WHERE MEMORY BLEEDS

Deep within the forest, where ancient trees stand tall and the air hangs still, two figures sit cross-legged on the soft ground. Flowers with petals of a graceful blue glow faintly around them, releasing scents both divine and grounding, calming the senses.

"Hyacinthus," Kane mutters.

"Breathe deeply, Kane," Lady Bramble instructs, her eyes closed, posture serene in meditation. Her voice is a calm anchor.

"Feel the energies of this place. Let them flow around you, through you, like the wind. Bathe in it."

Kane draws a long breath, trying to quiet his racing thoughts. He feels a soft pressure behind his eyes, then something more, subtle, yet insistent.

Threads of energy, like invisible spider webs, begin to brush against his skin, pulling faintly. He tenses, his jaw tightening as a surge of resistance rises within him.

"Do not fight it, Kane," her voice seeming to whisper directly into his mind. "Let it seep in, let it become a part of you", she pauses. "Deeper breaths,".

He obeys, forcing himself to exhale slowly, deliberately relaxing his guard. The feeling intensifies, the silken threads multiplying, wrapping around him gently, insistently.

He stops resisting and a strange sense of merging occurs. He becomes the centre of this energetic web, and through it, feels the thrumming pulse of nature's power coursing through the air around him.

A faint smile touches Lady Bramble's lips, though her eyes remain closed.

"Good. You are beginning to consciously perceive the flow of magic, Kane. With practice, you will learn to distinguish different sources, different signatures. But for now…" A significant pause, "…dig deeper."

Her voice guides him inward. "You are a being of magic, Kane. Feel the power that resides within your own core. Reach for it. Touch it."

Kane breathes, long and slow, following the external threads inward now, moving through them, seeking their source within himself. 

The external world fades further as his focus narrows, honing in on a spark deep within, the very essence of his soul.

"You have used your magic before," Bramble states quietly.

"I can feel it."

The fairy says, "Do you remember the first time you used it? What triggered it? What did it feel like?" 

"Fear," Kane answers, his voice low, steady, pulled from memory.

"Panic. Someone… was trying to kill me."

"Hold that feeling," Bramble urges, her tone ever gentle. "Feel it, understand it, control it,".

The memory surfaces vividly. The chilling fear as the hooded man attacked, the desperate anxiety waking on a strange beach, the unease returning to Eden. Pain echoes, the sting of failure the his escape from Grimstone failed. 

He remembers it all.

The sensation shifts. A rush of wind blasts his face, colder now, whipping his hair. He opens his eyes and finds himself falling through the clouds once more, the sky vast and empty around him. 

But terror is absent.

This time, he spreads his arms wide, embracing the fall, observing the immense, deep blue ocean sprawling below, seemingly ready to swallow him whole. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

And opens them to the crunch of sand underfoot, the smell of salt stinging his nostrils. He stands on the shores of the Island, Nimwei, the very spot where the dark elf pulled him from the waves.

"Emilia," he murmurs, the name a soft exhale.

His eyes catch movement further up the beach, tents, figures clad in worn leather and steel. Soldiers. "Hey!" The shout is familiar. John, one of the first faces in this world, strides toward him, hand resting on his sword hilt, confusion etched on his face.

Kane wonders fleetingly why the man remains here, on this cursed shore, but offers no greeting. 

As John calls out again, Kane turns and vanishes into thin air.

He stands now in Eden. Or what remains of it. The vibrant colours he remembers are gone, replaced by scorched earth and skeletal trees. 

The land once greeted him with fragrance so sweet and foreign that his senses could not identify. Now replaced with stench of ash and decay. He thinks he is alone until shadows detach themselves from the ruins.

Figures in black attire, faces hidden behind white masks, materialise around him, weapons drawn. "Who are you?" One demands, the voice flat, before they charge as one.

"I was an introvert in my previous life, alone…" a thought flashes through him, "But in this new life, people died for me," he mutters to himself as thoughts of the past return, "Sanches, Matilda", their names echo in his mind. A sharp pang of guilt mixing with rising resolve.

He dodges the first wild swing, twisting inside the attacker's guard, his hand striking the man's wrist. 

Steel clatters on the ground.

Kane scoops up the fallen sword, its weight familiar in his hand. The masked figures hesitate, momentarily startled by his sudden capability. His blue eyes burn with intensity.

His return to Eden feels like a do-over but the pain of fleeing while everyone else was lost pricks at his heart.

With furrowed brows, he dashes forward, a blur of motion honed in the brutal arena. He ducks, weaves, parries, the borrowed sword singing through the air. Blood sprays, painting arcs on the dead ground.

He takes a few blows, a glaring cut here, a bruising impact there but moves with relentless, serpent-like grace.

A fist connects hard with his jaw, staggering him. Another masked figure swings downwards for a killing blow, but Kane rolls aside, regaining his feet in a fluid motion only to find himself completely surrounded, blades pointed inward from all sides. Cornered.

"Come on," Kane roars, defiance blazing in his eyes like blue flames.

They surge forward together, a wall of pointed steel. Just before the blades can find their mark, Kane vanishes again, their swords plunging into empty air, some finding unintended purchase in their comrades.

Kane reappears on one knee, gasping, clutching his side. Sharp pain radiates from a shallow wound beneath his hand; blood quickly soaks through the fabric of his blue shirt, turning it a dark, wet hue.

Obsidian-black stone stretches out around him under a sky thick with oppressive heat and the faint, acrid smell of smoke. Walls of grim stone loom on all sides, a courtyard.

Recognition dawns, cold and unwelcome.

"Grimstone," he mutters.

"The chosen one…" the whispers slither through heavy air, unfamiliar voices yet attached to chillingly familiar forms. Figures shuffle nearby, chained, their skin the distinctive dark hue of Eden's elves, their pointed ears drooping, metal collars and chains jingling with hopeless finality. 

Newly arrived slaves.

"You! Seize him!" The bellow echoes across the courtyard; Barabas.

But Kane is already gone, dissolving like smoke on the wind.

He materialises back in the tranquil forest clearing, stumbling slightly as he drops to his knees before Lady Bramble. His hand remains pressed to his bleeding side. 

The borrowed sword still in one hand.

His breathing is harsh, ragged. The focused calm is shattered, replaced by a storm in his eyes, his jaw clenched, brows drawn tight in pain and remembered fury.

Lady Bramble is instantly beside him, her small form radiating a surprising warmth. Glimmers of soft, golden dust rise from her, swirling around them both, bathing them in a gentle comforting light.

The light settles on his wound.

Kane bites down hard on his lip, stifling a groan as the magic works.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The sting in his gut begins to fade, replaced by a soothing warmth spreading from the point of contact. Her body leaning to his shoulder.

"Do not worry, Kane Skyborn," Lady Bramble says softly, her palm gently wrapping his arm, "You are not alone in this,".