The office smelled of old coffee, damp paper, and frustration.
Eren had been staring at the monitor for over two hours—eyes dry, temples throbbing. The NeuroLink database yielded nothing new. Another search. Another failure. Another digital silence.
"Subject 13," "sealed case."
Always the same.
"Still on that?"
His boss, Wade, stood in the doorway, voice gravelly like he had a stone lodged in his throat.
Eren didn't answer.
"Eren, you've got three clients waiting on follow-ups. Real people. Paying people. And you're digging into a case that officially doesn't exist."
"I know."
"Then explain to me why you're wasting time on someone who's clinically dead on the inside."
Eren looked up—not with anger, but with something heavier: exhausted determination.
"Because something about her doesn't add up. She's not dead inside. She's blocked. Buried."
Wade crossed his arms.
"And you think you're going to dig her out with obsession? How many days have you been going to Lucerna?"
"Seven."
"And how much progress?"
Eren clenched his jaw.
"Five percent."
Wade let out a dry chuckle.
"That won't even buy you a dog's memory."
Eren logged out without another word.
He wasn't going to convince him.
And he didn't need his approval.
⋆⭒✧༺༻✧⭒⋆
The rain hit harder than usual when Eren arrived at Lucerna Institute for the eighth time.
Same hallway.
Same flickering lights.
Same chair by the window.
And her.
Lira.
Sitting upright, hands resting in her lap like a little girl waiting for instructions. She was no longer completely absent… but that didn't mean she was truly present.
"Hey," Eren said softly.
She turned her head slightly. Her eyes looked at him, but didn't focus. Then she murmured something. A formless sound.
"Baaa…"
"What did you say?" Eren leaned in, kneeling in front of her.
"Ba… ma… baaa…"
Her voice was soft. Small. Like an infant learning to speak.
She moved her fingers clumsily. Wobbled when shifting posture.
As if her body were trying to remember how to exist.
As if her mind was one year old.
Eren looked away, jaw tight.
Five percent.
That number haunted him.
Five percent from a high-grade artifact? Something that had cost him years of savings?
The Eye of Sinalis was supposed to restore memories erased by war-grade magic. And with Lira… that was all it managed?
It doesn't make sense.
"How is she today?" he asked the caretaker.
"Same. Babbling, childlike movements. Sometimes she smiles when the fire alarm goes off. That's about it."
"Any emotional changes?"
"No. She's… empty. But more active. Like a part of her has switched on without knowing what to do."
Eren nodded, falling into silence.
Then he glanced at his wristband.
He had one option left.
One he'd sworn never to use.
⋆⭒✧༺༻✧⭒⋆
That night, in an old café in the industrial district, Eren sat across from a hooded man. The windows were fogged with moisture. No one paid them any mind.
"You got the money?" the doctor asked bluntly.
Eren slid a small capsule with a magical seal.
"It's all here."
"Good. What's the case?"
"A woman. Memory completely wiped. Doesn't respond to anything. We managed five percent with a Class Seven artifact."
The doctor froze. His expression tightened just slightly.
"Five percent? With a Class Seven?"
Eren nodded.
"Then we're not dealing with a normal wipe. This wasn't an accident. Someone—very powerful—didn't want that person to remember anything."
"Can it be reversed?"
The doctor hesitated. Then leaned in.
"There's only one artifact that could reverse that kind of damage. It's banned in most countries."
"Where is it?"
"Outside the continent. In the hands of magical traffickers. It's called Lumen Eterna."
A knot tightened in Eren's stomach.
"Does it work?"
"They say it can restore everything. Even memories from before birth. But it's nearly impossible to get. And if the government finds out you're looking for one…"
The silence between them turned to lead.
Eren stared into his cup. He said nothing.
But inside, the decision had already been made.
⋆⭒✧༺༻✧⭒⋆
The doctor left the café ten minutes after Eren.
He didn't look back.
Didn't take side streets.
Didn't hesitate.
But they had been watching him long before he stepped out.
A black, unmarked car waited at the corner. It appeared without a sound. The tinted windows revealed nothing.
As he passed it, the rear door flew open.
"Get in," a gravelly voice ordered.
The doctor took a step back, but there was no choice.
Two gloved figures grabbed him and shoved him inside.
The door slammed shut.
The car pulled away without attracting attention.
⋆⭒✧༺༻✧⭒⋆
Inside, the cabin smelled of metal and dried sweat.
"What did you tell the technician?" asked a man from the front seat. His face remained in shadow, but his voice was sharp—trained.
"Nothing… just a guess. I didn't even give a name," the doctor tried, breath ragged.
"Did you mention the Lumen Eterna?"
Silence.
One of the men beside him jabbed an elbow into his ribs.
"You don't know what you're doing!" he shouted.
"On the contrary," the man in front said coldly. "We know exactly what we're protecting."
The driver veered off into a maintenance tunnel beneath the highway.
No cameras. No traffic. No witnesses.
"Any last words?"
The doctor tried to speak.
But someone behind him had already drawn a thin, ink-black wire.
They looped it around his neck and pulled.
The sound of him trying to breathe was rough. Short.
The car didn't stop.
It didn't need to.
When the body went still, one of the men rolled down the window.
He tossed the tiny tracking device they'd implanted earlier.
Then crushed it under his boot.
⋆⭒✧༺༻✧⭒⋆
The next morning, Eren woke up to a cryptic notification:
Contact inactive. File deleted. Identity not found.
He called the number once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nothing.
And deep in his chest, he knew it wasn't a coincidence.
He'd been silenced.
Because of Lira.
Because of a past that was never meant to return.
Because of a truth he didn't even know yet.
But someone did.
And they weren't going to let it come to light.