Who's memories are these?
Every time I close my eyes, I am met with a familiar yet foreign scene. Memories not of my own, from a time that never existed. My father calls them childlike dreams, a coping mechanism for a stressful life. But to me, they don't feel constructed. They feel like a life I lost. I know many people create a fake world to escape reality, but trust me, doctor, this world is not as it seems.
"And can you describe these scenes that you always see?" Dr. Siegfried's voice was calm, a steady anchor in the quiet room.
I shifted in the plush leather chair. "It's hard to explain. They come and go, but it's always the same scene. I was in a lab… a facility. They ran tests on us."
"Us?" he prompted, his pen pausing over his notepad.
"Yes, doctor. Us. It wasn't just me. There were many of us. Around five hundred in total." The number felt concrete, a stark data point in the swirling haze of the memory.
"Okay, go on."
"Anyway, in these five hundred, I was the strongest. But it wasn't due to pure strength. It was because of my powers, I guess."
A faint, knowing smile touched the therapist's lips. "Oh, tooting our own horn, are we?"
I rolled my eyes, a familiar frustration bubbling up. "As I was saying, there was this girl. I can't really remember her face or her name…" I trailed off, the ghost of a feeling warmth, loyalty, a fierce protectiveness washing over me. "But I do know that we were close. Very close."
"Kids these days," Siegfried mused, "always thinking about women."
"Doctor, it's not that," I insisted, my voice tightening. "It's more like… she was the only friend I had in the world. Anyway, that's all I remember. The rest is a blur."
"Okay, Exalibar, that's enough for today's session." Siegfried closed his notebook with a definitive snap. "And would you look at that? You have completed all your school-mandated therapy sessions."
A wave of relief so potent it was almost dizzying swept through me. "Thank goodness. I really hated these. No offense, doctor, I just hate therapy."
"It's okay," he said, standing. "I'm sure everyone would appreciate it, though, if you didn't suddenly attack your brother, claiming he is the reason why the world is the way it is."
I moved to the door, grabbing the cool brass knob. "I only promise to try," I said, the sarcasm a thin shield for my guilt.
"Works for me." His tone was light, but his next words carried a weight that chilled the air. "Ah, also, before you go, Exalibar, keep one thing in mind. If you keep rejecting the world, one day it might reject you."
The words hung between us; a cryptic threat wrapped in professional concern. I pulled the door open. "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, and take care, Mr. Siegfried."
"Always a pleasure."
Mana.
It is the source of man's power in the universe. The stuff of comic books and blockbuster movies. But here, it is reality. Mana is the fundamental energy that allows for the manipulation of physics to the user's will. It is the silent engine behind every superhuman feat, from energy projection to flight. Most are born with a genetic key that lets them use it in one specific, predetermined way, a single power. I am not most people.
As I left the sterile calm of the office, I was met by a familiar face that, since the dreams began, had stirred a deep, unwarranted resentment in my gut. My twin brother, Sky.
He leaned against the family car, his expression a mix of impatience and forced nonchalance. "Hop in, brother, or we'll be late for Mom's gala. You know how long she's been looking forward to this, and I will not let you ruin it."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Sky. I was in a rush anyway," I said, sliding into the passenger seat. "We need to pick up Chloe and your fling, Jane."
Sky shot me a look as he started the engine. "She isn't my fling. I'm actually trying to get into something serious this time. Like you and Chloe."
I couldn't help but laugh, the sound feeling strange after the session. "Yeah, right. Like that will ever happen. We all know you can't settle on one girl, brother."
Exalibar and Sky Maxford. The dynamic duo. Sons of James Maxford, a tech mogul whose wealth could buy small countries, and Diana, his superhero and philanthropist wife. We were blessed beyond imagination not just with money and legacy, but with power itself. Together, we could have conquered the world. Well, that was before the dreams started.
It began one night. I woke up screaming, my hands around Sky's throat, hurling accusations that felt more real than the room around me. "It's all your fault! Everything in the world is your doing! I WILL KILL YOU!"
Sky bore no lasting resentment, a testament to a character I clearly lacked. The school, however, had other ideas, mandating therapy after I repeated the performance during an energy manipulation lesson. Now, the sessions were over, but the fractures remained.
We arrived home and hastily prepared, donning tailored suits that cost more than most people's cars. We rushed back to the car, trading playful barbs about each other's attire, and for a fleeting moment, one could forget we had once tried to murder one another.
As we pulled up to the grand iron gates of Chloe's estate, the guard buzzed us in, announcing our arrival through the intercom.
"Be quick, we are out of time," Sky said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Plus, we still need to pick up Jane."
"Don't worry, I won't take long."
I exited the car and walked to the massive oak door. Before I could knock, a voice, clear and familiar, floated from inside. "Come in, Exalibar! I'll be down in a minute!"
I stepped into the cavernous foyer, the silence of the house a stark contrast to the noise in my head. I paced slowly, my dress shoes silent on the polished marble, until a movement at the top of the staircase froze me in my tracks.
She didn't simply walk into the room; she arrived as a piece of living, kinetic sculpture. Her skin was a vibrant, light brown, a colour that seemed to absorb the light, making her the immediate focal point. Her attire was a masterpiece of engineered seduction: a striking black gown, both maximally revealing and elegantly tailored. The matte fabric was artfully draped into deep, sharp 'V's across her torso, plunging low. The skirt was a series of strategic, daring cut-outs that wrapped around her hips and thighs, emphasizing the powerful, athletic curves of her legs while leaving them largely exposed. A single, heavy panel fell straight to the floor, balancing the garment's extreme architecture with a regal vertical line.
Long, sleek black opera gloves extended past her elbows. Her dark hair was long and straight, falling over one shoulder, a simple style that let the dress command attention. Her face was a study in confident allure, her lips painted a vibrant, metallic red, curved in a knowing smirk. But it was her eyes that held me....deep purple, sharp, and holding a direct, unblinking challenge.
She was not a decoration. She was a weapon, and she carried the certainty of that knowledge in every line of her posture.
"So," Chloe said, her voice a low hum that vibrated in my bones. "What do you think?"
"You look absolutely ethereal," I managed, my throat suddenly dry. "Now, my lady, shall we? We are kinda late."
A triumphant smile played on her lips. She descended the stairs and extended a gloved hand toward me. As my fingers made contact with hers, the world dissolved.
White. A training room, sterile and cold as snow. The girl was there with me. Her hair wasn't black, but a shock of pure white. An intercom blared, a voice commanding us to gather. A scientist in a white mask. A single, devastating word: "CULLING!" A gunshot. The girl white-haired, purple-eyed stumbling. The weight of her in my arms, blood soaking through her clothes. Her face, pale and terrified, yet unmistakably Chloe's.
But how? Chloe's hair is black, not white. What are these fragments? They're too vivid, too visceral to be imagination. They feel like memories. But why are they inconsistent with reality?
"Exalibar?" Her voice pulled me back, the vision shattering like glass. I was still holding her hand, my grip vise-tight. I was sweating. "Are you okay? You seem to have zoned out."
I forced a breath, releasing her hand as if burned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I must have gotten lost in those beautiful eyes." The lie tasted like ash.
"Oh, please. Flattery will get you nowhere with me. You already know this." She studied me for a second too long, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Anyway, let's go."
"Yeah," I said, my mind reeling, the echo of a gunshot still ringing in my ears. "Let's go."