...It's hot.

A heat that feels like it's searing your throat, a piercing flash of light that stabs at your eyes, and gray clouds stretching across the horizon. Everything feels surreal, yet the overwhelming heat confirms this is reality.

When you open your eyes again, what spreads before you is a world of desolate rubble. The screams that were once so vivid, the parting bells, the discordant cries—all are gone. You see no thick smoke of microparticles, no people setting fire to flags of salvation, no black stars watching over them. There are only the stars above, shining with the color of someone's clear eyes.

You likely remember nothing. Your memories and your past were all stolen and scattered by the heat. All that remains is your name, your body, and the recorder clutched in your hand.

If you play the recorder, a voice that feels strangely nostalgic emerges through the static.

"...Ah... is this recording...? Guest, can you hear me?"

The static is heavy. The audio quality is terrible. Even so, you recognize this voice.

"...I'm sorry... that I couldn't stay with you... but I know we'll... we'll definitely meet again..."

The voice sounds apologetic. You know this voice. You might not remember the speaker's face, or their warmth, or anything else. But you know this voice.

"...You probably... won't remember anything... but please, don't forget this... Your name is Guest. My name is..."

A sharp click. The recording ends there.