The sun had barely risen when the young boy stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips. Elara, who had stayed up most of the night watching over him, immediately leaned in. His eyes fluttered open—bright, stormy gray, touched with the faint glow of magic. He blinked, confusion flickering across his face.
"You're safe," Elara said gently, offering him a waterskin. "Drink slowly."
He took it with trembling hands and sipped. When he tried to sit up, Ronan was already there, steadying him with a firm grip on his shoulder.
"Easy," Ronan said. "You were unconscious for nearly a day."
The boy's gaze darted between the three of them—Elara, Ronan, Taryn—before finally settling back on Elara. "Where… where am I?"
"In the woods near the edge of the Dawnmere Ridge," Elara replied. "We found you by the road, wounded and mumbling in a language few remember."
At that, something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty, perhaps fear. He clutched at his chest instinctively, searching for something, but found only bandages.
"Do you remember anything?" Taryn asked, crouching beside him. "Your name, where you came from?"
He hesitated, jaw tightening. "No. At least… not much."
Elara sat back on her heels. "Nothing?"
He shook his head slowly. "I remember waking up in a village three years ago. I was already injured then, too. The people there said I was alone, barely alive. A healer took care of me, and a woman there—she called me Kaenen. Said it meant ash reborn in their tongue." He offered a faint, sad smile. "The name stuck. I've gone by it ever since."
Ronan exchanged a look with Elara. "And before that? Nothing?"
Kaenen's brows drew together in frustration. "Just fragments. Sounds. A woman singing in a strange tongue. Fire. Cold stone. And then… nothing."
"You speak Eldorian," Elara said softly.
"I… do?" His eyes widened, clearly surprised. "I didn't know the words. They just… come when I dream. Like echoes I can't quite reach."
Taryn frowned. "Then what happened this time? Why were you out there on the road alone? And who did this to you?"
Kaenen's expression darkened. "I was searching. I didn't know what for exactly, but something was pulling me. A voice, a feeling… it kept telling me I needed to find someone. Something important."
He looked directly at Elara now, and though his eyes were still uncertain, there was a strange recognition within them—like his soul knew hers, even if his mind did not.
"I wandered too far," he continued. "And then they came. Hooded men. They didn't ask questions. Just attacked. Their magic… it was twisted. Hungry."
"Like the ones who ambushed me," Taryn said, her voice low and tense.
Ronan nodded grimly. "And the ones we've fought before."
Elara leaned forward. "They're after me. Us. This quest we're on—it's tied to something much older. Something dangerous. If they attacked you, then you're part of this, Kaenen. Somehow."
Kaenen lowered his gaze, processing everything. "I don't know why. I only know I had to keep moving, even if I didn't understand where the road led."
"It led to us," Elara said softly. "And that can't be coincidence."
Taryn exhaled and leaned back on her hands. "So now we've got a memory-lost mage kid possibly speaking a dead language and targeted by our favorite mysterious assassins. Lovely."
Kaenen managed a small smile. "Sorry for the trouble."
Elara shook her head. "You're not trouble. You're a piece of the puzzle."
"Then let me help," Kaenen said suddenly, the quiet resolve in his voice surprising even himself. "I don't know who I was, but maybe I can find out by walking this road with you."
Ronan glanced toward Elara. "It's your call."
She studied Kaenen for a long moment. Her instincts, her magic—they weren't alarmed by him. If anything, they reached out toward him, as if trying to reawaken something buried.
"Alright, Kaenen," Elara said finally. "You can come with us. But know this—we're not just chasing rumors. We're chasing the truth. And it could change everything."
Kaenen's gaze held hers, unwavering. "Then it's the right road."
And with that, their party grew by one more lost soul, bound by threads of fate yet unseen.
The shard around Elara's neck pulsed once more, like a heartbeat, as if acknowledging that another piece of the past had returned to them.
The days that followed were long and harsh.
As they journeyed toward the next shard, the land around them began to shift again. The once familiar forests gave way to cracked stone and dry winds. The sun was high and merciless, and the earth below their feet felt dead—bleached bones of a once-living world.
The land they entered was lifeless—an arid desert with strange formations, petrified coral, fossilized sea creatures half-buried in sand.
It was Ronan who first spotted the oddity. "These rocks…" he muttered, brushing dust from a cluster of calcified shells embedded in the stone. "They're coral."
Taryn knelt beside him, running her fingers over the delicate formations. "But this is a desert."
"Wasn't always," Kaenen said, looking out toward the distant shimmer of heat. "This used to be a seabed."
Once, long ago, this place had been alive.
"This was an ocean," Ronan said, crouching beside a fossilized shell embedded in the stone. "You can see the waterline there. And the salt in the air… it's faint, but it's there."
"A graveyard of sea and time," Elara murmured, looking around. "Something happened here. Something terrible." Elara remained quiet, but the shard in her possession began to pulse.
They followed its pull until they reached a deep basin nestled between jagged cliffs. No ruins. No temple. Just sun-baked earth and fossilized remnants of ocean life. And yet, the moment Elara stepped forward, the air shimmered with that now-familiar resistance.
A hidden barrier.
With a pulse of light from the shard, the barrier broke.
And the world around them vanished.
Suddenly, they were no longer in the arid basin—but standing in the heart of a vibrant coastal city. Verdant jungles stretched behind them, and in front, a sprawling sea glistened like molten glass. Colorful birds flew overhead. Children laughed in the distance. The scent of salt and jasmine filled the air.
It was beautiful.
It was alive.
And in the center of it all stood four familiar figures.
Past Elara, her presence radiant and commanding. Past Taryn beside her, braided hair whipping in the wind, her stance relaxed but ready. Caelan stood on Elara's other side, his arm lightly brushing hers, and beside him, Ronan—taller, younger, eyes sharp and always watching.
They were speaking with a merman.
He was tall and regal, the upper half of his body humanoid, adorned in shimmering sea-green scales. His long hair floated behind him as if suspended in water even though he stood solidly on land. His eyes were old, impossibly deep, like the sea itself.
"We don't ask for allegiance," past Elara said. "Only aid."
The merman's eyes narrowed. "And I ask—why should the sea care for the land's wars?"
"Because it won't end on land," past Ronan interjected. "You know that. The darkness won't stop at your shores."
"We fight not just for survival," Caelan added, "but for the balance of the world. Of all realms."
Past Taryn stepped forward. "Your people are wise. You've seen what's coming. You know we're right."
The merman looked at each of them, lingering last on Elara.
Then he shook his head. "Wisdom also means knowing when to stay out of things not meant for us. The sea has survived countless wars. We will survive this one too. I'm sorry."
And just like that, he turned and dove into the water, disappearing in a splash of silver scales.
As the merman vanished beneath the waves, his final refusal echoing in the air, the illusion trembled—like a fragile memory unraveling.
The brilliant colors of the sea and sky darkened, fading into hues of storm and shadow. The air thickened. The laughter was gone.
The illusion shifted.
They were still by the sea, but it was no longer a place of beauty—it was a battlefield.
The first image that formed was of past Taryn.
She stood bloodied but defiant, shielding Elara with her own body as waves of shadowy figures surged forward. Her blade flickered with the last vestiges of light as she shouted for Elara to run. But a spear found her side. Then another. She dropped to her knees, turning one last time to smile at Elara before she fell—light dimming in her eyes.
The illusion warped again.
Ronan now. In a ruined keep, his cloak torn and soaked with blood, past Ronan fought desperately, surrounded. He shouted warnings, a blade in each hand, covering the retreat of his comrades. A blade pierced his chest. He collapsed, his last breath a vow to protect—cut short.
The scene flickered again.
Caelan.
The moon hung high, silver and cold. He stood before Elara, disheveled, rage and sorrow battling in his eyes. "You shouldn't have come," he whispered, voice broken. She reached for him, but he recoiled—and then, in a fit of anguish, his hands wrapped around her throat.
The image froze for a beat too long, their faces inches apart—hers full of heartbreak, his twisted with pain.
Then it shattered again.
A battlefield. Fire. Screams.
Caelan fought through waves of hooded assassins, searching. Calling her name. But he was too late. A blade—familiar, jagged, and cursed—pierced his back. He turned, staggered, but the hooded man offered no words—only a final blow.
Caelan collapsed.
And far behind him, Elara screamed.
She crawled toward him, her white gown dragging through blood and ash. Her arms wrapped around his lifeless form. Her cries shook the world—or it felt that way.
Then something in her broke.
She rose slowly, eyes hollow. Her skin, once glowing with warmth, paled. Her hands trembled. Her golden aura dulled to cold silver. And when she looked up… her gaze was no longer the gaze of the woman they knew.
There was no mercy in it.
No hope.
Only the haunted gaze of a soul ripped too many times from what it loved.
The illusion ended with a final pulse of magic that threw the present-day Elara, Taryn, Ronan, and Kaenen back to the dry, barren land.
Silence.
The four of them stood in the middle of the basin, breathless. Distant winds howled between the cliffs.
Kaenen took a step back, his face pale.
"That… was me," he whispered. "All of it. I was Caelan."
Elara didn't move. Her hand still trembled where the shard had floated, now nestled in her palm. Her eyes were distant, hollow, just like in the vision. Taryn gently touched her shoulder.
"Elara…?"
She blinked.
Kaenen stepped forward, pained. "I remember you now. All of you. I remember how much I loved you. How I lost you."
Ronan was silent, jaw tight. Taryn looked between them, trying to find the right words—but there were none.
Elara finally looked at Kaenen. "I tried to save you."
"And I failed you," he whispered.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she held his gaze. "We have another chance."
Ronan exhaled. "And this time, we don't fall."
Elara nodded slowly. The shard in her hand glowed softly, then settled into place beside the others forming a more defined sigil over her skin.
Three shards.
One left.
But none of them would be the same after what they saw.
Their past was no longer fragments.
It was memory.
And it was pain.