Rewinding Cadence

Volume 1 · Chapter 12Cycle Two: Reborn in Absence

Day 1, Morning

Ren awoke to the tang of dust and the ghost‑echo of iron in his mouth. He blinked against pale green light spilling through a fractured skylight overhead. Cracked asphalt beneath him. The ruined city beyond—a panorama of collapsed towers and skeletal streets—stared back in mute accusation.

He sat up, muscles protesting, and ran a hand over his side. No bandages. No ache. No scar. His shirt was clean—his memory, blank.

A soft rustle drew him out of the haze. He turned to see a girl emerging from the shadows of a collapsed fountain: silver hair tumbling over a paint‑spattered coat, sketchbook clutched protectively to her chest.

Her eyes—violet‑gray—met his. Recognition flashed there, then fear. She froze, as if he'd sprung from a dream she'd been trying to chase.

"Um…" Ren's voice felt alien in his own throat. He stood, brushing dust from his jeans. "Do I… know you?"

The girl swallowed, staring. Her lips parted, but no words came. She glanced down at her sketchbook, then back at him, fingers trembling.

Ren took a cautious step forward. The city's hush pressed in—no wind, no distant groans, only the faint drip of water from broken beams. He held out a hand. "I'm—" He stopped. Who am I? His mind groped for an answer. Nothing. He swallowed. "—sorry. I don't remember."

Tears welled in her eyes as she closed the sketchbook with a soft snap. She held out a single page: a spiral of red numbers counting down 42 → 41 → 40…

Ren frowned. "What is this?"

She pointed to the top corner, where, in delicate script, was written: Day 1. Beneath, a hastily drawn face—his face—wide‑eyed and hopeful.

A pang of déjà‑vu prickled his skin. The image stirred something buried, but it slipped away. He traced the spiral with a fingertip. "You… drew this?"

She nodded, voice husky. "I—" She swallowed, eyes glistening. "I—"

Ren watched her, heart clenching at the tremor in her shoulders. Even without memory, he sensed her fear. "It's okay," he said quietly. "You can… tell me."

Her gaze flicked to the distant clocktower—its hands free now, inching past Day 1. "You forgot," she whispered, as though repeating a confession. "Everyone forgets."

Ren looked around, as if seeing the wrecked city for the first time. "Forget what?"

She took a hesitant step closer. "Everything." Her voice broke. "Who you are. Who I am. What happened here. Every forty‑two days… it all resets."

Ren's pulse quickened. "Resets?"

The girl—Chu—nodded, eyes shining with unshed tears. She slipped a thin chalk stick from her pocket, pressing it into his palm. "Help me remember," she pleaded. "Before Day 42."

He stared at the chalk. Uncertain. But something in his chest—warm, insistent—urged him to trust her. He placed the chalk back in his pocket.

Chu exhaled, as though relieved of a great weight. She offered him her hand. "My name is Chu."

Ren took it. Her skin was cool, trembling, but her grip was firm. A word formed on his tongue—Ren—as though it had belonged there forever. He tested it. "I… I'm Ren."

Her eyes fluttered with something like hope. She tucked the sketchbook under one arm. "We have forty‑two days."

Ren nodded, unease and purpose dicing in his veins. He looked at the ruined plaza, then back at Chu. "Then let's start."

Together, they stepped toward the shattered fountain—and their first loop began anew.

Notes on Cycle Two

The city's decay will accelerate faster this time; Day 20 arrives three days earlier.

Chu will guide Ren through the hidden alcoves and shelters she's prepared—but she's watching him, too: measuring which fragments of memory bleed through.

Ren's resolve is raw, unanchored—he must relearn every lesson: how to survive Hollows, how to heal wounds, how to read the ley maps.

Their bond will spark earlier, but danger intensifies too. Ark's shadows stir beneath the surface.

As the first spiral of days begins, Ren and Chu walk hand in hand down a path of uncertain echoes—two souls caught in a cycle of hope, loss, and the fierce promise that this time… they will not let go.