The boots of his Veiler-issued gear barely made a sound against the stone-paved street. Seyfe walked with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, a rare moment of anonymity wrapping him like a second skin. No Echoforms. No rift distortions. Just the pulse of a city too used to mending itself.
The town was alive — chattering vendors calling out their goods, the scent of fried grain bread wafting from corner stalls, kids chasing each other between legs and lamp posts. Normalcy. Fragile. Illusory. But real enough to touch.
Seyfe's eyes wandered, not really looking for anything, until movement near a bench caught his gaze.
An old beggar woman sat slouched on the curb, hand outstretched, palm weathered like old paper. Her eyes were dimmed with cataracts, but they searched the passing crowd with a quiet plea.
Nobody stopped. Not really. Some dropped a coin without meeting her gaze. Others didn't see her at all.
He paused across the street, watching. Not out of pity, but recognition. There was something in the way her fingers twitched when no one gave. Like she was still holding onto some thread of expectation the world had long severed.
He crossed without thinking.
She didn't notice him at first — not until the shadow of his coat folded over her lap.
"…Spare anything?" her voice was broken stone, thin and sharp.
Seyfe reached into his pocket, pulling out a small ration pack and a few coins. "Here," he said, kneeling to her level. "This'll last a few days."
The woman blinked up at him. Her lips trembled, not from cold, but from something deeper. Memory maybe. She stared long at his face, longer still at his eyes.
"…You… you've seen them, haven't you?"
Seyfe stiffened. "Seen what?"
"The ones who scream where there is no sky. The ones who claw from behind walls that shouldn't breathe."
His throat dried, but he didn't pull back. He didn't answer.
She only smiled, toothless and cracked, and closed her hand around the ration. "You've been where time forgets, boy."
And with that, she leaned back, silent once again.
Seyfe stood, the city suddenly too bright, too loud. As if her words had peeled something from the edge of the veil again.
He walked on, but the echo of her voice clung to his mind like static.
"You've been where time forgets…"
The quiet muttering of the street faded behind him as Seyfe pushed open the glass door of a modest café. A soft chime rang above the frame — light, almost too gentle for a place in this city.
Warmth hit him first. Not heat, but something softer. The air inside smelled of roasted beans and baked sugar, and laughter floated from a group seated in the corner — students, maybe cadets on break. The room was filled with a muted golden hue from sun filtering through half-drawn blinds.
It was… cozy. Real.
Seyfe stepped forward, his boots almost hesitant against the wooden floorboards. A server behind the counter looked up, ready to greet, but Seyfe gave only a small nod before scanning the menu chalked above. His eyes barely read the words.
He wasn't here for coffee.
He chose a table near the window. Not isolated, but not within reach of others either. As he sat, he leaned back into the chair — letting the soft pressure of it remind him he wasn't in a rift, wasn't in the facility, wasn't sprinting for his life.
It was his first time in a café. Not just this one. Any café.
Back in the outskirts, cafés were a story the older ones told. Leftover dreams from the world before it burned. The word itself always seemed soft, foreign — like it belonged in a place that hadn't been shattered.
He watched as someone across from him stirred cream into their drink, smiling at something on a datapad. Another couple shared a slice of cake, laughing over crumbs and clumsy fork jabs. It all felt… unreachable, even now.
He let his gaze drift, not to the people, but inward.
"I never had a birthday cake."
"Never sat down for breakfast that wasn't cold."
"Didn't know what syrup was until I was twelve."
"Never had a place where I could sit down and not worry about who was tracking my scent."
The ache in his chest wasn't pain, just a familiar quiet longing. Not envy. Just... the distant idea of "what if?"
He rubbed the back of his glove against his mouth — feeling the smooth coating of the Veiler-grade suit that lingered beneath the surface, its remnants now part of him. Even if he wanted to forget who he was, what he became, his body wouldn't let him.
The black tongue. The golden veins. The way his senses flickered sometimes like the Echoform's.
A server came by.
"Can I get you anything?"
Seyfe looked up. There was kindness in the man's eyes — not recognition, just ordinary human patience.
"…Something sweet," he answered quietly. "I don't care what. Just… something sweet."
The man smiled and nodded, walking off.
And for a moment, as Seyfe stared out the window to the world beyond — where people lived, and laughed, and argued over coffee sizes — he allowed himself to pretend he was just another lost soul in need of something warm.
Just for now.
The server returned not long after, placing a small plate with a slice of strawberry shortcake in front of Seyfe. The cream was layered smooth between the sponge, topped with a single glazed berry that shimmered under the light.
"And here's your tea," the server added, setting a gently steaming cup beside it. "Hope it hits the spot."
Seyfe gave him a polite nod, murmuring a soft, "Thanks," before turning back to the table.
The chatter of the café faded to a low hum. Fork in hand, he hesitated for a moment before cutting off a bite-sized piece and bringing it to his mouth.
The texture was soft. Moist. Sweet — or, at least, it should've been.
He chewed slowly.
Swallowed.
Nothing.
No flavor. No sugar. Not even bitterness.
He took another bite.
Still nothing.
He stared at the cake for a long second, then shifted his gaze to the tea. Carefully, he brought it to his lips and drank. It was warm — but beyond the temperature, there was… emptiness. No earthy undertones. No aroma. Just the sensation of liquid.
He exhaled through his nose, lowering the cup to the table.
"…Even this feels like ash," he muttered, barely above a whisper.
He rubbed the edge of his tongue along the inside of his teeth. It still felt wrong — coated with something heavy, like it didn't quite belong to him anymore.
He opened his mouth slightly, catching a glimpse of the ink-black hue in the reflection of the window. The veins were dormant now, dim beneath his skin, but the tongue hadn't changed. A permanent reminder.
"I used to dream about this," he thought, staring down at the untouched cake. "Just once — to sit somewhere quiet, eat something real, pretend the world wasn't crumbling under my feet."
But the Echoform had taken something more than just time or scars.
It had taken the ability to feel normal.
His voice escaped low and distant, as if he were confessing to the reflection in the glass more than speaking aloud.
"I can't taste anything anymore…"
His fingers curled lightly on the table, palm pressing against the glove's silver node — the square that would've once wrapped his body in armor.
Now, he just felt cold.
Not from the air. From inside.
A few more seconds passed before he pushed the plate slightly forward, untouched save for the two hollow bites.
"So much for sweet."
Outside, the street moved on — unknowing, uncaring. The world still laughed, shouted, argued, flirted.
And Seyfe sat in silence, tasting nothing.
Only the quiet.
Only the weight.
Saline strolled down the brick-laid walkway of Midring Sector, arms crossed loosely as the breeze played with the ends of her newly dyed red-streaked hair. She wasn't in uniform today—just a cropped jacket over a black top and cargo slacks, blending in with the stream of off-duty personnel and civilians that filled the district with life.
It was one of those rare moments in-between debriefs and simulations. No alarms. No missions. Just time.
She passed a street musician strumming a tune on a three-string, the melody light and drifting. Her eyes scanned lazily over the storefronts until something caught her eye in the reflection of a glass pane.
A familiar silhouette.
She paused.
Turning fully, she spotted him through the window of a modest café—Seyfe, sitting at a booth near the glass, a plate of cake untouched in front of him, tea cooling at his side.
He looked... off.
Still. Too still.
His gaze wasn't on anything in particular, almost as if he were watching through everything in front of him.
Saline narrowed her eyes slightly, then crossed the street.
The bell above the door gave a soft chime as she entered. Warmth and the scent of brewed tea greeted her, but she focused only on him. Seyfe didn't flinch or turn.
She approached slowly and slid into the seat across from him without a word.
"Didn't take you for the cake-eating type," she said, trying to lift the edge of her voice into something light.
Seyfe blinked once, as if coming back from somewhere else. His eyes flicked up to meet hers.
"It's not really about the cake," he said after a pause.
Saline glanced at the plate, then the tea. Both mostly untouched.
"You okay?" she asked, tone shifting softer. No pretense now.
He hesitated. "Yeah… just trying to feel human again."
Saline's expression didn't change, but she leaned forward, elbows on the table. "It's not gonna happen overnight, y'know."
He gave a faint laugh—dry, humorless. "I know. But I thought maybe... trying to taste something again would help."
Her brows knit together. "You still can't?"
He opened his mouth slightly, let her glimpse the lingering black of his tongue before shutting it again.
"Still tastes like air."
A silence fell between them for a moment. The kind that didn't need to be filled, but still weighed heavy with unspoken things.
Saline finally broke it. "Well, you're still alive. That's more than what we expected a month ago."
"To me, it was four weeks," he murmured. "Not four months."
She nodded. "Time's weird like that in a rift tear. The fact you came back at all—hell, the fact you're sitting here, trying to eat cake—that's enough for now."
Seyfe gave her a sidelong look. "I think that's the first time someone told me 'eating cake' is a sign of progress."
"Well, it is," she smirked. "That, and not stabbing the waiter."
He cracked a small, genuine smile. The first real one since waking up in the recollection bay.
Saline leaned back, arms crossed again. "Come on. I'll walk with you. Maybe we'll find something better than air-flavored desserts."
He stood slowly, taking one last look at the cake before leaving it behind.
Outside, the breeze waited. So did the city.
And for once, Seyfe didn't walk alone.