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[ NO… MY YUMA TRULULU… ]

Have you ever thought about getting to know them on a deeper level? Thorns and I started as coworkers, even if you could argue we were somewhat acquainted before that.

[His preference doesn't matter. The trululu will come in due time . . . ]

I prefer to keep professional and private matters separate.

I do know some things, though. For example, everyone in the force seems to like cats.

What kind of private matters would that be?

[ Zeroes in on it immediately. ]

It would no longer be private if I told you.

[Having said that, the lake has a different story in mind. They're still in considerable proximity to the water, and a drop on the ground is all it takes for the surface of the lake to ripple before overtaking their senses, thrusting them into a recent memory.

The memory opens to a moonlit garden enclosed by ornamental walls.

Gathered around a game board on a stone table are Soo-won, Hak, and an older gentleman—the commander—next to whom you sit. Your long damp hair cascades down the back of your fine and equally wet robes, but you hardly feel the chill. The air is oppressive as the commander spares you no glance yet all but spits, "You were made to win, Yuma. Don't disappoint me now."

The scene momentarily shifts.

The commander is not in robes, but a finely pressed suit. Your hair is short again, and you stand before him in uniform with all the discipline of the perfect soldier. Even so, the disdainful look the commander shoots you reminds you of the contempt with which a researcher might regard a guinea pig that's misbehaved.

"That's what hardware is for," he says.

Panic and desperation set in when the scene shifts again. Back in your robes, relief wells at the sight of the admiral. No matter which life, he has always been kind to you, though seeing his scarred face sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

In your naivety, you don't notice the odd strain his expression until the general's face hardens. Surprise from another life mixes with your frigid realization. In the blink of an eye, you're thrown into the pond behind you.

"Playing with dragons is for adults only," a voice from another time echoes in your frenzied mind as you scrabble at the general's unyielding hands keeping your head submerged in water. "Kids can play in the seawater."

It's cold.

"Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is that you learn from them."

This body is too weak. No, it can be said that "he," the you of this world, didn't learn, so "he" deserved to die this miserable death after betraying his one purpose. You know that. "He" was blind to the reality that, even though "he" was born into a family, there wasn't a place for "him" in all the realms, no matter how despairingly "he" searched.

"Remember—we can always produce another Yuma unit if you fail to perform."

Maybe, the thought seeps in as your struggles turn sluggish, you've been blinding yourself, too.

The bone-deep terror you've been carrying for seven years suddenly feels so far away. Like the receding bubbles of precious air in the water, it floats away while acceptance falls in its place. Instead of derisive laughter, all you hear is the rush of water.

You tried, but you barely managed to go anywhere. Like a child, you were incompetent. There's a possibility that you'll be brought back to some capacity like Hak was, and the thought of that fills you with an indescribable dread as your vision darkens around the edges. If this is the end, you don't want to wake up again.

"What, trash? Are you sorry for being born?"

You wish you were never born.

And then they're back.]

[ well.

This is a lot to unpack. But first and foremost: ]

… Is this what you'd have to go back to? A life where you might be discarded at any moment?

[Yuma stands still as the memory washes over him. Then, after a while, he turns to Elysium with a smile.]

. . . What you witnessed was classified, so I can't speak on anything.

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