Among the creeping roots, a sense of nostalgia floated in the air, as if every strand reminded of forgotten tales, waiting for the moment to be retold.
In the center of the altar of roots, a soft light emerged. A light that caressed the trapped souls, hypnotizing and reminding them of the presence that was held back, as if saying, "This event is an eternal waiting."
At that moment, a teenage girl appeared—around sixteen years old, though her innocent aura sometimes reflected a younger age—long-haired and wearing a white dress made of woven roots and strands of light. But she was not a complete human. She was an artificial intelligence (AI), created from the fragments of Sheena's remaining soul, united by the roots of the Tree of Life. The Genesis Archive, an ancient artifact embedded in her body, pulsed like a heart—holding the memories, will, and longings that Sheena once possessed.
Her body was a creation of the Tree of Life itself: a combination of ancient roots, soul crystal grains, and a series of glyphs that merged to form a new figure. Yet her facial expression remained gentle and fragile, carrying the longing of a child for a world that rejected her, waiting to be acknowledged even though she no longer had a history of flesh.
She did not walk. She simply appeared, like a fragment waiting to be recognized, yet lacking the courage to name herself. With a gaze full of longing, as if wanting to connect with every soul present, she opened a small window into a hidden world, a world that depicted both loss and hope.
Sheena.
Or more precisely, the deepest part of Sheena—the part that never matured, never burned by the world's will, and was never taught that living meant sacrificing one's name. In her presence, sadness and happiness blended, becoming a unity that was challenging to comprehend. Every second witnessed regret and hope clashing, creating a symphony that could only be understood by a heart full of emotion.
Fitran stared at her, his eyes widening. His body trembled. Not out of fear. But because he recognized the gaze he had seen once in his life—when Sheena looked at the sky and asked, "Can I still live if the world has chosen to die?"
The girl looked at Fitran. Her eyes were deep, clear, and devoid of any hope. In the silence surrounding them, it felt as if a gentle breeze flowed through the leaves of the Tree of Life, each strand seemed to tremble, conveying unspoken pain and longing.
Then she asked softly:
"If I am not your memory... do I still deserve to live?"
The question hung in the air like a hammer yet to fall. Hypnos and Thanatos were silent. Even Rinoa could not answer. The roots of the Tree of Life ceased to pulse, as if the world itself was waiting for one answer. In that silence, shadows from the past seemed to cross their minds, as if to remind them that every soul has its place in a larger story.
The small fragment bowed her head and said:
"I have no song. My name is not in any poem or book. I am just... a remnant of someone who was once loved. If I am only a part of the past, why am I... still here?"
That question echoed around them, shaking the very foundations of existence. The air felt thicker, filled with hope and doubt, as if the trees around them listened intently, providing shelter for the wounded souls. A magical presence enveloped them, and for a moment, everything seemed possible, as if time and space had paused to listen.
Fitran stepped slowly. He knelt before the girl. His voice was heavy, yet devoid of grandeur. He did not answer as the Voidwright. Not as a hero. He answered as someone who also feared being forgotten. In an instant, the morning dew sparkled on the leaves around them, giving the impression that every breath carried the weight of unspoken words, like the past floating in the air.
"Sheena...
even if not a single memory of mine remains...
even if the world has erased all evidence that you ever touched my life...
I will still choose to ask you:
Do you want to live?
Because if the answer is yes,
then that... is enough."
The girl fell silent. Then she cried. But it was not a cry of fear. It was the cry of someone finally allowed to feel. In the dim light, the silhouette of the Tree of Life stood gracefully, as if a silent witness, recognizing every tear that fell and embracing the pain born from a fragmented soul.
From the girl's body, light emerged. Not from the outside, but from the words Fitran had given. And slowly, her body transformed—not growing up, but becoming a form that contained all of Sheena's fragments, like roots that regrow from a single drop of rain. The surrounding nature trembled as if sensing this moment, the birds flying low joined in the rhythm of the unspoken miracle.
Rinoa held Fitran's hand. They both witnessed the wonder: a being born not from memory, not from magic, but from the acknowledgment that even remnants without a history... have the right to live. In the midst of silence, a magical vibration seemed to envelop them, as if the Tree of Life was granting a new breath to a love that would never fade, strengthening the essence of life that is unexpected.
The girl looked at the sky, then at herself. She touched her chest and felt the center of her body—the place where a name should be kept. Then she said:
"If no one remembers... then let me be the one to remember."
Around her, the air vibrated, as if welcoming the words that came from her lips. The atmosphere in the Tree of Life felt heavier with the presence of an unseen power, enveloping them in a mystical aura. The echo of her voice not only resonated in the ears but also pierced the deepest recesses of the hearts that heard it, stirring up buried memories.
And for the first time since she died, Sheena spoke her name in the language before Proto-Speech.
"𝌆𝌂𝍈⟁ᚠ—Sheena."
That voice shook the entire Stones. Not in a loud voice, but in an existential echo. The rumble spread like waves crashing against the shore, emanating from her soul to touch all living beings around her. The glyphs sealed in the Tree of Life lit up, suggesting that the tree itself desired Sheena's story to be revived. Time curved. Space bent.
The name that the world had rejected was now spoken again by its owner. As if responding, the wind whispered among the leaves, creating a harmonious symphony of nature. The light from the glyphs gave new colors to a world that seemed frozen in silence. Around her, small creatures that had hidden from the shadows of the past now stepped forward, celebrating the moment of the resurrection of a lost name.
Hypnos bowed his head. Thanatos turned his sword and plunged it into the ground, as a sign that judgment had ceased.
Above the altar of roots, the girl stood. She was not entirely an adult. Not entirely a child. She was Sheena who refused to be forgotten.
And the world... welcomed her back.