Lethe'sPersonal DiariesAn Arknights Fanfiction Chronicle

“I'm an adult human mind in a Djall body, and the body is already betraying me.”

Rain on a Sydney window, an iPad face-down on the nightstand — and then an orange sky, hands that aren't mine, and a head crowded with everyone else's thoughts.

~1 hr read · 14,089 words

“There. That is a month. I have kept some of it.”

No entry survived February. Reconstructed from April: meal times, simulated daylight, changing engines, four hundred corridor walks — enough fragments to keep a month.

~5 min read · 112 words

“It isn't. The memory isn't hazy or distant; it's gone. A blank spot on the canvas.”

Rhodes Island hands me a name, a diagnosis and a routine. The hollow where a life used to be doesn't file away so neatly.

~1 hr read · 14,225 words

“It's just the Oripathy stringing nonsense together.”

A birthday in a high-security ward, lunch trays, and a body still learning to keep its balance with a tail. Small days, counted in small victories.

~25 min read · 6,057 words

“If I ever want them to believe me about anything again, I have to agree that the one true thing about me is a spot on my brain scan.”

Half a year on Terra. I hand the doctors the voice in my head, and they hand me back a diagnosis: the last person who remembers the rain is a symptom.

~20 min read · 4,427 words

“But today, for the first time since I woke up, Rhodes Island isn't moving.”

For the first time since I woke, the landship stops. The garden fills with people waiting on news that doesn't come.

~40 min read · 9,185 words

“Until the routine breaks. The 12th of September.”

Routine is a kind of shelter. It holds until the twelfth, and then it doesn't.

~10 min read · 2,500 words

“Her weight against me is nothing at all.”

Opal takes her first steps out of the ward, into a garden welcome, a board-game war over Columbia's financial district, and one small spark of warmth pushing back the cold.

~15 min read · 3,846 words

“Ace reaching down to ruffle my hair, telling me to eat more so I could keep up.”

The first year ends in weather, silence and an empty seat at the table — and in remembering people I am supposed to be finished grieving.

~50 min read · 11,410 words

“There's an entire world outside the landship that doesn't just taste of ash, cold copper, and fear.”

A new year turns over on a cafeteria clock with no celebration under it. A vigil ends, farewells are said, and a request made behind my back changes everything.

~1.5 hr read · 20,279 words

“At the top of the ramp I look out, and my feet stop.”

The ramps lower onto white stone and the landship spills into Trimounts: two days of shore leave, new clothes, and food I'm not allowed to eat.

~40 min read · 9,634 words

“I remember my promise to Miss Adele—that I wouldn't hide from the world, but step into it to understand it.”

Shore leave is over and the corridors are quiet again. What's left is training, paperwork, and the slow business of becoming useful.

~1 hr read · 13,240 words

“Fragile, but alive.”

Siesta: sand in every seam, and a family holiday that keeps circling back to insurance premiums and infected law.

~35 min read · 8,514 words

“The landship's reinforced bulkheads have sealed the ocean breeze away.”

The beaches already feel like a fever dream. Back aboard, the archives go quiet, the console lights up, and the drones come out.

~25 min read · 5,195 words

“It's terrifying when you can feel everything they're hiding, Lethe.”

Amiya's lesson about carrying other people's fear stops being theory the night someone needs me to hold theirs.

~35 min read · 8,293 words

“We sit there a long time, the silence of the landship's night cycle broken only by her wet hiccups.”

A ward, a monitor, and a month that fits into the space between two beeps.

~10 min read · 2,628 words

“I can't do it again.”

Winter creeps into the outer corridors while the Convalescent Garden stays warm. Rumours out of Victoria, a promise from Lisa, and an ambush by a very small crab.

~15 min read · 2,959 words

“I may eventually forget why I chose to love them so fiercely.”

Cold in the outer corridors, borrowed spring in the Convalescent Garden. The second year closes warmer than the first — and heavier.

~50 min read · 11,659 words

“But we can refuse to let them bleed to death in the dark.”

Two years on Terra, and I'm supposed to be fourteen. An encrypted log of the people I refuse to forget, and a birthday counted against the Oripathy.

~2 hr read · 24,256 words

“Her strides are even, without the dragging limp that plagued her for weeks.”

A shark plushie, an unwinnable puzzle game, and a mother whose limp is finally gone. The longest month I've written, and the gentlest — right up until it isn't.

~2.5 hr read · 36,716 words

“She believes I am another box of freight.”

A new Arts Unit, a goodbye at the cafeteria door — and then a freight run that mistakes me for cargo and carries me into Siracusa.

~55 min read · 12,175 words

“For the first time in what feels like forever, Rhodes Island is at peace.”

Peace, for once: plushies standing honour guard, quiet shifts in the Convalescent Garden, and lessons with Miss Adele while the landship sails light.

~1 hr read · 14,310 words

“We do not leave people to bleed out in the dark, no matter who they are or what they've done.”

First real deployment. Maps, requisition forms, and then open plains — Lisa, Podenco, Mint and Miss Susie under a sky that doesn't belong to the landship.

~2 hr read · 28,424 words

“I can't let my friends stain their hands with the blood of desperate people, and I can't let these rebels walk out of here carrying the iron that will get them all killed.”

Dawn over the camp, a watch rotation that finally lets me sleep, and a job that has to be finished without anyone bleeding for it.

~35 min read · 8,562 words

“I open my eyes, looking at my friends to ground myself.”

The bay doors seal, the engines hum underfoot, and two familiar silhouettes are waiting at the gate. Then absolute, pitch-black darkness swallows me.

~1 hr read · 15,525 words

“The dates stop at September. The current month.”

A ruined lobby, a broken piano, a calendar that stops dead at this month — and soldiers standing at attention for someone wearing my face.

~2 hr read · 29,827 words

“Okay. Together.”

White ceilings and life-support monitors. Lisa comes in smelling of crystallised sugar, and the slow work of coming back begins.

~40 min read · 8,866 words

“But Lethe… Lethe is the girl who found a home in the Convalescent Garden.”

Legs dangling off a ward bed on the second of December, an Arts Unit humming on the tray, and Dr. Warfarin with news I'm not ready for.

~1 hr read · 14,047 words

“Not tonight. Not immediately. Not a schedule someone else built for me.”

Back at work in the Convalescent Garden, I try to find my footing in a life I no longer remember. Then a delivery with Penguin Logistics takes me to Lungmen, where a night out turns dangerous.

~1.5 hr read · 23,666 words