I knew.
I knew that no matter where I searched, I wouldn't find him.
The thought sat heavy in my chest, unshakable—like a truth I had always carried but never dared to voice. This wasn't the first time Alaric had disappeared. And some part of me wanted to blame him—to blame him for everything that had happened to me and to us, to our family. But deep down, I knew this wasn't him. He was not the brother I knew, the one who treasured and protected me.
Something was wrong...
I still wanted to find him, even if it cost me my life. But I was weak. I was miserable as a sister.
I was helpless.
Days passed in a blur after that night. I moved through them like a ghost, doing what was expected of me, breathing because my body remembered how. Every step I took carried weight—guilt pressed into my bones until it ached.
I should have protected my brother.
I should have noticed the cracks forming in him—the way silence clung too tightly, the way his eyes no longer held warmth. I should have stayed by my mother's side more, noticed the tiredness she tried so hard to hide behind her gentle smiles.
And my father—
The image of him stepping forward, taking the blade meant for me, replayed endlessly in my mind. I hadn't asked him to. I hadn't wanted him to. But the truth remained: he died because of me.
That truth followed me everywhere.
Even to college.
I attended classes because I had nothing else left. Because stopping would mean sinking, and I was already too close to drowning. I kept my head down, spoke little, and avoided attention. I had always been used to solitude.
There was only one exception.
Adrien.
He was my only friend—the only person I allowed close enough to see the fractures. We sat together during lectures, ate our meals side by side, talked long after classes ended. With him, silence never felt uncomfortable. Words came easily—or not at all.
He had the looks—soft, calming—and gentle eyes that carried away my worry and pain.
He was popular among girls. Everyone liked him; they craved him. Yet he never left my side. He always managed to calm my heart—and make it flutter, if only slightly.
There was something about him that felt... familiar.
Not in a way I could explain. Just a strange sense of ease, as if my soul recognized his presence before my mind could catch up. Sometimes I caught him looking at me the same way—like he was searching for something he couldn't name.
He never pushed. Never asked questions I wasn't ready to answer.
And somehow, that made him my anchor.
The only thing that kept me from breaking apart completely.
That night, exhaustion finally claimed me.
I cried myself to sleep, my thoughts tangled in memories and regrets I couldn't unravel. My chest felt hollow, like something essential had been torn out and never replaced.
Then came a dream.
It wasn't clear—not whole.
Just fragments.
I saw Alaric and myself, younger—laughing, running, smiling the way we hadn't in years. But something was wrong. Our clothes weren't familiar—elegant, heavy, nothing like what we wore in reality.
Royal.
The air felt different too. Heavier. Older.
Then darkness swallowed the scene.
Another image surfaced.
I was standing beside someone—someone my age. We were gazing at the moon, its light spilling softly over us. I felt calm. Safe. A warmth bloomed in my chest that I hadn't felt in a long time.
I tried to look at him.
Tried to remember his face.
But just as I reached out—
My alarm rang.
I woke with a sharp inhale, my heart racing, the dream dissolving like mist between my fingers. The room was silent. Ordinary. Yet the feeling lingered—strong, unsettling.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, wondering whether what I had seen was only a dream...
—or something far older.
A memory.
A life I had lived before.
From that moment on, I searched.
Books. Records. Anything that could explain the images, the sensations, the pull I couldn't ignore. I wandered through libraries and forgotten corners, chasing answers that refused to be found.
No matter how hard I looked—
I found nothing.
And yet, the feeling remained.
Like something was waiting for me to remember.
To relive.