Potential • Shoto Todoroki

037. Haunted

2101

Lucy sat on the edge of her bed, staring out at the dark, hollow sky through a narrow window. The orange glow of the artificial sunset painted the world in a sickly light. 

She used to love the sunset, but now, looking at the over-saturated orange hues brought her nothing. Not even a sliver of happiness.

This was the routine—the endless cycle of days blending into one another. She had lost track of time. All she had now was the sensation of the relentless ache in her wings, the cold burn of her power, and the weight of her hatred.

All For One had ensured she would never forget who she was now: a weapon, forged by anger, refined by her suffering. He had promised her clarity, and in a way, she had found it. But it was a clarity drenched in the venom of revenge, like a poison spreading through her veins.

Every night, there were only two things she dreamed about—more memories being triggered and exposed of her younger self, and a disjointed, surreal vision of her past life at UA. The latter had become more and more common as she unlocked the majority of her hidden memories. In it, she stood in the middle of a battlefield, her wings blazing with light as she faced Shoto. But the details blurred as the dream continued, twisting her memories into a cruel mockery. Shoto wasn't her friend. He was the enemy, the one who had abandoned her, the reason she had fallen into the clutches of All For One.

Tonight, she felt it again—the pull of the dream, even before she closed her eyes. Her body ached, exhausted from the day's brutal training. Her back still stung from the latest punishment, the whip marks raw across her skin. She had failed to meet one of All For One's impossible expectations during a simulation, and the consequences were swift. But she didn't care about the pain anymore; it was familiar, a reminder of her new reality.

With a resigned sigh, Lucy lay down on her cot, her wings spreading out across the cold, hard mattress. The quiet hum of the fortress outside seeped through the walls, a constant reminder of her imprisonment. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered shut, and the nightmare began again.

In the dream, she was standing in a desolate wasteland. The sky was dark and twisted, swirling with angry clouds and flashes of lightning. The ground beneath her feet was cracked and dry, barren of any life. She looked down and saw her hands trembling with power—her quirk, radiant and wild, flaring out of control. But it wasn't her light. It was corrupted, darkened by the hatred she now carried within her.

Ahead of her, a figure stood silhouetted against the storm.

Todoroki.

He was watching her, his expression unreadable. The two of them were standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, and yet Lucy could feel the weight of his presence as though he were right beside her. His dual-colored hair, stark against the chaos around them, seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

But this wasn't the Shoto she remembered. This version of him was colder, more distant. His eyes were empty, devoid of the warmth she once thought she had glimpsed in them.

"You're too late," he said, his voice echoing across the void between them.

Lucy's heart pounded in her chest, her wings twitching involuntarily as her quirk responded to her rising anger.

"Too late for what?" she spat, her voice dripping with bitterness. "Too late to save myself? To save you?"

Shoto didn't answer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. The silence stretched on, suffocating in its weight.