—She waits at the gates of destiny. You forgot. She remembered.
She is—Lindsay Carver, Captain of the CP-Hub National Guards.
The memories surged back into Shawn's mind like a tidal wave:
The desperate escape through the Dragon Cavern, the cliffside rescue at the edge of the snowfields, the gunfire breakout from the mountain villa...
In those moments balanced on the edge of life and death, she was always in front of him—like a boundary no one could cross.
Life and death blurred into a haze behind her silhouette.
And now, she was here.
Why? Why would she appear at this university?
And why did it feel like she'd been waiting at some fork in his fate all along?
Whispers rose in the classroom, like ripples breaking across still water.
In that instant, Shawn seemed to see light—not ordinary light, but a glimmer that pierced through reality itself, shimmering faintly at the edges of her form, like stardust descending to earth.
Professor Les cleared his throat, seemingly trying to restore order. He opened his mouth to speak, but the moment he saw Lindsay, he paused slightly. His tone softened—uncharacteristically gentle, with a barely detectable hesitation:
"This is... Miss Lindsay Carver, an intern researcher from the Meta-Phenomena Research Center."
The name alone drew surprise from many students.
Meta-Phenomena Research Center?
The rumored institute dabbling in quantum consciousness and para-spiritual experiments?
"I'm here for advanced studies," Lindsay said. Her voice was like jade falling onto ice—cool, clear, and unwavering.
"Starting today, we're classmates."
It was as if something intangible had been brushed aside; a thin mist silently lifted from the air.
She stood there—neither high nor hidden—yet effortlessly commanded the focus of every gaze.
Shawn had already stood up without realizing it.
An indescribable feeling slowly welled up—excitement, confusion, and a longing he had once tried to deny.
Lindsay looked at him. In her eyes was a beam of light, radiating outward in gentle ripples, as if parting the veil of reality to awaken him.
She didn't speak, but he felt her heart say:
"You've finally come!"
---
Suddenly, the classroom lights flickered, dimming and brightening as though disturbed by an unseen force.
The ceiling projector crackled sharply, and the screen displayed strange imagery—not any teaching materials, but a sequence of interlaced hexagrams.
The lines twisted and entwined like vines, merging and reforming until they settled into a double hexagram: Upper Qian (☰), Lower Zhen (☳).
A commotion broke out. Students stood, trying to film the anomaly with their phones—
But none succeeded.
Nothing appeared on their screens.
Professor Les's expression changed. He moved toward the terminal, but Lindsay raised her hand and stopped him.
Her voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority:
"This isn't a system malfunction."
She turned to Shawn, her gaze as deep as the night:
"It's you. You've returned."
A jolt passed through Shawn. His throat tightened.
"What... are you talking about?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she led him out into the corridor.
She stared at him—not at his face, but through him, as if seeing something far beyond.
"You chose to forget," she whispered.
"But what's forgotten... doesn't always disappear."
She handed him a green bracelet, about two fingers wide, warm to the touch, as if made of living metal.
Etched on the band were one solid line and two broken ones, encircled by strange ancient symbols—an artifact, a forgotten seal. encircled by strange ancient symbols—an artifact, a forgotten seal.
"This is the Meta Band," Lindsay said solemnly.
"It once symbolized who you were. And maybe... who you will be again."
The moment Shawn fastened the Meta Band to his left wrist, a torrent of unfamiliar energy surged into him, like a tide flooding his brain. His consciousness was wrenched from reality.
---
He saw an octagonal library suspended in the void.
Its mirrored walls shimmered with shifting sigils of light.
A book—woven seemingly from palm leaves—floated in the air, flipping pages on its own, guided by some rhythm of the cosmos.
He didn't recognize the text, yet it stirred a deep familiarity—
Like a childhood tune whose lyrics were forgotten, but whose melody lingered.
Then, a low voice echoed—not from outside, but from within, magnified by memory:
"What you let go of wasn't memory, but the reason you carried it."
He tried to see more—
But the vision froze, like a glitched recording.
And stopped.
He opened his eyes, as though emerging from deep water.
No panic. Only silence. His thoughts still drifted among fading impressions.
Lindsay stood beside him.
Her voice was gentle, threaded with quiet tension:
"You… saw something?"
Shawn drew a slow breath. His voice was low and distant:
"I… recognized that place."
She nodded, as if confirming what she had long suspected.
"That was the Meta Genesis Realm."
"Meta Genesis Realm? Quinn took me there once,"
Shawn murmured, recalling his encounter with the Meta Hierophant.
"No," she replied, her voice calm but piercing—like mist clearing over a still lake.
"What you saw was a projection. His sole purpose was to make you surrender the Thunder Core… of your own will."
Shawn lowered his head, his shoulders heavy with thought.
After a long pause, he asked:
"But… why did I only see that?"
Lindsay didn't answer immediately. Her voice softened:
"I'll take you there. The real place."
"Where?" he asked, uncertain.
She turned toward him, eyes searching his.
"Do you still remember the vow of Innocence?"
Without waiting for his reply, she took his hand and led him through a corridor marked for faculty only.
They passed behind the main academic building, where a forgotten maintenance zone hid beneath layers of dust and disuse.
At the end, Lindsay knelt and removed a loose brick from an old wall. Behind it, a sealed metal door slowly emerged.
This wasn't a storage room.
It was a descending spiral staircase—metal, ancient—leading downward, as though into the planet's forgotten core.
Their footsteps echoed in the shaft.
Each step seemed to awaken something slumbering, stirring echoes through time and memory.
At the bottom stood a massive circular chamber door, cold and silent, like a sentinel of the past.
Lindsay stepped forward.
A pale blue shimmer spread across the door's surface. Then a voice sounded—gentle, mechanical:
"Facial recognition confirmed. Please enter."
Shawn's heart skipped. His breath quickened.
"What's inside…?"
"The Memory Key Vault," Lindsay replied, her voice level but weighty—declaring something greater than simple truth.
"This is where you'll activate your Meta Band."
The door creaked open.
Golden light, faint and steady, spilled into the hall beyond.
They stepped through.
A vast circular chamber unfolded before them.
A towering dome rose above. Along the curved walls, thousands of metallic pillars reached upward like frozen constellations.
Each one marked with a name, a time, a memory.
Lindsay led him to the center.
There, a rectangular metal box rose silently from the floor—its motion slow, ceremonial, like the reawakening of an ancient rite.
On the lid was engraved a hexagram:
☰ above ☳ — Qian over Zhen — the same as the one from the classroom projection.
"This is the Innocence Box," Lindsay said, her tone soft yet resolute.
"Named after the Innocence Hexagram (☰ over ☳) — Heaven above, Thunder below.
Its message is simple, but vital: do not act rashly; do not desire recklessly.
This was once your guiding talisman."
She gestured toward the center of the hexagram.
"Place your Meta Band here."
Shawn hesitated, then slowly lifted his wrist.
As the band touched the lid, a deep pulse radiated outward—not a jolt, but a resonance.
Something stirred inside him, not violently, but profoundly—like a soul stirring after long sleep.
Memories returned—not as clear images, but as sensations, fragments, and echoes of forgotten emotion.
They rose like a tide, swelling toward the surface of consciousness.
Lindsay leaned closer, her voice calm and resolute:
"You've taken the first step back into the Meta Genesis Realm."
Shawn slowly lifted his head. Confusion flickered in his eyes—then gave way to a sudden, piercing clarity. He met Lindsay's gaze and asked, barely above a whisper:
"Who... are you, really?"
Lindsay offered a faint smile—one that seemed to span centuries, filled with ancient sorrow and the quiet patience of one who has waited far too long.
"I am the guide to whom you once entrusted your memories."
Shawn stood stunned, as if something had struck the core of his mind and sent a tremor rippling through it.
In that instant, fragments seemed to rise from the depths of his consciousness—disjointed, incomplete, yet bearing a familiar weight.
The word "Guide" was like a key, unlocking a long-sealed vault.
Old vows, forgotten missions, hidden identities… wove themselves into a chaotic stream of light at the edges of his awareness.
Shawn felt as though he stood at the threshold between reality and illusion.
And the next word spoken—might determine whether he would remain asleep, or finally awaken.