Digimon Adventure Tri: Echo

29) Empty Unfamiliarity

Odaiba was barely familiar. 

It had only been a day since the attacks took place, and yet, it was terrifying how much had changed in the eyes of the Chosen Children. There were many dents in the streets from where large attacks had made contact with the ground, and some of the buildings within the city were starting to struggle because of the damage that they had sustained. The Chosen Children had done their best to keep the city from being hit too hard by the Digimon invasion, but there was only so much that they could do given that there were so few of them. Even if there were others with Digimon, it wasn't exactly uncommon for other Chosen Children to choose a life of peace with their Digimon. After all, there were enough of them where not everybody had to fight all the time, and while that had been fine previously, it seemed like a grave mistake as the Chosen Children acknowledged the city around them. 

It was still standing though, and that had to count for something. The markings of the past few years of their lives were still present, albeit distorted under the influence of the attacks. It was strange how everything was recognizable but unfamiliar at the same time, some strange uncanny valley between newfound curiosity and melancholy nostalgia. The Chosen Children didn't say much of anything on the matter, but the unanimous agreement in the silence was that they never wanted to see something along these lines ever again. 

The journey back to Odaiba had taken place as soon as they all woke up from their rest in the Digital World. Daigo and Maki were the ones to rouse everyone from slumber, and it became a belated realization that Daigo had been the one to take over the lookout shift throughout the whole night rather than switching out with anybody. The worst part of such a revelation was the fact that Daigo barely even looked different compared to how he normally did, as if his eyes had just barely started to be influenced more by the outward effects of newfound exhaustion. Everything about him seemed to be mostly the same, but there was some sense of reminiscence that lived at the corners of his existence all of a sudden. His smiles were almost terrifying in how blatantly they were made of nothing more than lies. 

The Chosen Children had decided to go their separate ways after getting back to Odaiba, knowing that their families were looking for them with the attacks taken care of. The whirlwind of activity had kept them from being able to apologize to their parents for randomly disappearing, meaning that they all had quite a bit of explaining to do to the rest of their families. Their parents likely had at least an inkling as to what was happening given the circumstances, but that still did little to lessen the immediate impact of feeling apologetic for something that they could no longer alter. After all, that mistake was in the past, and they had to focus on what was in the present and future. 

The process of bringing all of the people back into the city was slow, and it seemed to be almost excruciating as residents of Odaiba made their ways back to their homes and surveyed whatever damage had been left behind. The streets were both chaotic and barren at the same time, a constant screaming of static that was dulled into the background simultaneously. It was an odd paradox, and as Takeru walked back to the apartment he shared with his mother, he found himself thinking about how oddly poetic this was. He was a storyteller, after all, and this would certainly make for an interesting tale one day. 

Miyako and Iori had decided to go to the Inoue family convenience store to pick up a bit of food before returning home, but Takeru was simply too exhausted from the battles to stray too far from his apartment. He yawned, raising one hand to cover his mouth. Patamon held tightly to the edges of his hat to stay balanced on top of his head. The weight was familiar and comforting, and Takeru allowed his fingers to trail up so that Patamon could nudge at them gently with his wings. It was a small motion, but Takeru needed the sense of relief as much as possible, so he embraced it with everything that he had.