Regret(Ikaro) (Side/Optional)

Door 1, Regret:

“WATCH OUT!” Ikaro jolted awake, his voice raw with panic as his body instinctively lurched forward. His heart thundered in his chest, the residual echoes of whatever nightmare had gripped him still clinging to his senses. He sat upright, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps as he blinked at his surroundings, trying to ground himself.

The room was oddly familiar, bathed in soft morning light filtering through the wooden shutters. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of lavender. But none of it made sense. This wasn’t where he had been.

“Why am I in bed? Where is everyone?” he murmured, his voice hoarse with confusion.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool wooden floorboards grounding him for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he tried to push aside the haze of panic and orient himself. His gaze swept across the room, and a deep, unsettling realization began to settle in his chest.

“No… It can’t be.” He stumbled to the window, his palms pressing against the window as he peered outside. His breath caught. Beyond the pane, the familiar sight of the family farm stretched out before him, the golden fields swaying gently in the breeze. He could see the barn, the chicken coop, and even the old oak tree where he and Iris had played as children.

“This is impossible…” Ikaro muttered, his voice trembling. “Am I dead?”

Desperation clawed at him as he pinched himself hard, then harder, until the sting reassured him that he wasn’t dreaming. He grabbed a small knife from the bedside table, nicking his finger just enough to draw blood. The sharp pain confirmed it, he was alive.

“Okay…” he whispered, trying to steady his breathing. “It’s not in a dream. I’m not dead. So what the fuck is going on?”

Before he could gather his thoughts, the door creaked open. His heart froze as he turned to face whoever had entered.

A woman stood there, her features instantly recognizable yet utterly surreal. She looked to be in her mid 40s, her hair tied in a loose braid, streaked with silver. She wore a simple dress, her face warm with a tender smile that sent a pang of nostalgia and disbelief surging through Ikaro’s chest.

“Oh, you’re awake! Good morning, Ikarin,” she said, her voice gentle, brimming with affection.

“…Mom?” The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, his voice trembling as he stared at her in shock.

“Yes, son? Are you alright? You look pale—”
She didn’t finish her sentence. Ikaro surged forward, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce embrace. His body shook as he clung to her, tears streaming silently down his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt her warmth, her scent, her presence. His mother had been gone for years, lost in childbirth, and yet here she was, solid, alive, and holding him like she used to.

Her arms wrapped around him in return, her touch as real and reassuring as he remembered. “Okay, okay, you’re scaring me now. Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern as she pulled back slightly to study his face.

Ikaro hastily wiped at his tears, trying to pull himself together. “I’m fine… I’m just… overwhelmed, that’s all,” he said, his voice uneven but genuine.

“Well, if you say so,” she said, her expression softening again into that familiar, comforting smile. She walked over to the bed, placing a neatly folded set of clothes on it. “Breakfast is ready. Come join us when you’re ready, alright?”

“Yeah… just give me a minute,” Ikaro replied, his voice hollow as he watched her leave the room.
The moment the door closed behind her, he sank onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. Tears flowed freely now, his shoulders shaking as years of grief and longing crashed over him. He didn’t want to see her like this alive, smiling, caring because he knew it couldn’t be real.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. “Whoever’s behind this, this isn’t funny. You hear me?!” His voice rose, anger mingling with despair as he looked up at the ceiling as if expecting an answer.

When none came, he let out a bitter laugh, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Fine. Let’s play along for now. If this is some kind of game, I’ll figure out the rules and break it.”

Ikaro stood, his legs shaky but determined. Each step toward the kitchen felt like a journey into the past, every detail of the house striking a nerve.

As Ikaro approached the dining room, he felt an eerie mix of nostalgia and unease. Everything about this place was as it had been months ago, before the tragedies that still haunted him. The warm scent of fresh bread, the soft creak of the floorboards, even the faint hum of the birds melody from the fields, it all felt too perfect. Yet, it was the imperfections, the cracks in this façade, that gnawed at him.

Steeling himself, he stepped through the doorway, his breath hitched. Sitting at the head of the table, alive and well, was his father, Arbos.

The sight nearly made Ikaro stagger, his stomach knotting painfully as a wave of emotions hit him all at once. His father looked just as he had in life; strong, broad-shouldered, with kind eyes and a reassuring presence that had once been Ikaro’s anchor.

“Ah, son! Good morning. Come join us, would you?” Arbos called out, his voice rich and warm, just as Ikaro remembered.

Ikaro hesitated for only a moment before nodding and stepping forward. Every instinct screamed at him to demand answers, to tear apart this illusion, but he swallowed those urges. He knew better than to confront whatever **** had conjured this. For now, he would play along, watching for cracks in the seams.

“You’d better eat something,” Arbos continued with a chuckle, gesturing toward the food-laden table. “We’ve got a full day of chores ahead, and I expect you to help me. Isn’t that right, darling?”
He turned to his wife, Eirene, who sat beside him, laughing softly as he placed a tender kiss on her cheek.

Ikaro’s chest tightened at the sight. His mother’s smile, her laughter, the warmth between his parents, it was a memory come to life, yet it hurt. He hadn’t seen them together like this since his mother’s passing, a loss that had come just after Iris’s birth.

Iris.

The thought struck him like a thunderbolt. His sister was nowhere to be seen. That detail, so glaringly out of place, gnawed at him.

“Uh… where’s Iris?” Ikaro asked, trying to keep his tone casual. “Still sleeping?”

The question drew puzzled looks from his parents, and Ikaro’s unease deepened as they exchanged glances.

“Who’s Iris?” Arbos asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is she some girl you met in Helos? A new girlfriend, maybe?”

Eirene chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What? No!” Ikaro shot back, shaking his head. “Your daughter. My sister. Isn’t she here?”

The playful atmosphere shifted instantly, replaced by concern. Arbos frowned, leaning forward. “Son… you don’t have a sister. Are you feeling alright? Did something happen yesterday?”

“Maybe he’s sick,” Eirene said softly, standing and placing a hand on Ikaro’s forehead. Her touch was gentle, but Ikaro flinched, brushing her hand away.

“I’m not sick, and I’m definitely not hungover,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. His parents’, or whoever they were, lack of recognition toward Iris sent a chill through him. This was no mere illusion; it was a deliberate distortion of his reality.

“Well… if you say so.” Arbos’s tone was cautious now, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to make sense of his son’s behavior. “You’re not pulling some prank on us, are you?”

Ikaro’s fists clenched beneath the table, but he **** himself to relax, letting out a long, slow breath. There was no point in pushing this further. Whoever, or whatever, was behind this seemed intent on testing him, twisting his memories, and he needed to keep his wits about him.

“No, I… Forget it,” he said finally, shaking his head. “What do you need me to do today?”

Arbos’s expression softened again, his usual warm smile returning. “Well, there’s plenty to keep us busy. The barn roof needs patching, the fences need mending, and the crops need tending. Think you can keep up, son?”

Ikaro **** a grin. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”
The rest of the morning passed in a haze of activity. Ikaro followed his father’s instructions, working alongside him just as he had in the past. The physical labor was grounding, a temporary reprieve from the swirling emotions and confusion. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the tasks, the absence of Iris lingered like a phantom at the edge of his thoughts.

Every laugh from his father, every kind word from his mother, every shared glance between them, it all felt like pieces of a puzzle missing the one crucial piece that tied it all together. Without Iris, the picture was incomplete, fractured.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Ikaro paused by the old oak tree, wiping the sweat from his brow. He leaned against the trunk, his eyes scanning the familiar landscape of the farm.

“She’s the one thing you couldn’t replicate,” he muttered under his breath, his voice bitter. “No matter how real you make this… without her, it all falls apart.”

Ikaro knew this wasn’t real. His parents, his home, this life...it was a pale imitation, a shadow of the truth. And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder what the purpose of this illusion was. A test? A warning? Or perhaps something darker?

After dinner, Ikaro lingered in the dining room, his hands restless as he cleared the table. The warm glow of the lamps illuminated the space, casting long shadows on the walls. As he carried the plates into the kitchen, he found Eirene or rather, the illusion of her standing at the sink, humming a soft tune as she washed the dishes.

“Need some help?” Ikaro asked, his voice gentle, though his heart weighed heavy with unspoken emotions. He set the stack of plates next to her, forcing a tender smile.

Eirene glanced at him, her familiar, loving smile meeting his eyes, and it cut through him like a knife. “No… but thank you, Iki,” she replied, her tone as warm as he remembered. “The company would be nice, though.”

Ikaro leaned against the counter, watching her movements, each one so painstakingly accurate that it made the illusion harder to bear.

“Can I ask you something?” she said suddenly, her voice soft but tinged with hesitation.

“Of course,” Ikaro said, his arms folding across his chest as he braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Earlier, at breakfast… you mentioned something.” She paused, glancing at him with a mix of curiosity and vulnerability. “You said the name ‘Iris.’ Where did you hear that name?”

Ikaro’s jaw tightened. The question wasn’t a simple one; it was a test, he was sure of it. But he was growing tired of this game, of the ache that came with every moment spent in this manufactured world. “That’s the name you gave your daughter,” he said bluntly, his eyes locking with hers. “Or… the one she should have had.”

Eirene froze for a moment, her hands stilling over the dishes. Then, slowly, she smiled. A genuine, bittersweet expression that seemed to reach into a part of her that wasn’t entirely illusion.

“I always wanted to call my daughter Iris,” she said softly. “It’s a beautiful name. My grandmother was named Iris, you know. A strong woman, kind but fierce. Sometimes… I wished I had two children.” Her words faltered, and she looked down, her voice quieting as if confessing a secret.

Ikaro stepped closer, reaching out to gently take her hand. Her skin felt warm and real beneath his fingers, and it made his throat tighten.
“But you did,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Iris lives. She’s my sister. I know her. You should’ve met her...” His voice cracked, but he pressed on. “You would’ve loved her. She’s strong, like you. Kind, like you. And I know she’s real because…” He faltered, his grip tightening on her hand. “Because the love I have for her isn’t something anyone could fake.”

Eirene’s expression softened, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes. “I once had a miscarriage,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It was a long time ago, back in Sparta. Your father and I… we chose to never speak of it again. But now, hearing you talk about her… It feels like you’re describing a life I never had. A life I never lived, but somehow, you did.”

Ikaro closed his eyes, her words cutting deep. He couldn’t stop the tears that slid down his cheeks, memories of his mother’s **** and Iris’s life flooding back with painful clarity.
“You did have her,” he said finally, his voice a broken whisper. “But you… you died giving birth to her.” His chest heaved as he **** himself to confront the truth, the memories he had buried for so long. “I was there. I remember everything.”

Eirene’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she smiled gently. “I’m alive, son,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek. “Can’t you see? I’m right here.”

Ikaro stepped back, shaking his head as he avoided her touch. “I know. And gods, I’m so happy to see you again, even like this. But I can’t stay here. I can’t pretend that Iris doesn’t exist. I made my peace with losing you a long time ago, and I’ve carried that pain with me every day since. But Iris... she’s real. She’s my family, and I won’t give her up, not even for this.”

His voice grew steadier as he spoke, the conviction in his heart shining through. “The love I have for her, the memories we share… I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. Not even to have you back.”

For a moment, Eirene said nothing, simply gazing at him with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Then, a faint smile tugged at her lips.

“You’ve grown so much,” she said softly. “And you’re stronger than I ever imagined.” Her expression shifted, and the doppelganger’s gaze held a knowing glint. “Your father is waiting for you outside. Go to him. Everything will become clear.”

Ikaro hesitated, searching her face for any lingering trace of his real mother. But there was nothing, only the illusion, bittersweet and fleeting. He nodded slowly, stepping toward the door.
As he reached the threshold, he glanced back one last time. Eirene stood by the sink, her figure bathed in the soft, golden light. She didn’t say anything, but her smile followed him as he stepped outside, the cool night air washing over him like a waking dream.

Arbos stood beneath the expanse of the night sky, his arms crossed as he gazed at the stars. The soft breeze rustled the fields beyond, carrying the faint scent of grass and earth. He stood as he used to, resolute and calm, as if no time had passed.
Ikaro approached him cautiously, his steps hesitant. For a moment, he simply stood beside his father, the quiet stretching between them like an unspoken bond.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Arbos said, breaking the silence. His deep voice was steady, tinged with a hint of wistfulness. “And to think… you wanted to leave all this behind to go fight for the country.”

Ikaro chuckled softly, the sound carrying a mix of fondness and regret. “I used to think I was invincible,” he said, shaking his head at the memory.

“And what changed?” Arbos asked, his tone curious but his eyes sharp, watching his son closely.

Ikaro exhaled slowly, the weight of the time that passed since joining Kayn on the mission heavy in his chest. “I learned that life, as precious as it is, can be ripped away in an instant. And what makes it truly precious isn’t the battles we fight or the victories we claim. It’s the people we care about, the ones who make it worth living.” His voice cracked, the rawness of his emotions bubbling to the surface. “It took me losing you to understand that.”

He paused, tears streaming down his face as he finally let go of the pain he had carried for so long. “I punished myself every day, thinking it was my fault you died… that I wasn’t strong enough to save you. I was so blinded by what I thought was important that I couldn’t see what you were trying to show me all along.” His knees buckled, he collapsed onto the ground, his body wracked with sobs.

Arbos turned to face him fully, his expression stern but not unkind. His voice, when he spoke, was steady and deliberate. “And what was it I wanted you to see?”

Ikaro looked up at him, his face streaked with tears, his voice trembling but resolute. “That I’m not alone,” he said, the words falling from his lips like a revelation. “I never was. Not as long as the people around me love and care for me as much as I do for them. Iris, Kayn, Noor, Entinos. They’re my family now. It’s my responsibility to stand by them, to protect them, to love them. And when I grow old and my time comes, I’ll know they’ll be there for me, just as I’ve been for them.”

His voice grew stronger as he spoke, his conviction solidifying like iron. “Only then… only when I’ve lived a life worthy of their love and loyalty, will I know I’ve made you proud.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of the wind. Then, Arbos stepped forward, kneeling beside Ikaro and placing a firm, steady hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve always been proud of you,” Arbos said, his voice rich with emotion. “The man you’ve become, the strength you carry, not in your arms, but in your heart. It’s made me the happiest man in this world or the next. Every day, I would wake up and say, ‘That’s my son.’ ”

The words didn’t feel like they came from the illusion. They resonated, cutting through the fabric of the false world and touching Ikaro’s soul. He looked up, his breath catching as he met his father’s eyes.

“Dad?” he whispered, his voice weak but hopeful. “Is that… is it really you?”

Arbos didn’t answer with words. He simply smiled, warm, proud, and full of a love that needed no explanation. Then, as if carried away by the wind itself, he faded, leaving only the doppelganger behind.

Ikaro wiped at his face, his hands trembling as he stood. “This was a test, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice raw but steady.

“Yes,” the doppelganger said, its tone cold but neutral.

“Why?” Ikaro demanded, his brows furrowing, though there was no malice in his voice, only a yearning for understanding.

“Because to face what lies ahead, you must first face yourself,” the doppelganger replied. Its form shifted slightly, the edges shimmering like a mirage. “Only by finding your true strength can you withstand the trials yet to come.”

The doppelganger stepped aside, revealing a swirling portal that shimmered with an ominous, otherworldly light. “If you wish to uncover the truth behind all of this, step through. But know this. If you choose to stay, your body will succumb to the Underworld. You will remain here, trapped in this illusion, forever.”

Ikaro turned, glancing back at the farm one last time. The sight of it whole, alive, filled with the echoes of laughter and love etched itself into his mind. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he committed the memory to his heart.

Then, with a resolute nod, he turned to face the portal. “I’m ready,” he said firmly.

Without hesitation, Ikaro stepped forward, the light of the portal engulfing him as the world behind him faded into darkness the illusion breaking apart.