The first thing I noticed was that the spirits weren't making any sound.
Not footsteps. Not breathing. Not even the faint rustling of clothes.
They simply drifted across the grass, moving without purpose, as though they had forgotten what walking was supposed to accomplish.
I stood beside the open case.
The suit waited inside.
The katana lay beside it, its dark blade catching absolutely nothing from the fractured sky above.
I didn't touch either.
"Who are you?" I asked.
My voice travelled farther than it should have, stretching across the empty landscape before disappearing into the distance.
Nothing answered.
I looked towards the nearest spirit. It was taller than me, with a shape that vaguely resembled a man. Its head tilted slightly as I approached.
"Hey."
No reaction.
I waved a hand in front of its face.
Nothing.
Of course.
Even here.
I was beginning to think that being ignored wasn't something the world did to me.
Maybe it was something I carried.
I turned away and started walking.
The grass beneath my shoes was cold, almost wet, but there was no dew. Strange structures rose from the horizon. Some looked like buildings, others like enormous trees made of stone. Far above them, the upside-down city remained suspended in the sky.
I couldn't tell how far away it was.
Distance didn't seem to work properly here.
A few minutes passed. Or hours. I couldn't tell.
Then I noticed something.
One of the spirits was following me.
It was small, perhaps the height of a child. Its outline flickered every few seconds, like an image struggling to load. I stopped.
It stopped too.
I took a step backwards.
It took one forward.
"Are you following me?"
Its head lifted.
For a moment, I thought I saw something beneath its blurred face.
Eyes.
Actual eyes.
Then the spirit raised its hand and pointed behind me.
I turned.
The case was gone.
In its place stood a doorway.
A plain wooden door, completely out of place against the endless dark landscape. Its surface was scratched, and the paint had begun to peel around the handle.
I knew that door.
Not because I'd seen it here.
Because I'd seen it every morning for nineteen years.
It was the front door of my childhood home.
My stomach tightened.
"How?"
The little spirit drifted closer.
And then, for the first time since arriving, I heard something.
A whisper.
Not from the voice inside my head.
From the spirit.
"Don't open it."
I froze.
The words were faint, almost swallowed by the silence.
I turned towards it.
"What did you say?"
The spirit's face flickered again.
"Don't..."
Its form distorted.
"...remember."
Then it vanished.
I stood there, staring at the empty space where it had been.
A cold sensation crawled up my arms.
The door creaked.
Not opening.
Just enough to let me know something was standing on the other side.
I backed away.
And suddenly, the voice returned.
*You are surrounded by the forgotten.*
I looked around.
The spirits had stopped moving.
Every single one of them was facing me.
*They were forgotten long before you.*
"Who are they?"
Silence.
Then the voice answered.
*The dead.*
I stared at the figures scattered across the landscape.
The dead?
*Not the dead of this place.*
The sky rumbled.
*The dead of your world.*
My throat tightened.
I looked at the spirits again.
Some were tall. Some were small. Some barely had recognizable shapes. One appeared to be wearing a school uniform. Another had something resembling a coat draped over its shoulders.
They weren't monsters.
They were people.
Or at least, they had been.
"Why are they here?"
*Because your world has no place for them anymore.*
I swallowed.
"What does that even mean?"
The voice didn't answer immediately.
Instead, the landscape shifted.
The spirits began moving again, but this time they gathered around me. Their forms flickered, and for brief moments, I saw fragments of what they might have looked like before arriving here.
A woman holding a bouquet.
An old man with glasses.
A boy carrying a backpack.
A little girl with ribbons in her hair.
Ordinary people.
People who had probably gone to school, argued with their families, celebrated birthdays, made plans, and believed they had time.
People who had existed.
People whose names might no longer be spoken.
I looked down at my hands.
"Did everyone forget them?"
*Eventually.*
The answer was quiet.
Almost cruel.
I looked back at the spirits.
One of them stepped forward. Its outline was clearer than the others, although its face remained blurred.
It held something in its hands.
A photograph.
I couldn't see what was on it.
The spirit extended it towards me.
I hesitated before taking it.
The moment my fingers touched the paper, the world changed.
For a fraction of a second, I saw a street.
A normal street.
Cars. Houses. People walking beneath a bright afternoon sky.
Then everything went dark.
The photograph showed a family standing outside a house. A mother, a father, and two children.
Their faces were faded.
All except one.
A young boy standing in the middle.
I recognized him.
Not personally.
But I recognized the expression.
The same expression I'd seen in my own childhood photographs.
The expression of someone who believed the people around him would always remember him.
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
**THE MORROW FAMILY — 2009.**
My fingers tightened around the paper.
J. Murrow.
The name from my apartment building.
The name from the advertisement.
The name that had replaced mine.
I looked up.
"Who is J. Murrow?"
Every spirit seemed to become still.
Even the ones in the distance.
The voice inside my head returned, but this time it sounded different.
Less distant.
More careful.
*You are asking the wrong question.*
"Then what's the right one?"
A pause.
*How long has he been wearing your life?*
The photograph slipped from my fingers.
I stared at the spirits.
For the first time, I understood something about this place.
They weren't waiting for me to save them.
They were waiting for someone to remember them.
And somehow, I had become the only person who could.
I looked towards the black suit and katana, now resting beside the wooden doorway.
The voice spoke once more.
*You cannot return to your world as you are.*
I didn't move.
*Put on the suit, Rhysho.*
I looked at the doorway.
Then at the spirits.
Then at the photograph lying in the grass.
I still didn't know what the suit would turn me into.
I didn't know what the katana could do.
And I certainly didn't know whether the voice wanted to save me or use me.
But I knew one thing.
Somewhere in my world, someone was living my life.
And I wanted it back.
I picked up the photograph.
For a moment, the faded faces seemed almost clear.
Then the image began disappearing again.
I closed my hand around it.
"Not this time," I whispered.
The spirits watched.
And somewhere beyond the fractured sky, something began to move.