GHOSTS OF THE PAST
The cold of the chamber seeped into Selene's skin, but it was nothing compared to the phantom chill curling inside her.
The weight of the vision still clung to her, a whisper of something vast and unknowable slipping through her fingers.
She gritted her teeth against the emptiness it left behind, the feeling of something stolen.
Across the dimly lit room, Lucian studied her, silver eyes unreadable. The flickering torchlight cast sharp shadows along his angular features, making him appear almost sculpted from the darkness itself. He was waiting.
"How are you feeling? Do you remember anything yet?" His voice was low, measured. A command disguised as patience.
Selene exhaled slowly, clenching her hands against the lingering tremor in her fingers. "It was nothing." The words felt hollow. False. A splinter in her own tongue.
Lucian's gaze sharpened, but he let the lie pass. For now.
Before the silence could settle, the heavy iron door groaned open, and a draft of stale air carried in the scent of old stone and something metallic
A lone figure entered; a human servant, dressed in muted grays, head bowed, carrying a tray of supplies.
Selene barely glanced at them at first, her mind still tangled in the remnants of her missing memory. But the moment the servant looked up, everything changed.
The tray clattered to the ground. Glass shattered. The scent of spilled herbs and something faintly medicinal filled the chamber.
The servant stood frozen, their face drained of all color. Their lips parted in a silent gasp, their breath catching as if they'd seen a ghost.
Selene's pulse faltered. That expression. That fear. That recognition.
She knew them. No, she should know them.
A spike of pain lanced through her skull. Her breath hitched as the edges of a memory flickered, half-formed, blurred like ink smudged by water. Her name trembled on the servant's tongue.
"No… it can't be…" Their voice cracked, hoarse and disbelieving.
The pain in Selene's head intensified, a deep, pulsing agony that sent white sparks across her vision. She reached for the memory, something important, something real.
The System's voice slithered through her mind, mechanical and absolute.
[Error. Unauthorized Data Detected. Correcting…]
A wave of nausea crashed into her. Her vision twisted. The memory she was grasping at, whatever it was; fractured, dissolved, gone.
She gasped, stumbling back as a hollow void replaced the recognition. Nothing. It was as if the connection had never existed.
The servant remained, trembling, their eyes wide with desperate hope. But in Selene's mind, they were a stranger.
"Selene… it's me. Don't you remember?" The plea in their voice sent a sharp, unbearable pressure through her chest.
She opened her mouth, but no answer came. The truth had been ripped from her before she could grasp it. Her fingers curled into fists. She should know them. She should.
The servant took a step closer, voice breaking. "You saved me! You told me to run! I thought you were dead!" Their hands trembled at their sides, clenched in a battle between fear and something deeper; devotion. "You fought for us… you died for us… but you're still here."
Selene's breath shuddered. Her heartbeat was a pounding drum against her ribs.
Did I? Did I fight for them?
Who are they?
Her thoughts twisted, spiraling in a dizzying loop, clawing at the missing pieces. But before she could reach for them again,
A blur of motion.
Lucian moved like a shadow folding in on itself, sudden and absolute. His hand closed around the servant's throat.
A strangled gasp. The human's feet lifted from the ground, their body pinned against the cold stone wall.
Lucian's voice was eerily calm. "You talk too much."
The servant clawed at his grip, eyes bulging, choking on half-formed words. Selene's stomach lurched.
A sharp, involuntary jolt of anger shot through her, tangled with a strange, unshakable fear. They knew something. If Lucian killed them, that truth would die too.
She forced her voice to steady, filling it with faux pride. "Killing a servant over a few words? That's beneath you."
Lucian's eyes flicked to her, unreadable. For a long, tense moment, the only sound in the room was the servant's strangled gasps.
Then, he released them. The human collapsed to the ground, coughing violently, hands clutching at their throat. They didn't look at Lucian. Their wide, terrified eyes were locked on Selene. Still hoping. Still waiting.
Lucian stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Watch your tongue, human. Next time, I won't be so forgiving." His voice was like ice cracking over deep water.
The servant scrambled away, lingering only for a breath longer, eyes searching Selene's face as if willing her to remember. Then, with one last broken glance, they fled through the door, vanishing into the cold corridors beyond.
Silence swallowed the chamber. The air still crackled with something raw and unfinished. Selene's gaze lingered on the door, an empty ache gnawing at the edges of her chest.
Lucian spoke first, voice smooth but knowing. "I'll deal with it later"
"Don't do anything to her" She whispered.
"You dare tell me what to do to my own slaves?" He whispered as he stept closer, his tone reduced to an audible growl.
Selene didn't answer. She couldn't.
The System's whisper curled at the back of her mind, a hollow, mechanical lullaby.
[Memory Data Successfully Purged.]
Her throat tightened. The ache in her chest deepened. What else had it taken from her?
That was her last thought before her world went blank, throwing her body forward and into Lucian's arms, though surprised by her sudden unconsciousness, caught her gingerly, scooping her up into his arms bridal style.
He took a cautious look at her,
Actually looking at her for the first time since their first altercation.
Selene's body was limp in his arms, her breathing shallow, lips slightly parted as if caught mid-protest.
The chandelier light painted shifting patterns across her pale skin, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face.
She looked fragile like this, too fragile for what she was, for what she had become.
Lucian's jaw tightened. He was no stranger to unconscious bodies, but this was different. She was different.
The weight of her was deceptively light, yet he could feel the tension lingering in her muscles, the faint traces of resistance even as she lay still.
His fingers curled slightly around her back, a fleeting hesitation passing through him before he pushed it aside.
The System had done this.
Again.
His gaze flicked toward the heavy iron door where the servant had fled. He had half a mind to call them back, to pry whatever fractured truth they held from their lips, but he knew better.
The moment was gone. Whatever they had seen in her, whatever they had remembered, Selene never would.
The System had seen to that.
A slow exhale escaped him, controlled, measured. This was expected. Predictable, even. And yet, something in his chest tightened with a quiet, insidious fury.
Selene stirred slightly, a faint crease forming between her brows. Her body instinctively curled closer to warmth, to something solid, and Lucian...
Lucian didn't move.
He couldn't.
Lightening crackled in the gloomy sky outside the castle, breaking the soft silence of the room, the scent of spilled herbs and broken glass still lingering in the cold air.
He let his gaze linger on her face for a fraction longer than necessary before turning toward the door.
"Prepare a new chamber for her," he instructed coolly to the lingering shadows beyond the threshold.
There was no hesitation in the response. "Yes, my lord."
Lucian carried her through the dim corridors, his pace unhurried yet purposeful. He could feel the weight of unseen eyes on him; servants, guards, sycophants lurking in the shadows, whispering about the girl who should not exist.
The girl who had died and yet lived.
Selene Raine. A walking paradox. A complication.
The first human to survive this transformation.
His grip on her tightened briefly.
The System had erased something from her, but not completely. He had seen it in her eyes, the flicker of rebellion, the desperate grasp at something she could no longer reach. It would drive her mad eventually.
Or it would make her dangerous.
The corner of his lips curled slightly, something darkly amused stirring within him. He had always preferred the latter quality in people.
As he stepped into the chamber prepared for her, he laid her down carefully against the velvet sheets.
The contrast was almost jarring; her battle-worn form against something so soft, so refined.
He straightened, watching as her breathing evened out, the tension in her body melting away, if only for a moment. His fingers brushed against his wrist, the memory of her unconscious weight still lingering there.
His eyes darkened into a vibrant shade of crimson red.
And he left the room silently.