The world was whole again.
But it didn't feel like before.
Everywhere Ayame looked, she saw a subtle golden shimmer. In tree leaves. In windowpanes. In shadows cast by morning light. As though the threads of memory were now part of the very air.
People walked the streets unaware of the miracle beneath them. But Ayame knew. So did Kael. So did all of them.
They had touched the Loom.
And chosen to remember.
—
The club room felt smaller now. Or maybe they had just grown too much to fit inside it the same way.
Mio stood by the window, her usual tablet in hand, but her eyes distant. "My father called this morning," she said. "He… remembered me."
Everyone looked up.
Mio laughed softly. "Not like he forgot me before. But this was different. He remembered the things he'd chosen not to. About Mom. About us. It was like something in him woke up."
"That's happening everywhere," Kael said from the couch. "Old memories are resurfacing. Unresolved pain. Buried truths."
Yuzu groaned dramatically, flopping onto a beanbag. "You mean we basically pressed the *unskip* button on emotional baggage?"
"Yes," Ayame said with a small smile. "But that's not a bad thing."
Haru, sitting in the corner with a sketchpad in his lap, spoke without looking up. "It hurts. But it's real."
They all went quiet at that.
Real.
That word hadn't always been so welcome.
But now, it felt like the only thing worth holding on to.
—
Later that day, Ayame found herself on the school roof alone.
She didn't mean to go there—it was just where her feet led her.
The sun was setting, painting the city gold and crimson.
She sat at the edge, letting her legs dangle, her fingers toying with the orb still hanging from her neck. It had stopped glowing the day they restored the Loom, but she couldn't bring herself to take it off.
Footsteps behind her.
She didn't need to turn.
Kael sat beside her, the silence between them warm and familiar.
"Still thinking about her?" he asked.
Ayame nodded. "Serephine. And Rhiannon. All the people we carry. I feel like they're part of me now. Not just as stories, but... really."
"They are," Kael said. "And you chose to carry them. That matters."
She turned to him, brow furrowed. "Do you think we made the right choice?"
Kael met her eyes. "Do you regret it?"
"No."
"Then yes. We did."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
And for a long time, neither spoke.
—
Down below, Haru stood in the courtyard, watching the sky.
He wasn't sure who he was now.
Not entirely the Crimson Thread anymore. Not just a normal boy either.
Somewhere in between.
He pulled out the sketchpad and turned to the last page.
It wasn't a drawing.
It was a letter.
**To Myself, if I Forget Again**
*Hey, idiot.*
*If you're reading this, it means you've lost something again. Maybe someone. Maybe yourself.*
*But remember this: you chose to remember. Even when it hurt. You chose to carry the weight. That makes you brave. That makes you real.*
*Don't run from it.*
*Run toward it.*
*You're not alone.*
He tore the page out and folded it into his pocket.
A reminder.
—
Over the next few days, life returned to something close to normal.
Or, at least, a new kind of normal.
Classes resumed.
Clubs resumed.
Even homework resumed—tragically.
But the world had changed in subtle ways.
Strangers cried on buses, touched by forgotten memories.
Old friends reunited with awkward laughter and silent apologies.
Children spoke of dreams filled with threads and golden trees.
Somewhere deep underground, the Loom still stood.
But now, it was quiet.
Content.
—
One evening, the club gathered for what they jokingly called an "End-of-the-World Recovery Party."
There were snacks. Too many drinks. A karaoke machine someone had definitely stolen from the music room.
Ayame watched as Yuzu tried to force Kael to sing. He resisted with the full power of a brooding protagonist. Mio was already filming. Haru was in the back, quietly doodling caricatures of everyone with increasingly ridiculous hair.
Ayame felt a warmth bloom in her chest.
This—this was the reward.
Not glory. Not magic.
*This.*
Kael finally gave in, singing a horribly off-key rendition of a pop song that had them all in tears from laughter.
And somewhere in the middle of it, Ayame slipped away to the rooftop again.
She closed her eyes.
And thanked Serephine.
Not for the power.
But for the choice.
For the memory.
For the chance to remember love, no matter how painful.
And when Kael found her again, she was smiling.
He tilted his head. "Thinking deep thoughts again?"
She turned to him, eyes shining. "Not this time."
He leaned in.
She met him halfway.
And when their lips touched, it wasn't just a kiss.
It was a promise.
To remember.
Always.
—