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It's been a week since he lost Aemeath.
Rover delivers a hard kick into the stomach of the Outcast, straightening himself as the masked Royan falls to the ground with a dull thud. It was a run-of-the-mill assignment of some Outcasts blocking the supply routes, something that didn’t require anything more than muscle memory to solve the problem. It doesn't do much to distract him from the haze that settled in his mind since the day he had to watch as the girl he grew to care for so deeply threw her life away into the endless void.
His golden eyes sweep over the unconscious bodies on the ground — another habit he picked up from his experience in fighting Fractsidus members, too used to surprise attacks from faked deaths — before bringing up his Waveline to send his message to Luuk.
Rover: Route is clear
Rover: You can send people over to collect the Outcasts now, I knocked them out
Luuk was the one who assigned the task to him this morning. The doctor was one of the few who knew about Aemeath's current state, as well as the effect it had on Rover. Luuk has shown clear worry for Rover's health, and has seen how…listless the black-haired freshman has been these past few days. Luuk would check in with texts throughout the day, sometimes with calls if the man's schedule allows for it.
And Rover truly appreciates it, even if he sometimes questions whether it was misplaced. The doctor is clearly hiding something from him, but he seems to genuinely care about Rover. Luuk would know that he is no longer the ‘Rover’ that he became close with two decades ago, and the black-haired man doesn't know if he deserves the attention the doctor is offering.
It gave him warmth, but it wasn't the warmth that he felt with the girl with a lovely laugh and a bleeding heart. The girl who looked at him with such admiration, who would proudly declare her pride over him when no one was there to hear her voice but himself. The one who had broke herself carrying the burden that was supposed to be his, even if he had left her behind twenty years ago and even wiped her from his memories for reasons he doesn’t even want to understand—
Rover snaps out of his thoughts as a text comes in, taking in a deep breath to rid of the heavy feeling in his chest. He blinks, focusing on the grass below him swaying in the gentle wind. The breeze upon his skin under the warmth of the artificial sun, until the sadness that clings to his heart is dulled to a soft throb. His breath comes out shaky in his exhale, bringing up his Waveline to check the text.
Luuk: You did well, dear freshman
Luuk: I'll prepare some treats for the next time you stop by
Luuk: Specially for you
The teasing brings a small smile to his face, even if his mood remains weighted with his mind. He had tried to distract himself by approaching Luuk several times to talk about the Exostrider plans he mentioned that day, desperation disguised behind duty to find a way to suppress the incoming disaster. But Luuk had only responded with his ever kind smile, guiding their conversations away from what he knew plagued Rover's mind. He had seen that Rover wasn’t sound of mind yet, not for something that requires a clear head and a heart that isn't consumed with grief. Frustration had bubbled in his chest at what he had thought was coddling, so new to the feeling of someone actively stopping him in his tracks for once. Luuk responded to his snapped anger with a patience that made him wilt in the end.
“There is no need to rush, golden boy. We will find a way to bring her back to you, but I don’t think she'd be happy to know you're sacrificing your health to undo the chance she gave you. Any child would want their loved one to take care of themselves first and foremost, don’t you think?”
Rover's chest ached at the truth in the doctor's words, the concern in those beautiful red eyes so sincere it successfully discouraged the black-haired student from another attempt at rushing headfirst into the unknown. The blond also reminded him that he needed to talk to Mornye as well, which was another thing on his mind. The professor had been so painfully shy in her efforts to cheer up her mentor, sending over Squeezy Jelly and Wonder Cup Noodles of every flavour she could recreate herself in her free time to lift his spirits in the few ways she could think of. ‘I think I owe her an explanation by now…’
Another text prompts him to return his focus onto his Waveline, a grimace pulling at his lips as he realised he didn’t reply anything to Luuk in time.
Luuk: Get some rest, don't work too hard
Luuk: You did good today, my heart
"...?"
Rover stares hard at the text for a good moment, wondering if the Outcasts had spread hallucinogenic toxin in the air in the middle of the fight just now. Or did Christoforo infiltrate Lahai-Roi already with that blasted ability of his to make people see things that aren't there? Or is ‘my heart’ a secret code for the Helios being under attack or something-
The text was immediately deleted at the next second. Then:
Luuk: Apologies, ignore that
Luuk: Good work today, thank you for your cooperation with the Outcasts
‘And he's back to the formal tone…’
Rover feels a mix of amusement and concern at the doctor's blunder, sending an Abby sticker with a thumbs up at a lack of ideas of how to respond. He feels…awkward? No, nothing that harsh… Flattered, maybe? It's not as if Luuk is the first one to give him an endearing nickname, but ‘my heart’ sounds more…
Rover shakes his head, putting his terminal away with a last cursory glance over the fallen Outcasts. There’s clearly history between him and the doctor, and maybe some…tension they need to address sooner or later. But not now, not when his mind still lingers on a certain pink-haired girl that still haunts him in the form of a hollow shell of her former self.
‘Speaking of, she should be at home at this hour…’
...
The door silently slides close behind him as Rover steps into the space, the safe haven that he used to share with cheerful little Aemeath. The sleek spiral staircase in the middle of the room is the first thing he sees upon entrance, the warmth of the fireplace a sharp contrast to the freezing cold of Frostlands beyond the walls. The holographic display emits a soft blue glow to the left of the fireplace, music from the player filling the air. It only contained three songs in its list, yet all three evokes the same melancholy within him every time he stops by. All the colourful drapes, the dusty drawings scattered on the desk, the countless parenting books that filled the shelves — every crevice tells him the story of a life he no longer remembers.
And nestled on the warm orange of the sofa is Aemeath, her eyes closed and chest moving steadily in a perfect imitation of life. Not a single blemish to her skin nor a tear to her sparkly outfit, Rover would've easily believed it if someone told him that it was a life-sized sculpture of Fleet Snowfluff with how eerily perfect her condition is. Like she isn’t truly a real, living person.
Rover quietly makes his way to the empty seat beside her, the cushion sinking under his weight as he settles. “Hey, Aemeath,” he murmurs with a soft voice, gazing upon her resting form. The rhythm of her breath remains unchanging, sleeping in the exact position at the exact time period for the past week. Rover's eyes darken as the memory of her blank face fills his mind, lips pursed as a familiar pain worms its way into his chest.
He experienced loss in this lifetime. He held a Cartethyia with her frequency of dead silence, but she prevailed as the knight she was blessed to be in the end. He bore witness to the demise of his every companion in Rinascita under Christoforo's forte, but Galbrena's timely intervention yanked him out before he could end up with the same tragic end as Mya and Avidius.
So why does this feel different? Is it because he can still see her moving and breathing, yet everything about this…shell feels so wrong? Or the fact that he's so helpless, that nothing he can do right now will bring her back to him?
Rover's body slowly reaches out to clasp Aemeath's hand in a gentle grasp, the slightest of tremors in his touch as he brushes a thumb over the smooth fabric of her glove. “I don't know if you can hear me, Aemeath,” he starts, his voice low and somber. “But I…I'm…”
‘I'm sorry for not being able to save you. I'm sorry that I left you all those years ago, even if it wasn't a choice I remember making. I'm sorry for missing all your first times — the first time you got full marks on your test, your first demo release, your first time as a Synchronist in your first cockpit. I'm so, so sorry for failing you—’
There were so many things he wanted to spill, yet not one managed to break through the harsh lump in his throat. Rover's grip on Aemeath's hand is deathly pale, and he loathes how her slumbering face remains as serene as ever. The Aemeath he knew would be huffing and puffing on how his grip is hurting him, making a scene with a full on pout even if a Resonator's physical enhancement would render it as feather-light pressure. The Aemeath he knew would be demanding compensation over ‘emotional damage’, her ever bright giggle giving away the joy she feels at the teasing.
But this isn't the Aemeath he knew. This was just what little frequency clung onto the talisman to manifest something that resembled her. But it wasn’t her. It wasn't the girl whose eyes sparkled like twinkling stars as she marvelled at the discovered space station, like the child she still was before duty robbed her of it. It wasn’t the girl who smiled through everything, even as her honest eyes betray her. It wasn’t the girl who cheerfully powered through the station's defense system like thin paper, who giggled meaningfully every time she threw glances between Rover and Luuk. It wasn't the girl who cried in his arms as she confessed to the weight of the secret she kept, all to protect the happiness he gained by forgetting everything — including her.
Rover sucks in a shaky breath, his eyes wet as he places his forehead on top of Aemeath's hand. Her form remains still.
“I swear by the Sentinels…I will save you, no matter what. I have to.”
‘Come home to me, Aemeath.’
…
Aemeath's eyes flutter open, the warm lights from the fireplace filling her vision. Her face is an impassive mask of apathy, her eyes a muddy yellow without the sparkles that used to light up the gold in her pupils. She feels a weight on her left hand, a deviation from the route this body follows on autopilot. She turns her head.
She sees a man of black hair with the twin tails curled by his edge of the sofa, calmness on his sleeping face and his hand over hers. She stares at the man leaned back with his head lolled to one side, no sign of recognition sparking within any parts of her face. She does, however, recognise that It was the one who spoke to her with such sadness in his eyes that day — but her memories end here.
And yet, the girl felt the compulsion to reach out a hand over his head. It hovers for a moment, unsure of what to do — then slowly descends into a stiff imitation of a head pat. She does not understand why, but doesn’t have the thinking capacity to ponder any further. Her body merely acted on an instinct, one that still lingers deep within the core of the frequency that made up this form.
The girl pulls her hand away from the man, now an empty space under his grasp. She gazes upon his sleeping form for another moment, a flicker in her dull eyes too faint to trigger anything within her blank mind.
...Then turns to the door, her pink hair swaying among iridescent trails as the child disappears from his hold once again.