Blue light exploded as Eira swung first, his sword colliding with the woman's burning spear with a force that tore the air apart. Mana crashed outward in violent waves, ripping sound from the world as fire and frost devoured each other. He twisted his wrist mid-swing, dragging the blade down her weapon and forcing her back, ice crawling across the spear before shattering under a surge of black-red flames.
She laughed.
"You're late," she said, spinning and driving her spear toward his chest.
Eira barely deflected. The impact hurled him through the sky, his body twisting as he fought to regain control. He stopped himself with a burst of cold, boots skidding against invisible air, sword humming violently in his hands.
Only then did the world reveal itself.
Endless white stretched beneath them, cracked and broken by war. Bodies lay scattered across the frozen land—men and women with silver hair, armor torn, weapons buried deep into ice. Some moved. Some didn't. The ground itself bore scars of mana so deep they still glowed faintly.
A pressure rolled outward from Eira as he steadied himself.
Far away, people collapsed without being touched. Knees buckled. Breath failed. Even standing became impossible under the weight of his presence.
The woman floated calmly across from him, fire and shadow wrapping around her form. Her spear burned red, veins of black mana pulsing like a living thing. Flames spiraled outward from her body, erasing frost, stone, and anything else that dared exist too close.
Below them, a young woman stood shaking, blood running down her arm as she held up a glowing shield. She was wounded badly, yet she didn't step back. She shielded the fallen behind her with everything she had left.
Eira saw her.
His jaw clenched.
"Still distracted," the woman said, her voice carrying easily across the battlefield. "That hasn't changed."
She raised her spear and slammed it downward.
Fire crashed toward him like a collapsing sun. Eira answered by lifting his sword, blue light roaring outward as the flames split apart around him. The shockwave tore across the land, ice forming and breaking in the same breath.
The sky fractured.
They moved again.
Sword and spear collided midair, faster than sight, each strike releasing violent surges of mana that warped the world itself. Blizzards swallowed firestorms. Flames evaporated ice. Mountains formed and shattered in seconds.
"You're weaker," she said, twisting her spear and driving him back through a wall of frozen air. "Did dying once finally dull you?"
Eira staggered, blood spilling from his mouth as he caught himself. His sword shook, not from fear, but restraint.
"I won't lose again," he said.
Her eyes narrowed.
"This ends now, Eira."
Ancient symbols ignited across her spear. Recovery mana surged, sealing her wounds instantly as darker power flooded the battlefield.
"When this is over," she continued coldly, "you will forget who you are. Why you came here. Who you tried to save."
Eira's grip tightened.
The temperature dropped.
Snow began to fall—not gently, but violently, as the world itself responded to him. Ice spread outward in all directions as blue light engulfed his blade, power erupting from deep within his body.
The fire hesitated.
"This isn't your story anymore," she said.
Eira raised his sword.
And the storm answered.
They both attacked each other with speed and force, making the whole space unstable and filled with snow and dust.
Then came the pitch blackness.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ThePresent
Fire roared.
Eira stood frozen as the woman lay broken before him, her body cracked with red-and-black mana. Blood soaked the endless white beneath them. She laughed, breathless, eyes burning with hatred.
"Monster," she whispered. Her fingers dug into the ground as magic crawled from her body like rot. "Forget who you are. Forget why you came here. Forget everything."
Her curse wrapped around him.
Faces screamed in the distance—silver-haired people falling, shielding one another. A young woman knelt among them, wounded, holding a trembling barrier as the world collapsed. The snowstorm howled above, his sword blazing blue in his hands, power so heavy it crushed the air itself.
"Why are you hesitating, Eira?" the woman spat. "It's time to end this."
He swung—
And woke up choking on air.
Silence replaced the fire. His sword was gone. The snowstorm was gone.
People surrounded him.
Silver hair. Pale faces. Familiar, yet not.
Eira pushed himself up, his head pounding. "Who… am I?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. "What just happened?"
They exchanged looks. A woman stepped forward, her arm glowing faintly with healing mana, exhaustion etched into her face.
"We don't know who you are," she said softly. "You collapsed after the battle."
"Battle?" Eira echoed. The image of the dying mage flashed through his mind—her curse, her laughter. His chest tightened. "Someone… cursed me."
Her expression darkened. "Two mages attacked this realm. They came to slaughter the villagers hiding here. This place exists only because the late Hero created it—a space beyond the world. He went to war to protect us and never returned."
Another voice spoke. "You fought them. Alone."
Eira's fingers curled. He felt it then—a small, warm weight against him.
The snow dragon.
Smaller than before. Mana thin and unstable. It pressed its head against his chest, letting out a tired sound before going still, half-asleep.
"He was with you," the woman said. "From the start."
Eira lifted his hand without thinking. The dragon immediately relaxed, tail twitching weakly, as if reassured by something it remembered even if he could not.
"You protected us," she continued, bowing. The others followed. "If you hadn't… none of us would be alive."
Eira shook his head slowly. "I don't remember protecting anyone. I don't remember this place. I don't remember myself."
"There is a mage here," the woman said after a pause. "Her magic can touch memories. She may be able to recover fragments of your past."
"And if she can't?" Eira asked.
"Then you may leave," she replied gently. "Or stay. Rest. Choose later."
Eira looked down at the snow dragon again. Despite being drained, it refused to let go of him.
He exhaled. "I'll stay."
Relief spread through the group.
The woman knelt beside him, light gathering around her palm. "Try to relax," she said. "Whatever you were… whatever you lost… we'll try to find it."
As her magic reached into his mind, the laughter echoed again—
Monster.
Eira clenched his jaw as darkness pulled him under, unsure whether he was falling back into a dream…
or closer to the truth he had been cursed to forget.
Here is a clean, emotionally heavy "Previous Life" chapter, written so it feels like memories forcing themselves through the spell, not a neat recollection. It keeps Theo human, broken, and believable—and ends exactly where you asked: denial and retreat.
---
Previous Life
The first memory didn't come gently.
It slammed into him like glass.
A scream. Metal folding in on itself. Rain on asphalt. Headlights burning white—
Then nothing.
Theo was sixteen when his parents died.
A car accident, they said. Sudden. Unfair. The kind of sentence people used when they didn't want to explain grief.
He moved in with his aunt after that. Her house smelled of polish and politeness. Her husband smiled too much. His family spoke kindly in public and cruelly in private.
"You should be grateful," they said.
He learned to stay quiet.
At school, his cousin Henry pretended Theo didn't exist. Worse—when he did acknowledge him, it was with disgust. Whispers followed Theo down the halls. Laughter that stopped when he turned around.
Theo made one mistake.
He got close to a girl.
They studied together. Walked home together. Sat too close. Not quite lovers—something softer, safer. Something that felt like warmth after a long winter.
Henry noticed.
Henry always noticed.
The girl stopped walking with Theo. Stopped replying. A week later, she was holding Henry's hand in the hallway.
Theo didn't confront anyone. He just… withdrew.
After graduation, he moved back into the small house his parents had owned. It was old but warm. Familiar. Home.
Then the bills came.
Then the debts.
His uncle had drained everything—accounts emptied, signatures forged, money gone. When Theo tried to ask questions, his aunt cried. Begged. Said it would destroy the family.
Theo folded again.
He worked. Late nights. Early mornings. Quiet endurance.
That was when he met her.
She was poor like him. Tired like him. Broken in places she didn't hide. They understood each other without explaining too much.
This time, Theo didn't hesitate.
This time, he believed.
When Henry mocked him, Theo stood straighter. He wasn't afraid anymore. He had someone real.
And then—
She cheated.
With Henry.
The breakup was ugly. Loud. Final. She quit her job for Henry. Burned bridges for him.
Henry left her anyway.
She came back wrong—angry, desperate, hollow. She broke into Theo's house. Sold his things. Caused scenes at his workplace, screaming lies and half-truths until management had enough.
Theo lost his job.
Later, at a school reunion, he stood at the edge of the room, watching old classmates laugh. Rings on fingers. Money in voices. Futures settled and shining.
No one noticed when he left early.
The alley was dark.
A little girl screamed.
Theo didn't think.
He ran.
A flash of pain. Impact. The world tilting—
And then snow.
Endless white.
Theo gasped awake.
His hands were shaking. His chest burned like he'd been torn open and stitched back together wrong.
The healer mage hovered near him, concern etched into her face. "Did you see anything?"
Theo turned his head away.
"No," he said quietly.
The snow dragon shifted beside him, stirring, sensing the lie but saying nothing.
"Let's try tomorrow," Theo continued. "I'm tired."
The mage hesitated, then nodded. "Rest."
As they left, Theo stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
Because he remembered.
Every cruel detail.
And he refused—absolutely refused—to believe that this broken life…
was the foundation of the monster the woman had cursed.
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The light faded, and the mage watched his face carefully.
"Anything?" she asked.
Eira shook his head. "No. Nothing came back."
She let out a quiet breath, disappointment flickering across her expression. "Then it may not work. Memory magic isn't—"
"Wait," he said.
She looked up.
"There is… something," Eira added slowly, as if choosing each word. "It's not clear. I don't see faces. I don't hear names." He pressed his fingers into the snow. "I remember crying. I was very small. Someone picked me up. My mother, I think. And my father was there too." His voice softened. "I don't remember who they were. Just that I felt safe."
The mage hesitated. "That's a very old memory."
"Then it reached something," Eira said. "Please. Keep going. Maybe it can go further."
After a moment, she nodded. Mana gathered again around her hands—never realizing that Eira was holding back far more than he was willing to admit.