4 - We Have Shared Memories?

Aurora didn’t have time to worry about Samantha. Not when screams mingled with the smoke. Kristo didn’t hesitate—he shoved past the rubble, boots skidding, eyes locked on the chaos ahead. Milo watched him go then turned, quietly walking the other way.

“Milo!” Aurora called. But the moment her voice left her lips, it clicked: He wasn’t here to finish what he started. He wasn’t one to lead or save or even to clean up the wreckage he’d left behind. Now that Selus had fallen, she could focus on Cerceras. The dark, ancient god that was eating her home miles away – the Blade Kingdom.

“Cerceras feeds on souls that give into temptation,” Milo had once explained. Aurora had experienced the temptation first hand, escaping only because of her… what? Sarcastic hatred? “The more obedient people are, the easier it is for them to give into him. If we awaken the people, they’re more likely to resist him.” He was simply here to stop Cerceras from devouring this Kingdom too quickly. Now he had done his job so he was moving on.

But Kristo?

Kristo couldn’t leave – not when people needed help. He stumbled out of the smoke, a half-conscious man slung over his shoulder. After setting him down to safety, he vanished back into the fire asking nothing back.

Looking back, she should’ve stayed. Should’ve helped him. She knew that. Even then. But staying meant watching people die, while twiddling their thumbs hoping Milo defeated Cerceras. Meant waiting to drown in chaos she couldn’t control – again.

But following Milo proved a path toward power. She breathed in sharply, guilt pressing down on her soul. Kristo emerged again, soot in his hair, a child clinging to his back—arms locked tight around his shoulders like a lifeline.

They locked eyes. Her chest tightened. He knew she planned to leave with Milo, and he wasn’t stopping her. So she turned and ran. Screams cracked the air. Stone crumbled in the distance. Aurora turned, slipping between once beautiful alleyways, weaving past a toppled column and the skeletal remains of a crystal building. The outer edge of the palace district dissolved into courtyards, then side roads, then ruined forest path. She refused to look back as she chased him. Kristo’s silhouette disappeared into the smoke. She stopped looking back. All she needed to do was focus on Milo’s retreating figure.

When they crested the hill, they left the burning kingdom. And ahead, the gleam died. The forest changed. Oaks rose, the smell of blood still heavy. Her feet sank with each step, the earth damp and greedy. The glamour was gone. Milo had done it. The clearing opened without warning, a small dip in the terrain, encircled by towering trees. Milo stood near the edge of it, arms loosely at his sides. Aurora stumbled in behind him, her knees cracking twigs, sinking into the soggy soil.

The air was crisp in the forests, the surroundings more honest than the glitter of the Crystal Kingdom. A log rotted to the side. There were no polished floors, no shine. Just dirt and decay. Just him and her. Or so she thought.

Footsteps smushed nearby. She widened her eyes in surprise as Karl appeared from the east, descending the slope from between two twisting tree trunks. He seemed more than eager to hide away in the Crystal Kingdom, browsing stores, rarely coming out, but he stomped forward like he was on a mission. She tilted her head, trying to decipher the fire in his eyes. It was like he was waiting for Milo to return. She didn’t realize his story was just starting. His breathing was sharp, too fast, his energy hot and brittle.

As he stepped out of the light, he stood like a ghost sketched in the wrong place. His skin was too pale. His ice blue eyes burned with a light that didn’t belong to any kingdom she knew. She ogled at him for the first time. A story whispered in her spine.

Ysalva’s lost bloodline. The Tribe of Light.

She raised her gaze to the clouds, mind reeling. Of course. Earlier, how did she not see?

Karl’s fists trembled. His chest heaved. He faced Milo like a contender. "You promised," he said, his shoulder squared toward Milo. "We’re going to the Fire Kingdom next. To destroy everything they did to me. To my mom. You promised"

Milo studied the clouds like they harbored secret meaning. She watched Karl’s hands, his twitching jaw, the way his whole body coiled like a wire pulled too tight. He was slipping.

“Yes, we’re going there next.” Milo stepped forward as if the tension meant nothing. "The Fire Kingdom."

Karl didn’t move or blink. “How?” he hissed, his voice too menacing for his age.

Milo just looked at him, amused. He put his hands in his coat as if in concession, his motions smooth. Aurora saw the iron red liquid first, behind smooth glass. Between Milo’s fingers were two vials that shimmered in the sunlight. When he pulled it out, it was as if he had pressed a button, sending Karl flying.

"Karl—" Aurora launched forward too.

But he wasn’t listening. Karl lurched forward with a roar, boots slamming into mud as he closed the distance in three uneven strides. "You think this is a game?" he screamed. "You’re going to destroy them with that?"

Milo didn’t flinch. He didn’t flare his magic or step away. Just one precise step forward—then a jab to Karl’s side. Karl’s limbs seized. His momentum vanished. He dropped mid-stride. She barely caught him. She moved with instinct or shame that she still needed someone small enough to save. Her hands moved on their own, easing him upright. Shielding his body from the soggy ground. His breath was shaky.

And then she felt fury. She glared at the man who had hurt him. But he was still holding the two vials like trophies. Her eyes shifted to the two red vials. The glass caught the dying light, casting strange reflections across his fingers like oil on water.

Aurora stared. Karl stirred weakly in her arms.

"Okay. What is that?" she hissed.

Milo turned the vials in his hand, watching the liquid shift like it was thinking. “Essence inversion,” He lifted one vial slightly. “It flips the current—fire to silence, silence to flame. In the Fire Kingdom, they pass power down through bloodlines, but only to men. Women are culled when their sparks surface.”

It switches the abilities of fire users and people without magic?

His voice didn’t rise. If anything, it quieted. “This won’t destroy the kingdom the way Karl wants. That would be too loud, too expected.” He looked at Aurora before observing Karl. “The serum only affects fire magic so it won’t affect you.”

Aurora looked down at the boy. It was true. She possessed the powers of the earth. Karl? Water. Milo continued. “The men will lose what they were handed. The women will find what was stolen. That’s all.” He smiled faintly. “Call it correction. Call it symmetry. I just want to see what survives when the current runs the other way.”

"You’re…" she couldn’t believe what he was saying. She didn’t know whether it was brilliant or reckless.

Milo tilted his head. Almost amused. "I don’t want to crush them," he clarified. "I just want to see something interesting."

The forest didn’t breathe. Neither did she.

—-----

They walked until nightfall and camped.

Karl was exhausted. Lucky for her, he slumped, his body aching. The events of the day caused him to sleep immediately, muttering as he slept. She watched him for a moment longer before moving closer to the fire. The events of the day made her want to wash her hands. I’m not a good person. Aurora scoffed. She knew she wasn’t. She glanced at Karl who fell in a fitful sleep. Then, why was she still pretending?

The stars spread across the sky like a mural, as if mocking her with their steadfast serenity. She didn’t look at Milo, didn’t trust herself to. Instead, she curled her knees to her chest, eyes fixed on the fire as its amber light washed over her face. Her skin looked alive. But inside—she felt hollow, like something had already burned through her, and only the outline remained.

Aurora thought about the fires of rebellion in the Crystal Kingdom. Maybe that was enough to hold back the lure of illusion. Maybe they had given people a reason to fight, a reason to choose reality over temptation. People were finally awaking to their own will, exercising their agency—or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

She glanced across the fire at Karl, just another pawn in Milo’s game. Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t about justice anymore. Or being good. Or even winning. It was about surviving Cerceras and people like Milo.

“You’re still angry,” Milo said behind her.

“Further proof of your high I.Q.”

The wind rustled through the trees—dry leaves hissing like ghosts. Her body tensed—still echoing the chaos they had unleashed in the kingdom. She’d already proven she didn’t care enough to stay. But the moral fallout still clung to her like smoke.

She looked away again, back into the fire. The silence mixed with the light buzzing of grasshoppers, fireflies flickering somewhere in the trees ahead. Aurora swallowed. “You’re not afraid of what comes next?”

Milo’s shook his head, laughing. “No, I want to see what comes next.”

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Of course. Aurora’s lips tightened. The fire crackled. The night stretched. Milo didn’t speak either, didn’t move. The silence between them felt deliberate.

He sighed. “Do you remember why I found you?”

Aurora turned slightly, “I remember you couldn’t explain.”

“Yes,” he said mildly. “But now I think I can. I think you can understand.”

Oh goodie.

He stepped around the fire, his movements unhurried. The flames caught the edge of his coat, casting slow shadows behind him.

“We’re not here for Cerceras,” he said. “But for a meaningful detour.” He looked at her, his gaze softening. “We’re here for you.”

Aurora’s brow furrowed, lips parting. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Milo said, tone even, “I chose this place not because it needed saving, but because you needed to see it. Because clarity, Aurora, isn’t born in comfort—it emerges in contrast. And I wanted to see what you’d become when no one asked anything of you.”

His eyes flicked to hers, not sharp but exact. He chuckled at her loss of words. “I know this is all so cryptic to you, and that I might be oversharing, but I’ve always had this question,” he said softly. “One that’s lingered for years.” He leaned forward. “What does a person like you become, when no one is watching? When obedience is no longer an option? When choice is the only thing left?”

She bit back a sarcastic spit. He tilted his head, but not with judgment. With genuine curiosity. Like a scientist observing fire. Or a boy who once believed in heroes. It bewildered her.

Then, he extended his hand. It was calm, steady, and lit with a dark flicker of energy. “You asked me back then, why I came for you — nobody else. And now I want to answer your question. Show you everything.”

She hesitated. She looked at his fingers, glowing faintly with that dark, shimmering energy.

“Jin,” he said softly. “My real name is Jin.”

The name snapped her back to somewhere new, yet familiar. Then, for the second time, she reached forward and touched him. Her breath hitched. Her heart raced. Awe tangled with fear. The forest swirled away. She rationed that she lost consciousness. They floated in the darkness.

“What ability is this?” she asked, voice thin in the abyss. She noted the similarities between what happened with Cerceras. But there was no little girl, and…she couldn’t explain it, but the taste was different, more empty than sweet.

They spiraled downward.

The darkness cracked open beneath them, revealing a vast, broken land. Red rock stretched dry and brittle across the horizon. The air shimmered with heat. The scent of sulfur burned her nostrils. Below, a crude wall—no taller than a man—encircled a sprawling encampment. Aurora flinched as sounds hit her all at once: guttural laughter, women screaming, the silence of the children, hiding.

Her stomach twisted.

Milo’s eyes flicked sideways, unreadable. He didn’t speak. Not because he had nothing to say. No, of course he always had something to say. Instead, simply because the moment was still unfolding—and he refused to rush revelation.

Her vision surged forward, pulling her into the camp. Some women wore tattered clothes, if lucky. Fights broke out and went ignored, mean pointing and laughing. Blood dried on skin like a tattoo.

Inside a ragged tent, a small girl sat among others. Eyes sharp. Shoulders tense. She flinched as a boy ran past, chased by jeering men.

There was something so familiar about this scene. Like a replayed nightmare. No.

A large man crooned. The girls stood. The one in the back slipped into the crowd, but didn’t follow. She waited. Then bolted.

There was something about the way she moved. She seemed no longer driven by fear, nor by pride. Aurora watched her like a mirror held too close. Aurora’s breath caught. She knew this scene —

Now that she looked around, she recognized everything.

The child ran in sharp, precise arcs. Ducking behind huts. Pressing against shadows. Her chest heaved with the effort, but her eyes never wavered. She crawled beneath a tent flap, returning unseen.

The scene accelerated—days, maybe weeks. The same routine, repeated. The girl explored. Dug behind the wall. Always came back. Always hidden. Until—

“You!”

She froze. Caught. Doomed. Gone was the fire in her eyes. Replaced with stillness. Not fear, something worse. She didn’t scream as they dragged her away.

The setting melted and another surged forward.

A boy now, older, ran through an alley. Men gave chase.

Jin.

The girl was now taller, sharper. She watched from the shadows then ran. “This way!” she called. The boy followed, taking the knife from her hands.

Their pursuer fell with a blade in his head. And the two slipped through the wall, vanishing into the night. But the memory didn’t end. It shifted—pulled them forward — into a cave carved into the edge of a rocky hillside. Moonlight trickled in through the cracks. Outside, distant shouts still echoed. The Fire Kingdom wasn’t done hunting them for days, for weeks. Then finally, five years had passed.

Inside, the boy had grown. He seemed to be neither a child nor an adult. He was shaking as he crouched in the back of the cave, arms around his knees, trying to make himself small. Dust clung to his skin. Blood dried on his hands. The knife lay on the ground beside him, as if too heavy to hold. He had been caught, it was all his fault. It was a matter of time before he led them here. He had exposed himself – and her.

But the girl stood at the entrance. She wasn’t hiding, but waiting. She scanned the dark horizon, face lit silver-blue by the moon. Her shoulders didn’t tremble. Her hands didn’t shake. Her bare feet were blistered, but she didn’t sit.

Then, the approaching noises. The boy stared at her, wide-eyed.

She turned.

Kneeling, she took the knife and slid it back into its hiding into his hands. He looked at her wide-eyed. His eyes pleaded with her. But she looked at him—direct, unflinching.

“Only the things you’re willing to die for,” she said, voice calm, “have meaning.”

He didn’t answer.

She came closer, brushing the hair from his forehead with surprising gentleness, kissing it.

“You run and survive,” she said. “No matter what.” His mouth opened— to protest, but she pushed him back harshly. “Promise me.”

Before he could speak, she was already standing. The girl turned back toward the night, toward the danger still hunting them. She didn’t hesitate. Her back was straight. Her gaze steady. Her eyes—lit by the moon—seemed to glow with something fierce, something terrifying.

She looked back. He noticed what it was and reeled: Gratitude. As if this wasn’t punishment, but a gift. As if saving him gave her miserable life meaning.

She stepped into the dark.

“Thank you, Jin.”

—————————————————————————————-

Aurora gasped as the cold air of the forest rushed in—wet leaves beneath her hands, the scent of woodsmoke stinging her nose. Her chest rose too fast. The fire crackled behind her like it never stopped.

The forest didn’t greet her gently. It yanked her back—mud under her palms, the scent of firewood. Her own breath, ragged and real. The memory clung like frost, and Milo was already watching.

She didn’t turn to face him when she heaved, “You let me die.”

Milo didn’t speak for a moment. Then, he nodded.

She remembered him, and now understood why she felt that buzzing between them. She tried to steady her breathing, her chest rising and falling heavy but slow. She studied him. Her head tilted. She didn’t doubt the authenticity of what she had seen. She felt goosebumps spring on her skin, her face turning pale for the first time during this journey. Something in her…softened without warning.

“Jin,” she whispered, standing to match him. “What happened to you?” She stepped forward, hesitated. He almost flinched.

She wrapped her arms around him. Not with softness, but finality. She didn’t feel him breathe. Didn’t see him close his eyes as if he’d been waiting for this since the beginning. When she pulled back, their faces were close. And for a moment, the space between them narrowed to nothing. Her fingers brushed the spot she had once kissed on his forehead. His breath caught. She pressed her forehead to his in a new kind of embrace.

But then—her body stiffened. Not dramatically. Just a flicker. A hesitation in her breath. Her shoulders froze, coldness creeping into her fingertips.

And she remembered things in this life.

Hands that didn’t ask. Voices that laughed while she couldn’t scream. Skin she had to shed to survive. The heat in her stomach twisted—flipped into nausea.

She snapped him back. She shook, panting. She felt like she was going to die. Milo didn’t move, didn’t speak. But she felt it—the way his gaze followed her. Not with pity nor confusion. With something worse – understanding.

Without having seen her story, he knew it. By observation. By instinct, maybe. The stutter in her magic. The way her pupils contracted. The armor sliding back into place. And still, he said nothing. Only took one slow step forward. Close enough for her to feel the heat of him again. Close enough to remind her he could reach out, could pull her in. But he didn’t.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly.

His voice was low, controlled. His face closed like a gate. Jin was gone. He was pure Milo. “You think I want who you used to be. But you’re wrong.,” he murmured.

She said nothing.

“You think I sought the girl you once were. But I know too well that she died long ago. I’ve accepted it. I came for the version no one else would trust. The one willing to fracture the world if it meant seeing it clearly.” His voice dropped. “The version where no one can hurt you, not even me. You don’t need to rise from her bones. I don’t want you to. You are not here to return. You misunderstand me if you think I want that. No…” He shook his head. “I desperately want to see you evolve — to see who you become not beside me, but in spite of me.”

She didn’t speak or move. For one fractured moment, she let herself believe he still felt it too—that pull between them. That history only they remembered. The boy who once saved her from a meaningless life. Her only friend she ever had who’d truly seen her in her most visceral moment.

And maybe, just maybe… he missed his friend too.

But then she remembered the way he tested people like insects in jars. He said he wanted her to evolve, but he wanted it his way. She knew because of the cruel way he told her to pick up the knife. Because of the way his silence wasn’t gentleness, but unsolicited study. And she knew—whatever had once existed between them was real.

But it didn’t make him safe. Or kind. Or her friend.

He was a master manipulator in this life. Aurora shook her head, slowly and hissed,“I’m not yours to study.” She tried to keep her voice steady, her eyes trained on his. “You’re not my hero,” Aurora said. Her voice didn’t shake. “And I don’t need to be your experiment.”

Milo stilled. Then… smiled. Not with cruelty, not even pride, but with wonder.

“Ah,” he murmured. “There you are.” He stepped back, just slightly—like making room for something sacred. “The others always fold in the end. Righteous, reluctant, or predictable. Like Kristo, Samantha, Selus…”

His eyes gleamed, catching firelight. “But you’re not conforming. You’re choosing.” Silence bloomed between them. “Most want to be seen, but you—” He studied her. “You don’t need me.” He tilted his head slightly, voice lowering. “You don’t need anybody. They can scorn you, hate you…and yet you continue choosing. And that… makes you the first person I’ve ever met who might understand me.” He gave a small, wistful smile before he turned and walked away, the fire still crackling.