Silence lingered after Navir's whisper.
"Someone erased themselves."
Ardavan shifted first, breaking it. "That's not possible," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. "Memories don't just… delete."
"Well, nothing's impossible," Tarefin replied quietly.
"Technically speaking." Samaveh added.
Navir turned to him. "What makes you say that?"
Tarefin raised his head slightly, eyes gleaming. "I told you, the wasteland doesn't kill. It erases your consciousness." He said, indignance etched in his tone.
Samaveh's arms folded tighter. "A mental annihilation."
"A ruthless one." Tarefin said
Ardavan dragged a hand down his face. "Then how did we come back?"
"You were anchored," Tarefin said.
"By what?" he asked.
Tarefin's red eyes lifted. "By pain. Names. By someone who refused to let go."
Navir frowned. "But I don't remember anyone pulling me."
"That's the cost," Tarefin said. "If someone crosses too far to retrieve another, the wasteland demands balance."
Samaveh went still. "You mean?"
"Whatever crosses that far," Tarefin said. "doesn't return either."
Navir's chest tightened. "So someone saved us… and paid for it."
Tarefin gave a curt nod.
Turning to Navir, Ardavan swallowed. "Then the gap in your memory…"
"Is proof," Tarefin cut in.
Footsteps echoed faintly outside again.
Samaveh exhaled slowly. "We're alive because someone chose to disappear."
Navir closed his eyes, exhaling calmly.
"And the wasteland," he said, voice low, "is still keeping score."
__________________________
They gathered closer, voices low, as if the space itself listened.
"Anchors," Samaveh said first. "Meaningful ones. Names. Promises. Unfinished things."
Ardavan nodded. "Pain helps. Not injury, purposeful pain. Something sharp enough to pull you back."
"A spoken memory," Navir added. "Out loud. Even if no one answers."
Tarefin's gaze lifted. "Emotion matters. Extremes delay erosion. Love. Rage. Grief."
"Yeah." Navir shook his head. "But fear doesn't work."
"And timing?" Ardavan asked, putting his hand on his chin.
"Leave early. Before identity fractures." Tarefin replied.
A pause.
Tarefin finished quietly, "Never… follow unfamiliar voices."
The list settled between them like a contract none of them had signed.
Navir stared at the dust-lit floor.
"Then pain," he said softly, "is policy."
No one argued.
Outside, glass shattered.
Silence stretched taut.
And the rules stayed true.
________________________
Nayira crouched near the cracked wall, arms wrapped loosely around her knees.
Her hair unkept.
Dust clung to the hem of her clothes. She didn't brush it away. Her gaze stayed fixed on an empty stretch of floor, unblinking, serene in a way that felt wrong.
Voices pressed in anyway.
"Useless."
"Too strange to keep."
"Just like her brother, thinks he's better than everyone."
Her aunt's sharp whisper slid over another memory.
"Curiosity is how families lose sons."
"Hahahaha"
A cousin's laugh followed.
Each word landed cleanly, rehearsed, familiar. Nayira's breathing stayed even.
No flinch.
No protest.
She used to ask why.
She used to wait for answers.
Her fingers tightened once, then relaxed. A decision settled behind her eyes, quiet and precise. Calm replaced the noise, not peace, focus.
Footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the wall.
"Nayira." Her aunt called loudly, anger etched in her tone.
Nayira didn't look up.