spoken, it could not be taken back.
---
> "Answer carefully," the mask whispered. "Because once you forget who you are… you'll never return the same."
---
And far away, in Sector 13—
Yuna opened her eyes.
But they weren't hers.
Not entirely.
A soft glow shimmered within them—one blue, one pale gold.
Akari gasped.
But Yuna didn't look at her.
She looked toward the Hollow Spine.
As if she heard him.