The note wasn't the only one.
We found more—buried in cracks, wedged between bark, even tucked inside the journal… as if they had always been there, waiting to be read at just the right moment.
Each written in the same trembling handwriting.
Each signed with a slightly altered version of the Eclipse symbol.
—
> "If you're reading this, it's already too late."
"Don't drink water after the moon's third blink."
"Tell her you remember the lake. Even if you don't."
"You're no longer alone in your head."
—
Sera dropped one of the notes, lips tight.
"Who wrote these?"
"I did," I replied. "Or… a version of me. One that might've lost."
—
I started noticing things.
Thoughts that weren't mine.
Memories I didn't remember living.
One where I screamed for Sera as she drowned in a black lake.
Another where she pushed me into the fire, crying.
Each with the same feeling: inevitability.
—
"Ryouhei…" Sera murmured, staring at an older note. "This one mentions me."
She read it aloud:
> "If she cries under the eclipse, don't comfort her. Run."
—
Silence.
We looked at each other.
And for a moment… I swear I didn't see fear in her eyes, but sadness.
As if she already knew which version of me… would be the one to survive.