Rewinding Cadence

Volume 1 · Chapter 8Ren's Defiance: "Why Do I Forget You?"

Day 5, Early Morning

A thin shaft of sickly green light filtered through the cracked ceiling of the old subway hideout. Ren woke with a start, heart hammering as though it recognized the moment: the morning after the Hollows' ambush, the day before the Nexus Ritual. His side still stung from Chu's bandages, but his mind burned brighter than ever.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. All around him, the walls were scrawled with chalk: their vows, his sketches, fragments of dreams. He ran a fingertip over "Cycle 134 · Day 4 – Died here last time. Not again." The letters were jagged, unsteady—but alive.

Footsteps echoed behind him. Chu emerged from the tunnel beyond, hair loosely tied, lantern in hand. Her violet‑gray eyes met his. In their depths Ren saw both pride and worry.

"Morning," he said quietly.

She offered a small, tired smile. "Morning." She hesitated, then asked, "Did you sleep?"

He nodded. "Enough." He rose, muscles creaking. "We need to talk."

Chu's gaze flickered. "About the Nexus Ritual?"

"About memory." Ren crossed to the far wall, tracing the spirals that marked each loop's end. "You're the anchor. You remember everything—every loop, every death." He turned to face her. "Why do I forget?"

Chu swallowed. "We talked about this."

He shook his head. "But not why. You survive the reset because your soul is bound to Leviathan's grief. But everyone else—every single person—wakes with blank minds. No knowledge of the city, no knowledge of anything." He picked up a piece of chalk. "That's not mercy. It's prison."

She stepped closer, voice low. "It's the fail‑safe."

"A fail‑safe?" Ren echoed.

Chu nodded, folding her arms. "Ark engineered the loop. His device fractures reality every 42 days. The reset erases memories, preventing temporal feedback that would tear the world apart."

Ren frowned. "So people don't warp time with their own memories?"

She shook her head. "If memories of past loops persisted… you'd relive trauma every cycle. You'd go mad—or become Hollows yourself."

Ren tapped the chalk on the wall. "Cycle 134 – Remembered Chu's laugh in sunlight." Below it, he added: "Day 5 – Refuse to forget again." He met Chu's eyes. "But I want to keep my memories. I want them to hurt."

Chu's expression softened. "Memories cut deep. I've felt that pain."

He gestured to the hideout. "Look around. All these drawings, these notes—I built this world in chalk because I refuse to let it slip away. Even if it destroys me."

Silence stretched between them. The distant drip of water seemed to slow. Chu exhaled, as though releasing a weight.

"If you bind yourself to memory," she said carefully, "you risk the Ritual."

He stepped forward, voice steady. "I risked dying again right here," he nodded toward the Sealed Gate, "so I could find you. What's one more risk?" He met her gaze, unwavering. "I will remember you. Every loop. Every sacrifice. And when the world resets, I will fight to hold on."

For the first time, Chu's shoulders relaxed. She set down the lantern and drew him into a brief embrace. Ren felt the tension in her spine, the tremor of dread—and the spark of hope.

Pulling back, she touched his wound‑wrap. "You might… go mad, fighting the erasure. You might lose yourself."

Ren brushed her fingers away gently. "Then I'll write it all down. You'll teach me how to anchor memories—how to carve them into the ley energies."

Her brow furrowed. "That's dangerous. The nexus can amplify thought‑forms—but only if they're pure. Fear and doubt… they'll corrupt the channel."

He ran a hand through his hair, determination hardening in his eyes. "Then I'll face them. All of them. Fear, doubt… death."

Chu studied him, weighing his resolve. At last, she nodded. "Tomorrow night—midnight sharp. We'll draw the anchors, focus them through the nexus." She drew a deep breath. "But tonight… I'll teach you the first step."

Day 5, Later That Evening

By lantern light, Chu guided Ren through a simple meditation: drawing sigils of memory and binding them to a scrap of cloth, infused with a drop of his blood. He traced each spiral rune with deliberate care, chanting in a soft, steady voice:

"By spiral and star,Memory hold fast,Let time's tide not barWhat anchors us past."

Ren repeated the words, heart thrumming as warmth spread from his chest to his fingertips. When they finished, Chu tied the cloth pouch around his wrist.

He flexed his hand. The fabric felt snug, alive with tingling energy. "I feel… connected."

She placed a hand over the pouch. "Good. That's your first anchor. If the reset tries to erase your mind, this will pull your memories back."

Ren closed his eyes and let the pulse of resonance wash over him: the echo of Chu's laughter, the ache of dying at the Sealed Gate, the sweetness of sunlight in a dream. He would not forget.

When he opened his eyes, Chu was watching him with a mixture of awe and fear.

"Rest now," she whispered. "Tomorrow we face Ark—and the nexus."

Ren touched the fabric at his wrist, resolve steady as steel. "I won't forget you."

Outside, the city's hollow heartbeat continued—counting down toward the cycle's end. But Ren felt for the first time that he held his own pulse in his hand.

And he would make it count.