Aira wasn't sure when it started—the small things, the subtle shifts. The wildflowers in her garden had begun blooming in the wrong season. Her tea leaves spun in circles even when the water was still. The birds that used to chirp from the treetops now perched silently on her windowsill, watching her with unblinking eyes.
And Elyan watched her too.
He barely slept. When he did, his dreams were violent. He would cry out in a language she didn't know, eyes rolling under closed lids, limbs stiffening as though locked in battle. But when he was awake, he was calm—almost gentle.
Except for his eyes.
They held too much. Memories that weren't his. Or weren't hers. Or… were both.
"You dreamed of me before," he said one morning, as Aira handed him a mug of herbal tea.
She froze.
"What?"
He wrapped his hands around the mug, not looking at her. "In the black valley. Where the red moon rises. You called me by name."
Aira's spine tingled. That exact dream had haunted her for years—long before he appeared in the forest. A battlefield. A tower burning. A name whispered across bloodied ground.
"Elyan," she whispered.
He looked up. "You remember it too."
Her breath caught.
This couldn't be coincidence.
Later that day, she took him to the woods. Not deep—just to the clearing by the river where the old willow grew. She needed air, space. She needed to feel her feet on real earth.
But even there, nothing felt real anymore.
As Elyan sat on the riverbank, his fingers brushed the grass. The blades shimmered with light, trembling under his touch.
"Nature listens to you," she said, watching. "Like it knows you."
"I'm part of it. We all were—once," he murmured.
She narrowed her eyes. "So tell me the truth."
He turned to her then. "I came from a realm called Halrieth. A place where emotion shapes magic. Where love is power. And war is fought not with steel—but with longing, memory, and betrayal."
Aira stared.
"That sounds like madness."
"It was," he said. "And you were its queen."
Aira laughed at first, thinking it a cruel joke. But he kept speaking, calmly, earnestly—telling her stories she had never shared with anyone.
"You wore white armor with silver roses. You held a blade made from your first kiss. You commanded fire through grief." He looked at her, pain in his voice. "And in the end, you gave me up to save them all."
"I… I don't remember any of that."
"You will," he said. "Because the mark has returned."
She instinctively touched her wrist and gasped.
The skin beneath her bracelet had begun to shimmer with faint lines. A spiral of fire, identical to Elyan's wound.
Her knees gave way, and she sank into the grass, overwhelmed. The world was spinning. Or she was.
He knelt beside her, his voice soft. "They're coming for us both. They'll try to use what we were—what we still are."
She looked up at him, searching his eyes.
"Why me? Why now?"
"Because love isn't just memory," he said, his hand brushing hers. "It'sprophecy."
That night, when the stars shimmered too brightly and the wind sounded like whispers, Aira stared into the fire.
She knew two things for certain.
First: Elyan wasn't lying.
And second: Whatever they had once been—lovers, enemies, gods or ghosts—it wasn't over yet.
It was just beginning again.