It struck him first through his bones. Every joint, every limb, felt like it had been redrafted, a discordant symphony of sharp edges and molten weight. Light pierced his eyelids, a silver-hot glow that made his skull pound in accordance with some invisible drum. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath scraping against the raw edges of his lungs, as if the air itself had been sharpened.
His arms quivered when he lifted them, and the ground beneath him was foreign... It was rough, jagged, yet oddly alive, pressing upward as if it knew the shape of his small body. His stomach knotted and churned with the memory of being thrown, yet every nerve burned with a sensation that was not entirely pain, something more intimate, more profound, like the body itself was remembering an old fracture, a past trauma that had been buried too deep to name.
A metallic tang filled his mouth, thick and stubborn, clinging to his tongue as the taste of blood mingled with dust. The world swayed, tilting under a sun that glared and an air that whispered strange promises he could not understand. Sounds arrived in fragments... A bird's shrill cry, distant voices carried on the wind, the crackle of unseen flames.
His thoughts were shards, sharp and scattered, a mirror of the agony thrumming through him. Every step toward uprightness sent jolts spiraling up his spine. Yet beneath the chaos, beneath the fire and weight, a singular clarity shimmered: he had survived. Somehow, he had survived.
The wind shifted, carrying a warmth that cut through the acrid tang of dust and smoke. Movement at the edge of his vision drew his attention. Figures emerged from the blur of heat and haze, their steps careful, measured, yet urgent. One small shadow reached him first, tentative and trembling, stretching a hand that seemed to glow with quiet courage. There was a rhythm to her motion, a pulse that spoke of familiarity he could not place, as if he'd forgotten something, something important.
Behind her came another, taller, broader in presence, carrying a weight of quiet authority that bent the world around her, shaping it with every step. The air seemed to bend toward her, carrying a scent of earth and fire, a mixture of discipline and care. Even from a distance, her gaze was a tether, pulling at something deep inside him, stirring a recognition he could not name.
The small hand brushed against his, tentative but insistent. Warmth poured into him, grounding him in the chaos, easing the fire that roared through his bones. The larger figure's eyes scanned him, sharp yet soft, a combination of worry and resolve that filled the spaces he did not know existed in himself.
The smaller figure hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned fully toward him. Her movement was careful, deliberate, as though the world itself might shatter if she rushed. When she spoke, the voice was soft but carried through the haze, threading into the rawness in his chest.
"Brother… Arg, are you alright?"
The words trembled slightly, the syllables hung in the air, and he felt them press against his bones, a strange vibration that resonated deeper than thought or memory.
Her posture shifted, knees bending slightly as she leaned forward, tilting her head in a question that was equal parts concern and inquiry. Her eyes, bright and unflinching, held a light that seemed to push against the storm inside him, teasing his scattered senses into focus.
"Veyra, I am alright," he croaked, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper.
The word lingered in the air. Veyra. It sounded familiar and strange at once, a name tethered to something deep in the recesses of his mind, but he could not place it. The syllables echoed against the chaos in his chest, pulling at a memory just beyond reach, like a melody half-remembered in a dream.
His gaze lingered on her, tracing the fragile outlines that made her real. She was small, impossibly so, a figure that could almost have been carried by the wind. Even standing upright, her presence was delicate, light on the earth.
Her hair fell in a cascade behind her, a pale stream that caught the sunlight and turned it into silver. It shimmered as she moved, glinting with each tilt of her head, each hesitant step toward him. The strands swirled around her shoulders like mist curling over a river.
Another voice spoke, steadier, carrying warmth, but behind it was both authority and a weaker sense of dread.
"Arg… it is alright. You have made it through," the voice said, calm yet threaded with relief. Each word seemed to settle the storm raging inside him, brushing through the chaos in his chest like a tide pulling jagged shards into place.
He turned toward the source. She was taller, broader, yet moved with the same delicate grace as Veyra, as if the same light had been magnified and strengthened. Her hair fell in long, silvery waves, thick and flowing past her shoulders, catching the sunlight in gentle glimmers that reminded him of Veyra's own strands but with weight and presence behind them.
Her eyes met his, bright and unwavering, luminous with warmth but edged with unshakable resolve. The air seemed to respond to her presence, brushing against him like a protective current, soft yet unyielding. There was a sense of power in her stillness, a force tempered by care, and a tether formed within him, connecting him to something older than memory.
He swallowed, the metallic tang still clinging to his mouth, and forced words past the tightness in his chest. His voice was raw, uncertain, carrying the tremor of both pain and confusion.
"I… cant... I can't remember," he said, each word deliberate, yet faltering. "Everything… it's gone."
Veyra's hand tightened slightly around nothing, as if she were holding onto him through the air itself. Her eyes widened, a flash of alarm crossing her delicate features, but she did not speak immediately. She simply let him find his voice, giving him space to grapple with the haze that clouded his mind.
"It's alright, Arg," she said finally, her voice low but firm. "You've been through something… extraordinary. That memory, that pain… it will come back when it is ready. For now, just know you are safe."
He tried to nod, but his movements were clumsy, unpracticed. The world still tilted around him, colors smearing in the edges of his vision, sounds reaching him in uneven waves.
"I… I'm sorry," he murmured, almost to himself. "I should know you… I just… I can't."