Fractured Memories part 1
### Chapter 11: Fractured Memories (Part 1)
*Bren's Point of View*
The corrupted satyr's gnarled form, its eyes burning with sickly green light, froze Bren in place. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade, but her body refused to move. The sight of it dragged her back to a place she had tried desperately to forget—a nightmare she had buried beneath layers of bravado and cold detachment.
The satyr's twisted horns, the oozing darkness that pulsed through its veins, all mirrored the monstrosities that had once descended upon her village. Her chest tightened as the memories clawed their way to the surface, raw and vivid.
---
It was supposed to be a celebration. The harvest had been plentiful, the villagers cheerful as they danced and sang beneath the glow of the setting sun. Bren had been among them, her younger self full of joy and energy, her laughter echoing through the fields. She remembered spinning in circles with her friends, the soft fabric of her dress swishing around her legs.
But that peace was short-lived.
The first sign of danger had been the unnatural silence. The birds, which had chirped merrily only moments before, went eerily still. Then came the growling—a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine.
The creatures emerged from the shadows of the forest, their forms monstrous and unnatural. Satyrs, their bodies twisted and corrupted, their eyes blazing with malevolence. They descended upon the village in a wave of violence, tearing through homes and cutting down anyone who stood in their way.
Bren remembered the screams. She remembered the smell of burning wood and flesh as the creatures set the village ablaze. Her parents had shoved her into a small storage room, their faces pale but determined.
"Stay hidden, Bren," her mother whispered, her voice trembling. "No matter what happens, do not come out."
"But—"
"Do as I say!" her father hissed, his eyes filled with fear and love.
She had obeyed, pressing herself against the wall as tears streamed down her face. Through the cracks in the wooden door, she saw her parents fighting. Her mother wielded a kitchen knife, her father a pitchfork. They were brave, but they were no match for the creatures.
The satyrs struck them down without mercy.
Bren's scream was silent, her hands clamped over her mouth to muffle the sound. Her entire body shook as the satyrs turned their glowing eyes toward the storage room. The door splintered under their claws, and they dragged her out into the chaos.
She didn't remember much of what happened next. The satyrs had taken her deep into the forest, where a figure cloaked in shadows awaited. Its voice was cold and commanding, its presence suffocating. It spoke of power, of control, of breaking her will.
---
In the present, Bren's hands trembled as she gripped her sword. The corrupted satyr before her growled, its movements eerily similar to the creatures that had torn her life apart.
Her heart pounded as the memories continued to surface.
---
She had been a prisoner for what felt like an eternity, held in a cavern where the air was thick with the stench of decay. The shadowed figure had been her captor, its features always obscured, its voice a constant reminder of her helplessness.
"Your potential is wasted," it had said, its tone mocking. "But I will teach you. You will be a weapon, forged in fire and blood."
At first, she had resisted. She refused to obey, refused to break. But the figure was patient, and the satyrs were cruel. They tormented her, starved her, pushed her to the brink.
And then, one day, it happened.
She had been forced into a fight, a test of her will. The satyrs had surrounded her, their claws gleaming, their laughter echoing in her ears. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself.
In her desperation, something deep within her had awakened.
Heat surged through her veins, building until it felt like her very blood was on fire. Her vision blurred, her body trembling as the heat turned to rage. And then, with a scream, she unleashed it.
Flames erupted from her hands, the ground beneath her feet glowing with molten heat. The satyrs recoiled, their cries of pain and surprise filling the cavern as magma surged outward, consuming everything in its path.
When the fire subsided, the cavern was silent. The satyrs lay motionless, their bodies charred and broken. The shadowed figure stood untouched, watching her with an expression she couldn't read.
"Good," it had said, its voice filled with satisfaction. "You are beginning to understand."
But Bren hadn't felt triumphant. She had looked at her hands, still glowing with residual heat, and felt nothing but fear.
---
The corrupted satyr snarled, snapping Bren back to the present. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she struggled to regain control. She couldn't let the memories consume her. Not now.
Trill's voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. "Bren! Focus! We need to bring this thing down *together!*"
But she couldn't move. Her legs felt like lead, her mind a whirlwind of fear and doubt. She could feel the heat rising within her, the magma stirring just beneath the surface. If she let it loose, there was no telling what might happen.
Her eyes darted toward the edge of the clearing, where the shadowed figure stood, watching.
It was the same. She knew it, even though its form was obscured. The same presence, the same suffocating aura. The creature that had destroyed her village, that had twisted her life into something unrecognizable, was here.
Her grip on her sword faltered.
"I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't do this."
She took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest. The corrupted satyr lunged at Trill, its claws slashing through the air, but her eyes remained fixed on the shadowed figure.
It tilted its head slightly, as if acknowledging her, and a cold dread settled over her.
"Bren!" Trill's voice was sharp, filled with anger and desperation. "What the hell are you doing? You're in this just as deep as I am! You can't just walk away!"
But she was already moving, her feet carrying her away from the clearing. She didn't look back, didn't stop to explain.
The memories were too much. The shadowed figure, the satyr, the fire burning within her—it was all too much.
She ran, the forest closing in around her, the sounds of the battle fading behind her. Her chest heaved with every breath, her vision blurred with unshed tears.
She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get away. Away from the satyr, away from Trill, away from the shadow of her past that threatened to consume her.
---
**To be continued...**