Fracture
903 Words
In the Tower District, I am a failure —broken and rejected. Outside the Tower, reclaiming my previous life is also challenging. To prevent mishaps, I am restricted to the Tower District until I pass the assessment and cannot leave without a special reason. Over the past two years, I have only left the Tower once—three months after Helen's death, when I held her funeral with my dorm supervisor's accompaniment. I have lost two years, my status as an ordinary citizen, and Helen. The world has changed. When I received my Bachelor of Science degree, I had planned to continue my studies, but that plan was interrupted. Everything was interrupted. Seeing the school reminded me of graduation, Helen's death, him, and my helplessness. I no longer had the heart to enter a classroom solely for knowledge.
My former friends knew nothing about all this. We haven't seen each other for two years, and I am not good at writing letters. The only contact we had was through postcards and Christmas gifts. When I could finally leave the Tower District to visit my friends, the question they were most interested in was:
"Have you ever seen that sentinel who saved you again?"
"Saved". The word makes my chest tighten. It wasn't "save". Before I could explain clearly and let them understand what had happened, they first let me understand their perspective: Helen died, I awakened, fell into madness, and a handsome S-class sentinel hero came to save me, combining with me...
How disgusting.
"Ah!" The person sitting closest to me gasped, covering her forehead. I realized I hadn't controlled my mental energy and quickly apologized. My mental energy was weak; even an ordinary person who didn't know how to set up barriers wouldn't be harmed. But Anne looked at me differently now with fear. Later, she distanced herself from me when she realized that, as a guide, I could torment her even while sitting still and just by having a fleeting thought.
Naturally, some people stayed close to me, so I told them the truth. However—like the previous people, they didn't believe me.
"Eve," my best friend said solemnly after my third recounting of the events, "you need a therapist."
No, they didn't understand. guides are the best therapists. I had undergone numerous mental guidance and was very calm and rational, with no delusions controlling my thoughts. I "saw" those truths—
"This is a conspiracy theory," she said. "What are you trying to say? That they're covering up his murder because he's an S-rank?"
No, no, no. There was no need for cover-ups or such effort... just to believe his words and not mine...
"Besides," she continued, "even if we take a step back, why would an active S-rank sentinel, who is busy with the most dangerous tasks, protecting citizens and fighting international crime and terrorism, want to kill Helen?"
She shook her head. Not just her. They all did, quietly, secretly, but firmly, shaking their heads at me.
"Aunt Helen was just an ordinary person, and you were too before you became a guide. That sentinel just happened to pass by and saved your life."
After having such conversations repeatedly, there were moments when I began to doubt—was I clinging to my delusions?
But every time, every time I endured the pain to recall that nightmare, examining every vivid detail, I was certain I wasn't imagining it; I truly "saw"—
He killed Helen, waiting behind the door, watching me.
This man named Ray, an S-rank sentinel—those are my only leads. I had no right to browse the global list of sentinels. I could only search through all available public records. I couldn't find an S-rank sentinel named Ray. Did he use a false name? If it was a false name, the lead would be lost, as sentinels and guides, for their protection, are covered by the Alliance's Silence Act, which prohibits the public reporting of their images and information, except for retired individuals. I remembered his face wouldn't help.
Every night, I curled up in my blanket, hugging "myself." I missed Helen. I wondered why all this was happening. Why Helen died, why I could not avenge her. After six months, my complaints had reached a level that the Tower could no longer ignore. I received an order to retake the basic guide course. That wasn't the only trouble. There was more. My dorm supervisor approached me in another capacity— as a matchmaker. According to regulations, guides who are mentally stable and have no malicious criminal tendencies (in the context of sentinel-guide laws, the only malicious crime for guides is to use a sentinel's trust and reliance during guidance to attack the sentinel and drive them mad maliciously) are obligated to pair with another sentinel of similar qualifications. If a guide does not find a sentinel to pair with before they are twenty-five, the government will match their DNA with unpaired sentinels in the database, finding the best match and forcing them to pair. "Forced," I loathed that word. My dorm supervisor understood and nodded, telling me that sentinels remaining in the database must have various shortcomings. She thought I, despite my bad reputation on guidance, was a kind and beautiful girl. Being matched with a "database" sentinel would be a pity.
So, I was supposed to attend her matchmaking gathering.
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- Writer
