White.

  Endless.

  The impossible stillness stretched without breath or boundary. The color of memory stripped to bone, of silence drawn fine as wire and twice as cruel. Akasha opened her eyes slowly, aware immediately of the Entity beside her, his hand slipping silently from her shoulder. They stood not in the void they had left—but elsewhere, relocated effortlessly by his will.

  He raised that same hand again—but not to touch.

  With a motion as fluid as thought, he swept his fingers across the empty space.

  And the void reversed.

  Like ink flowing backward onto parchment, the white retreated, peeling itself away from the edges of reality. Lines emerged where there had been none—shadowed rooftops, riverlight, the glint of distant spires. Color bled in slow, trembling waves: first grey, then gold, then the full spectrum of a world restored. The sound returned last, soft and reluctant—the breeze stirring, water lapping, and somewhere, the hush of breath.

  Akasha's skin prickled at the memory of his touch—cold, deliberate, ancient. Her gaze remained partly tethered to the Entity, vigilant of every subtle motion, every faint shift in his stance. He watched Veladros unfold around them with quiet intensity, a faint, unreadable smile playing across his lips.

  Then, softly, bells tolled.

  One. Two. Three.

  Pure notes, unmarred and gentle. They rang like careful promises through the reborn Veladros, shimmering quietly into silence. The city breathed as if waking from a long sleep.

  They were at the gates of Veladros, beside the shimmering Drelm River.

  Elena stood alone by the river’s edge, fingers brushing absently against the locket at her throat. Akasha watched closely as Elena’s eyes traced the glittering current of the Drelm, quiet nostalgia flickering across her features. Then Elena turned, heading toward the heart of the square.

  Ahead, Jonas stood beneath the east tower's crooked arch, arms crossed, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. Lily clung gently to one arm, while Thomas waved eagerly.

  Elena’s step quickened slightly, warmth brightening her eyes as she approached her family. Akasha felt a subtle ache at the tenderness of the reunion, quietly noting every soft exchange and gentle laughter.

  Jonas nodded toward the bakery nestled between a velvet-draped tailor and a flickering apothecary, its windows glowing with honeyed warmth. "See? Told you it’d still be open."

  The bell above the bakery door chimed softly as the family stepped inside. Akasha lingered just outside, watching through fogged glass as Jonas purchased pastries, Lily and Thomas eagerly pointing at their favorites.

  Moments later, they emerged carrying their pastries. Elena sat on a worn stone bench beside Jonas, Lily, and Thomas, sunlight warm against their faces. They laughed, comfortably unaware of observers.

  Jonas gently brushed sugar from Thomas's cheek, his eyes soft, filled with quiet joy. Lily sat cross-legged on the bench, sketchbook balanced on her knees, her tongue poking out in quiet concentration as she drew. Her little fingers smudged charcoal lines across the page, wholly absorbed in the scene before her. Elena watched them all, smiling softly, a tenderness in her expression Akasha had never seen before.

  Akasha's chest tightened subtly at the unguarded intimacy of the moment.

  Then Elena’s smile faltered as Jonas spoke.

  "You’re leaving again tomorrow, aren’t you?"

  Elena stiffened visibly. "Don’t start."

  Akasha felt the warmth in the air shift, the gentle dream wavering slightly, tension pulling threads taut beneath the memory’s fabric.

  "We agreed—one week on, one week off," Jonas said quietly. "It’s been three."

  Elena's voice sharpened, guarded. "I don’t have a choice."

  "You do," Jonas replied softly. "You just don’t like it."

  Elena rose abruptly, crumbs drifting from her coat. "You think I want to be away? Missing bedtime stories and scraped knees and the quiet things I’ll never get back?"

  Jonas stood, face heavy with a quiet hurt. "I think you’re used to it. And I’m tired of watching them grow up alone."

  Lily shrank back slightly against Thomas, eyes wide and uncertain. Thomas clung tighter to Jonas’s sleeve.

  "I’m doing this for them," Elena said quietly, voice fraying at the edges.

  Jonas sighed. "And what if all they want is you?"

  Elena turned away. "I need a minute."

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  "Elena—"

  "Take them home. I’ll follow."

  Jonas hesitated, then nodded slowly, eyes lowered in quiet resignation. "Come on, kids."

  Lily glanced back once, uncertainty clouding her expression, before following obediently.

  Elena stood silently, shoulders drawn tight. She turned back toward the river—the only place that still felt like hers. Her steps were slow, uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure whether she was walking away or simply delaying the inevitable. The sound of water soothed nothing, but she needed the stillness. She needed the space to breathe.

  By the bank, she stared into the current. The locket at her throat caught a glint of twilight, and her fingers found it again, tracing its familiar edges. She whispered something—not a name, not a prayer, but a breath of regret—and watched it vanish into the mist.

  Only when the sky began to darken at the edges of memory did she turn, at last, and begin the walk home.

  Akasha followed, carefully.

  The mist thickened subtly, pressing closer around them. Akasha studied Elena’s quiet progress, continually aware of the Entity, who moved with silent, measured steps at her side, gaze fixed intently forward.

  A girl passed by carrying kindling, face upturned and laughing as rain whispered across her skin. Akasha observed quietly, sensing something hidden beneath the sweetness.

  Ahead, applause echoed quietly—steady, rhythmic, familiar. Akasha turned slightly, seeing a man applauding warmly as a small dog balanced playfully on its hind legs, spinning in excited circles while children laughed nearby. Akasha paused briefly, recognizing the cadence from her entry into Elena’s mind, feeling a subtle hesitation she quickly suppressed. Her eyes flicked momentarily toward the Entity, whose expression remained calmly neutral, almost expectant.

  Across the street, beneath an awning, a woman quietly sewed a blue dress. A child slept peacefully beside her. Akasha observed without reaction, allowing the strangeness to settle within her thoughts.

  Elena moved quietly toward home. But when she reached the cracked stone steps, she stopped cold. The door was ajar. A sliver of golden light spilled out across the threshold—too warm, too inviting, too wrong.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled into a trembling fist at her side. The locket at her neck felt like ice.

  She took one step closer.

  Then another.

  Her hand reached forward, hovering just above the doorframe. It shook, ever so slightly, betraying the steadiness she tried to force into her body.

  A metallic scent hung in the air—copper and something older. Her breathing came faster now, shallow and uneven.

  She stood frozen, poised at the edge of memory, unwilling to cross it—and knowing she must.

  She pushed the door open.

  Inside, stillness lingered.

  A chair knocked over. A cracked plate abandoned in the corner. Elena walked forward, movements hesitant yet inevitable.

  Akasha’s breath tightened in her throat. Her eyes drifted momentarily toward the Entity, who watched Elena with quiet, intense interest. Something in his expression had shifted subtly—sadness, perhaps, or quiet satisfaction.

  Elena moved down the hallway, pausing only briefly at a streak of red smeared across the wall, resisting the urge to acknowledge it.

  She reached the kitchen, the source of the soft, wavering light. The room was in shambles. One of the shelves had collapsed, its contents scattered—shattered jars, overturned bowls, flour dusting the blood-slick floor like snow. A chair lay broken against the far wall, legs splintered outward as if thrown. The scent of burnt sugar clung to the air, thick and nauseating.

  The chaos told a story the silence refused to speak.

  Jonas lay sprawled on the floor, one hand stretched weakly toward the children, as if trying to reach them even in death. Lily sat slumped against the wall, small and broken, her sketchbook still clutched loosely in one bloodied hand. The drawing on the page was smudged and torn, red soaked into the edges—a child’s attempt at a family portrait, now stained beyond recognition. Thomas lay too still nearby, his small body curled unnaturally on its side, one arm twisted beneath him. His toy sword lay shattered beside him, the hilt snapped clean in two.

  Elena staggered into the middle of the ruin, her breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. Her gaze darted from Jonas to Lily, then to Thomas—and broke. Her knees gave out beneath her, and she collapsed where she stood, as if the weight of the sight alone had crushed her. She did not reach for anyone, not at first. She simply knelt, lost in the center of her shattered world, eyes wide and unblinking, unable to choose where to grieve first. The Entity's voice came quietly, coldly amused. "She returned unto her dwelling to find her kin cruelly slain; neither reason given nor foe upon whom to cast blame, thus did she lay fault upon herself. In dire anguish did her mind veil the grievous truth, fashioning instead visions of her husband fallen nobly upon the borderlands, and her children unharmed, awaiting her return at hearth and home."

  A strangled sound escaped Elena's throat—a soft, broken cry, barely human, closer to a wounded animal's whimper. Her body shook gently, uncontrollably, hands fluttering helplessly as if unsure where to land or how to hold onto the reality crumbling around her.

  Akasha watched from the threshold, feeling Elena’s agony resonate through the air, thickening with each passing moment.

  Behind them, the kitchen light dimmed softly.

  The house exhaled—a slow, aching sigh.

  Then, subtly at first, memory began to bleed.

  The walls trembled. The floor rippled softly beneath Elena’s knees.

  Akasha felt the distortion before she saw it—the room shifting quietly, details blurring and sharpening randomly, reality faltering like a heart skipping beats.

  She glanced sharply toward the Entity.

  He raised his hand slowly, and immediately, the shifting chaos halted. The distortions stilled, freezing in place like cracks suspended in ice.

  "Yet now her mind striveth again to erase the truth," the Entity murmured coldly, observing Elena's trembling form with detached fascination. "'Tis more than she can bear. Yet that, we cannot permit, can we?"

  He turned, locking eyes with Akasha. Under his steady gaze, the memory began to stabilize once more, reality solidifying around them, cruelly vivid and unyielding.

  “She shall now remember,” he murmured, his voice cold as the grave, steeped in stillness ancient and cruel. “Let her remember. Let her drink deep of sorrow unmasked, and feel upon her soul the full weight of what was lost. For what is memory, but a chain 'round the neck of the grieving? Forgetfulness is mercy. A mercy I shall not grant again—all thanks to thee.”

  He stared into her soul, gaze heavy with judgment.

  “Dost thou still contend I erred?”

  Akasha’s wings tightened subtly. Guilt curled low in her gut, bitter and familiar. Doubt whispered at the edges of her thoughts, sharp and unwelcome. For all her power, she could not unmake what Elena now saw. And for the first time in centuries, a flicker of fear stirred in her—not for herself, but for what this moment might do to the girl kneeling before her. Elena knelt, unmoving, unseeing, lost in quiet horror.

  Akasha stepped forward, carefully. But as she moved, the house shifted again—growing colder, darker, reality fracturing quietly like glass beneath pressure.

  Akasha stood frozen at the threshold, watching helplessly as Elena pulled her children into her arms, rocking gently back and forth, her screams breaking into fragmented sobs. The sound tore through the quiet, raw and shattered, echoing endlessly through the memory.