The silence after they left was almost unbearable.
I sat by the door for a while, listening to the wind scrape against the old metal walls. Blaze's footsteps had long faded into the haze outside, leaving nothing but the soft hum of the house's old generator — barely alive, like everything else in this dying world.
I told myself I didn't care. That I wasn't jealous. That I trusted him.
But every time I pictured SK walking beside him — her calm, perfect posture, that respectful tone she used when she called him sir — the lie cracked a little more.
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. Sitting still felt like suffocating.
So I decided to move.
The house wasn't big — two rooms, a storage compartment, and what looked like a small workshop Blaze had built from scavenged tech. But somehow, it felt bigger now that I was alone in it. Every corner whispered memories that weren't mine.
He never said much about his past. Whenever I asked, he'd just smile that infuriating smile and say, "Some stories sound better when you make up the ending yourself."
But there was always more to him. The way he carried himself, the way he fought — not like a merc or a scavenger. Like a soldier.
I started with the living area. His things were scattered everywhere — gear parts, rations, a few half-repaired gadgets. On the wall, there were old emblems: fragments of badges and banners from different games, different worlds.
And there — near the back of the shelf — something caught my eye.
A metal insignia, small but heavy, shaped like a winged crest split by a sword. I'd seen it before, though only in old Resistance records.
The Empire's mark.
I froze.
It didn't make sense.
Blaze was supposed to be neutral — a wanderer. Not aligned with the Empire. Not after what they did during the Great War.
The Resistance was formed because of that war — when the Empire's rise and crusade that burned half the digital worlds to ash.
I swallowed hard, picking up the insignia. The back of it was engraved with a single line of code — an identification number. But the script was too old, predating even the Great Collapse.
So… he wasn't just connected to them. He was from them.
I set it down gently, my heart pounding in my chest.
It made sense, in a terrible kind of way. His discipline. His tactical instincts. The way SK — a former Empire soldier — respected him without question.
She must've known.
That thought twisted in my gut.
She knew, and I didn't.
I kept exploring, trying to shake it off. In the corner of the room, I found an old storage chest. The latch was broken, so I pried it open with my knife. Inside, there were relics — pieces of armor, a cracked sword hilt, and a black visor marked with the word "SKYREALM."
I brushed off the dust.
So he really was from Skyrealm. One of the early players, maybe even a commander before it all went dark.
The Resistance archives mentioned Skyrealm — a game that became a battlefield during the Great War. It was said that some of the most powerful soldiers were born there.
And Blaze… he had that same kind of presence.
The one that made you want to follow orders — even when you didn't want to admit it.
I sat back, staring at the visor in my hands.
Was he hiding it from us — from me — because he didn't trust me?
Or because he didn't want me to know who he used to be?
Outside, the wind picked up again, howling across the ruins. The whole world seemed to hum with static.
I stood up and wandered into his workshop. It smelled faintly of burnt circuitry and oil. There were dozens of tools scattered around, half-finished weapons, and notes scribbled in a language I didn't recognize.
I ran my fingers across one of the papers. The handwriting was sharp, precise — but I caught glimpses of phrases between the lines:
"Subject memory seal successful."
I froze again.
Memory seal?
Was that why Blaze couldn't remember parts of his past? He'd told us fragments before — flashes of training, names he couldn't place, faces he'd seen in dreams.
But this… this looked like proof.
He wasn't just a soldier. He was part of something bigger — maybe even one of the Empire's High ranking officials
And SK… maybe she recognized him the moment she saw him. Maybe that's why she followed his every command so easily.
Because to her, he wasn't just Blaze.
He was Sir.
I sat at his desk for a long time, trying to piece everything together. The more I thought about it, the heavier my chest felt.
Jealousy was one thing — stupid, emotional, human. But this was something else entirely.
This was fear.
If Blaze really was part of the Empire… if his memory was sealed… then who was he now?
And how much of the man we knew was even real?
The generator buzzed softly behind me. I closed my eyes, listening to the faint hum — trying to quiet my thoughts.
I wanted to believe he was still the same person who saved me from the ruins. The same person who laughed when everything felt hopeless. The same man who fought beside me, shoulder to shoulder, like an equal.
But the more I learned, the more that version of him felt like a lie.
Hours passed before the sky outside dimmed into the faint violet glow of artificial dusk.
I sat by the window, watching the wind sweep across the plains of the Void. Faint silhouettes of glitch-beasts moved in the distance — wandering aimlessly between fragments of dead worlds.
And somewhere beyond that, Blaze and SK were still out there.
I imagined them scavenging side by side — SK calm and composed, Blaze teasing her the way he teased me. Maybe she'd even smile, just a little.
The thought burned in my chest again.
Not because I hated her.
But because I couldn't stop wondering why he chose to trust her so easily.
Maybe it was history. Maybe he saw something familiar in her — something that reminded him of the man he used to be.
I didn't know what scared me more — the idea that he might remember his old self… or that he might forget who he was now.
Either way, I was the one left behind.
The one sitting alone in his house, surrounded by secrets that didn't belong to me.
I sighed, leaning back in the chair, staring at the flickering lights on the workbench.
"Who are you really, Blaze?" I whispered to the empty room.
The only answer was the soft hum of the generator — steady, constant, and painfully quiet.