The last guardian: Rise of Ethan Wilson

"Love doesn't die when forgotten. It screams from the shadows of your soul."

The cold glow of fluorescent lights pressed down on Natalie like a physical weight. She woke gasping, her skin slick with sweat, chest rising and falling like a broken wave. Her heart thundered — wild, erratic — as if trying to escape from the cage of her ribs.

Her fingers trembled as they pressed to the hollow where her heart should have been, but the emptiness inside felt like an abyss — deep, dark, and terrifyingly vast.

Why was she so afraid?

Why did it feel like something had been pulled out of her?

She forced herself upright, legs shaky as she stumbled toward the cracked mirror on the sterile wall.

Her reflection stared back — exhausted, fragile — but beyond the tired eyes, a darkness flickered. A shadow she couldn't chase away.

She whispered, voice thin and trembling:

"…Ethan."

The name floated out, a fragile beacon lost in the fog of her mind. It was distant, blurred, as if a voice calling through a dream she couldn't quite reach.

Morty was the first to notice the change.

"Natalie? Hey—are you okay?"

She blinked slowly, eyes glassy, like a sleepwalker caught in sunlight.

"Did we… Did Ethan and I ever… stand in the rain?" Her voice barely a whisper, haunted.

Morty scratched his head. "Uh… dude? How should I know? You're the memory sponge in love with celestial Jesus!"

Before Morty could crack another joke, Rick stormed in, wielding two strange devices in one hand and a battered pipe wrench in the other, like a battle commander heading to war.

"She's hit phase two memory fade," Rick said grimly, eyes sharp beneath heavy brows. "Calyx's cut went deeper than we thought."

He activated one of the devices, sending a harsh green beam rippling over Natalie's temples.

[Cognitive echo detected – Memory compression at 34%. Emotional anchors flickering.]

Rick's face darkened, his usual sarcasm drained by real worry.

"If we don't fix this soon… she'll forget why she ever fought beside him."

Far from the chaos, in the cold sterility of the Avengers' medical bay, Ethan sat alone on a white bench, hands shaking as they clutched a faded photo.

The picture was simple — him and Natalie, laughing in the soft glow of a summer afternoon, the world behind them blurred and forgotten.

But as he stared, the moment slipped away like water through his fingers.

He didn't remember that day.

He didn't remember her laugh.

His throat tightened, a single tear carving a path down his cheek.

"I'm supposed to protect her..." His voice cracked.

Another tear escaped.

"...and I can't even remember her laugh."

Tony Stark entered, quiet but steady, his usual sarcasm replaced by a rare softness.

"Memory trauma's a bitch, kid. But pain like this? Means you still care. You haven't lost her completely."

Ethan's voice was barely a whisper:

"What if I do?"

Tony's hand settled firmly on Ethan's shoulder.

"Then you fight to remember."

Natalie wandered the cold, sterile halls of Rick's bunker, each step heavier than the last.

Drawn by a fragile thread of sound — a faint melody drifting like a ghost — she found herself before a small forgotten room.

Inside, a flickering hologram came to life.

There they were: young versions of her and Ethan, drenched in rain, laughter spilling free like sunshine breaking through storm clouds.

The broken watch on her wrist ticked softly.

"I'd stop time if it meant staying beside you."

The words hit her like a tidal wave, crashing down and shattering the fog around her mind.

She collapsed to her knees, tears spilling freely.

"I remember..."

And a whisper echoed in her ear:

[Anchor spark reignited – 41% emotional bond restored]

[Warning: Thread unstable – Time fragment required]

Rick grabbed Ethan's arm, dragging him through a swirling portal into the heart of the lab.

"We've got one shot," Rick said, handing them neural-link visors. "You two are diving into a memory construct. No rules. No logic. Just raw, bleeding emotion."

Ethan's eyes locked on Natalie's, desperate and searching.

"…Do you remember me?"

She hesitated — then nodded, small but fierce.

"Not everything. But enough."

Together, they donned the visors — and fell, hand in hand, into the endless depths of memory.

They stood in the quiet of a rain-soaked street — teenage ghosts of themselves, drenched in laughter and light.

Natalie tilted her head, eyes bright and searching.

"Why a broken watch?"

Ethan smiled gently, the rain washing away the years between them.

"Because the best moments shouldn't move forward."

Her laugh was soft, real — a balm to the soul.

"I don't want to forget this."

"You won't."

Watching from the edge of memory, the real Ethan's eyes widened.

"…I remember this."

Beside him, real Natalie whispered:

"So do I."

Far away, Calyx hovered above a glowing gateway.

Beyond it—the universe of the X-Men.

Her voice, void and cold:

"Unweave the destined. Break the mutant line."

Her fingers flexed, bending time with lethal precision.

The portal pulsed open.

Pain's shadow whispered behind her:

"Ethan will chase. That's what anchors do."

Ethan and Natalie ripped off their visors, breathless and trembling.

He spoke first, voice raw and honest:

"I'm sorry I forgot."

She smiled, steady and sure.

"You didn't. Not really."

[Emotional Anchor Reconnected: 94% Stability Restored]

[New Skill Unlocked: Celestial Heartlink — Ability to connect emotional memories across dimensions]

Rick sighed theatrically.

"Great. Love wins again. Can we please go blow something up now?"

Morty nodded enthusiastically.

"Can it be the Unweaver? She creeps me out, dude."

Ethan stood, eyes burning with fierce resolve.

"She's going for the mutants next. I won't let her."

He reached for Natalie's hand.

"Come with me."

Natalie smiled warmly.

"Always."