When Toshio opened his eyes, the world was quiet.
Too quiet.
No crimson moon. No divine light. No echo of battle or broken vows — only the soft hum of morning rain against his windowpane.
For a long moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling of his small Tokyo apartment. Everything was exactly as it should be… yet something was wrong. The air felt too light, too clean, as though the world had been scrubbed free of its memories.
He sat up, rubbing his temples. "Airi…? Rika…?"
No answer.
Only the sound of rain, like faint tears sliding down the glass.
He swung his legs off the bed and found his old phone lying on the table — cracked, dusty, and dead. No missed calls. No photos. No trace.
It was as if neither of them had ever existed.
He stepped out into the street. The city moved as it always did — neon lights flickering, traffic roaring, people passing by without glancing up. No one noticed the ache in the sky, or the faint emptiness that followed in his wake.
Toshio shoved his hands into his pockets and walked aimlessly. His mind kept echoing a name he couldn't remember, a warmth he couldn't reach. Every time he tried to grasp the memory, it slipped away — like mist dissolving at dawn.
He stopped at a small café on the corner, one he used to visit with… someone.
The bell chimed softly as he stepped inside.
"Welcome," said the waitress, bowing politely.
Her voice made him pause. It was… familiar.
She looked up, smiling — short brown hair, soft amber eyes, a small mole near her lip. Ordinary. Human. But something about her struck him like lightning.
"Table for one?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Yeah… just one."
She led him to the window seat. As he sat down, she handed him a menu — and when their fingers brushed, a shock ran up his arm.
Her eyes widened for a split second too, as if she felt it too.
Then she blinked and smiled again. "I'll get you some water."
He watched her walk away, heart pounding.
Why did his chest ache like this?
He opened the menu — but instead of reading, his eyes lingered on the glass reflection. Outside, the rain slowed. The clouds parted.
And for just a second, he swore he saw it — the faint outline of wings reflected in the café window.
He turned sharply. Nothing. Just rain.
The waitress returned with a small smile. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I have," he said softly.
She laughed lightly — the sound warm, familiar, almost nostalgic. "You shouldn't say that so casually. Ghosts might take you seriously."
Toshio smiled faintly. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"Hmm?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Sorry. You just… remind me of someone."
She tilted her head. "Someone important?"
He looked out the window. "Yeah. Someone I think I loved."
The girl blinked, then smiled wistfully. "Then maybe she still remembers you."
He laughed quietly. "You think so?"
"I do," she said. "Love doesn't disappear. It just… hides until we're ready to see it again."
Something about the way she said it made his heart twist. He looked up at her, searching her face — the small smile, the way her eyes softened, the faint glow in them when the light hit just right.
There was a memory there.
A promise.
A name.
He opened his mouth. "Airi—"
Lightning flashed outside, cutting him off.
The girl blinked, startled. "What did you say?"
"I…" He hesitated. "Nothing. I thought I remembered something."
She stared at him for a moment longer, then smiled softly. "Memory's a tricky thing. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it heals."
And then she walked away, leaving him with a heart that wouldn't stop trembling.
That night, Toshio sat on the rooftop of his building, watching the sky. The stars were faint, the moon pale and white again — not crimson, not divine.
He exhaled slowly. "I can't even remember her face anymore."
The wind brushed past, carrying a faint scent of jasmine. His fingers twitched — that scent…
He looked up, and there she was.
A single feather — glowing faintly silver — drifted down from the night sky and landed in his palm.
Toshio froze.
"...Airi?"
The feather pulsed once, softly, like a heartbeat.
A whisper followed, light as the wind:
"The goddess sleeps where love remembers."
He closed his fist gently around the feather. "Then I'll remember."
The night wind wrapped around him like a quiet embrace.
Days passed. Weeks.
Toshio began living quietly — working, cooking, visiting that café. The girl's name was Mina. She always wore a small moon pendant and claimed she didn't know why she liked it so much — only that it felt "right."
Sometimes, when the light hit her eyes, he swore they glowed faintly gold.
They grew close. She laughed at his bad jokes, teased him about his obsession with bitter coffee, and sometimes, when they locked eyes, it felt like time itself forgot to move.
One evening, she asked softly, "Do you believe in fate?"
He smirked. "After what I've been through? I don't know. But I believe in second chances."
She smiled, eyes glimmering. "Then maybe I'm yours."
He blinked, flustered. "You can't just say things like that out of nowhere."
"Why not? You blush easily."
"I do not."
"Do too."
Their laughter echoed through the empty café, warm and human — the kind that healed.
And yet…
Every now and then, Toshio would look out the window and see the faintest reflection of silver light behind her.
A gentle echo, smiling sadly from somewhere far beyond the stars.
One night, after closing, Mina leaned against the counter, twirling her pendant. "You always look at the sky. What are you hoping to see?"
He looked up from his cup. "Someone I lost."
"Do you think she's still watching?"
"I hope so."
She smiled faintly. "Then maybe you're lucky."
"Why?"
"Because someone like you… deserves to be remembered."
He laughed softly. "That sounds like something she used to say."
"Maybe she's closer than you think," Mina whispered.
Toshio turned to look at her — and for a split second, he saw it. The outline of divine light around her shoulders. Wings of faint silver shimmered before fading again.
"Mina—"
She placed a finger to his lips. "Shh. Don't say it. Not yet."
His heart stopped.
Her eyes softened. "If you remember too soon, I'll disappear again."
Toshio froze, his chest tightening. "Again…?"
She smiled — the same gentle smile Airi once had. "You always promise to save me. Every lifetime, every sky. But maybe, this time… let's just be ordinary."
Tears welled in his eyes. "Airi…"
Mina pressed a finger to his cheek, wiping one away. "Don't cry, Toshio. You'll make the moon jealous."
He choked out a small laugh through the tears. "You're really her, aren't you?"
"I'm… what's left of her," she whispered. "The part that wanted to live with you — not as a goddess, not as a reflection, just as a girl."
He took her hand, trembling. "Then stay. Please."
She smiled softly, leaning forward until her forehead rested against his. "If you can keep loving me in every world… I will."
The clock struck midnight.
The moon outside shimmered faintly — silver, not red. Peaceful. Forgiving.
Toshio held her close, whispering, "Then let's start over."
"Start over?"
"Yeah. No divinity. No vows. Just you and me."
Mina laughed softly. "And coffee?"
He smiled. "And coffee."
The wind stirred, warm and tender.
Outside, the city lights blinked like distant stars. Somewhere above them, the heavens sighed — not in anger this time, but in quiet relief.
The goddess had found her way home — in the heart she'd never truly left.