The Ghost that never buried

The world did not change.

The sun still rose above the fortress walls. The knights continued their training in the courtyard, the sound of blades ringing against steel, their voices sharp with discipline. Theat nobles still strode the halls with their hushed pride, their deliberate steps, their soft secrets.

But something shifted in me.

I had witnessed a dead man walking. I had seen a noble's life erased before the ink on his death had dried. I had stood before a girl who never hesitated, who never faltered — and I had seen hesitation in her eyes.

I had seen Asura hesitate.

And that meant something was very wrong.

I had no proof. No written records. No name for the enemy I was starting to understand had always existed.

But I didn't need proof. I had her.

A Blade That Never Stands Still

I found her in the training yard, going through the forms as though nothing had changed. As though the world had not started to sway around us.

Her footwork was precise, her blade an extension of herself. She slashed through the air as if she were chiseling something hidden in the space around her.

But she was holding them too tightly.

Her breath was overly measured.

She was pushing herself to be perfect.

I had watched her fight for weeks, learned her rhythms, her body language. And for the first time, I noticed that something was wrong.

She was waging a war with no enemy.

She was fighting herself.

I stepped forward. "You're thinking too much."

She didn't stop. Didn't pause. Didn't even look at me. "I don't think when I fight."

"So what are you afraid of?"

That made her stop.

Just for a second. Just enough time for her fingers to coil around her dagger, knuckles whitening.

Then, she exhaled. "You don't know what you're talking about.

I met her gaze. "Then tell me."

For the first time since I'd known her, I saw something real.

Something more than the cold, untouchable mask she'd spent years honing.

Something like fear.

She was quiet for a long time.

She slow studied and sheathed her dagger, then leaned against the wooden railing of the training yard, arms crossed.

You ever wake up one day and suddenly something was missing?

Her voice was calm. Measured. Too measured.

I swallowed. "What do you mean?"

She sighed in a low breath, raising her chin to the sky. "One day, I had a little brother.

The words struck deeper than I anticipated.

I had never heard her talk about family before. I never even thought about the fact that she had family.

I stayed silent.

She continued.

"He was stubborn. Never listened. Thought he was going to become the greatest knight in the kingdom." Her lips formed into something that was nearly a smile but not quite. "Always followed me around. Wanted to be just like me."

She allowed the words to settle, as if she were allowing herself to remember.

Then, her expression shifted.

"Then, one day, he was gone."

My stomach tightened.

She was not talking about death."

She wasn't referring to someone killed in battle, or claimed by sickness.

She was referring to something else.

Something worse.

I swallowed. "What happened?"

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze inscrutable. "That's the thing. Nothing happened."

I frowned. "I don't—"

"No body. No funeral. No mourning. No questions." Her voice was quiet, steady. "One day, he existed. The next, he didn't. And no one remembered."

The air felt colder.

The torches danced, their light cast long on the courtyard walls.

"No one?" I repeated.

She spun to face me then, her dark eyes incisive. "Not even my parents."

In my chest, something twisted."

Because that wasn't possible.

People didn't just vanish. They didn't just erase people.

But I had seen it before.

I had spotted it in the archives. The way Dain's name had been erased from the records before his blood had even dried.

I had seen it as if a noble had been killed before he could speak, his name removed from history before anyone could ask why.

And now I had seen it in her.

In how she held herself. The way she never allowed herself to hesitate.

Because if she stopped — if she slowed down for a second — she could forget, too.

An Unremembered Memory

I exhaled. "What was his name?"

She hesitated.

Not long. Not enough that anyone else took note of it.

But I noticed.

Then, at last, she said: "Rai."

And the instant the name spilled from her mouth, she took a sharp breath, her fingers flexing as if she were reaching for something on the air.

I saw it then.

Saying his name hurt.

Not just because he was gone.

But because she was afraid some part of her wasn't supposed to remember.

That she wasn't allowed to.

The thought sent a shudder through my skin.

I had no words for the kind of power the finally erased a person so completely their friends who loved them forgot.

But I knew one thing.

It was the same presence that had been monitoring us since the night of the mission.

I clenched my fists. "They took him."

Asura didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

Because we both knew.

The Shadows had taken him.

She had spent her whole life trying to act like it didn't matter.

A Bond That Cannot Be Broken

After that, she didn't say much for a long time.

She stood stiffly with her arms folded, her eyes on the torches as if looking at something different.

Something long gone.

I hesitated. Then, slowly, I reached out.

My fingertips grazed her wrist, lightly, so that she could pull away if she wanted to.

She didn't.

For the first time in all the time I'd known her, she didn't move away.

She just stood there, silent. Allowing herself to be present in the moment.

Then, finally, she exhaled. "You can't make this better, Alarion."

I swallowed. "I know."

A pause.

Then — "But I can help you remember."

That was when, for the first time that night, she finally looked at me.

And I saw something I'd never seen before in her dark, unreadable eyes.

Something real.

Something unguarded.

Something like hope.

She didn't speak. Didn't thank me.

She didn't need to.

Because we both knew.

This was only the beginning. The torches flickered, their flames casting shadows across the cold stone walls of the courtyard.

Asura didn't speak. She was just standing there, leaning with her arms crossed, breathing deep, a little slow. Too slow. The way she was trying to make sure it stayed level."

She had shown me something real. Something raw. And now she was trying to seal it back up.

I couldn't let her.

I took a slow step closer. "What else do you remember?"

She didn't respond right away. I saw her fingers flex against her forearm, the nails digging into the leather of her sleeve.

Then, finally—"Not enough."

Her voice got softer, drained of her characteristic edge.

I swallowed. "But you do remember."

She exhaled. "Pieces."

She half-turned, looking upward at the night sky. "A voice. A laugh. "How he used to talk about knighthood A pause. "He was smaller than me. Always tried to show he was not."

It's not that she said it that way, but how she said it."

I had seen Asura fight. I had witnessed how impossible it was to touch her. But she had protected someone else as a child.

And now he was gone.

I took a breath and tried to steady my voice. "Did anyone else know?"

Tightened her fingers against her arms. "For many years, I thought I was going crazy."

I frowned. "Why?"

She turned to me then and I sensed a shift.

"Because all the people I asked all the people who should have known him looked at me like he never existed."

I swallowed hard. "Your family?"

A slow nod.

"Your parents?"

Silence.

Then, at last, "They said I was an only child."

The words landed harder than I'd imagined.

I had no answer for that.

Because that wasn't a mere loss. That was erasure.

And I didn't know how to combat something like that.

The Shadow of a Memory

What followed was: We stood in silence for some time, the certainty of her words settling on both of us.

Then, Asura exhaled. "I don't expect you to comprehend."

I met her gaze. "I do."

She didn't respond, but she didn't look away, either.

I took a slow breath. "I saw it in the archives. A dead knight, still walking. A nobleman expunged before his body was cold. It's not just you."

She studied me. "And what do you think that means?

I clenched my fists. "That means this has been going on for longer than we have thought."

A pause.

Then, she spoke carefully. "But you still believe we can do something about it?"

I hesitated.

Not because I doubted myself. But because I suspected that the answer was yes that terrified me.

Because if we could, it meant we would have to.

I exhaled. "I think we have to try."

It was as if nothing had affected Asura. She just stared at me for a long moment, as if assessing some invisible weight.

Then "You don't even know where to start."

I clenched my jaw. "Neither do you."

She breathed, cocking her head slightly. "Fair."

A pause.

Then "Then let's start with the people who refuse to answer questions."

I frowned. "What?"

Her eyes darted toward the fortress. "You asked about my family. But I never told you what they did before they forgot him."

The way she said it slowed my pulse.

I swallowed. "What did they do?"

Asura exhaled. "They pleaded with the king for answers."

The King's Silence

No one addressed the king without asking first.

And no one was granted permission if they weren't useful.

Which meant Asura's parents had come in handy.

She led me toward the eastern wing of the fortress, where the records were kept. most of those recruits had never wanted to be here, and neither had the knights.''

But Asura moved as if she had done this before.

We glided into the stone halls, the smell of parchment and candle wax hanging in the air. The records were kept under lock and key, but she had no qualms.

Her hands dove under her cloak, emerging with a small metal pin.

I blinked. "Where did you.."

She didn't answer. Just crouched at the lock, wrangling the pin into the keyhole as though she'd done it every day.

A click.

The door creaked open.

I let out a slow breath. "Should I ask?"

She smirked slightly. "Probably not."

We stepped inside.

A History of the Forgotten

The room was lined with shelves, scrolls, and books piled high, dust accumulating in the corners.

Asura shuffled through the aisles, brushing over the spines of leather-bound ledgers as she scanned the labels.

Then, she stopped.

"Here."

She took a hefty book from a shelf whose binding was frayed, its pages thick with age. She began to flip through them, barely narrowing her eyes.

I moved closer, peering into the text.

A list of audience requests for the king.

A list of names of those who had sought an audience, who had been turned away.

And then—

Akiyama.

Asura's fingers hesitated above the name, her breath even but slow.

I swallowed. "Your family."

A small nod.

It was a brief entry, in cold, efficient script.

REQUEST DENIED. REASON: IRRELEVANT MATTER.

My stomach twisted. "They had a son and they wanted him back."

Asura exhaled. "And they were ignored."

I clenched my fists. "What happened after that?"

She was quiet for a moment. And then, quietly — "They stopped talking about him."

I sucked in a short, surprised breath and turned away, thinking.

This wasn't only about a missing sibling.

This had nothing to do with a deceased noble, nothing to do with a knight lost to the record books.

This was a pattern.

A system.

A means to muzzle those who had asked the wrong questions.

I turned back to her. "This is proof."

She shook her head. "This is nothing."

I frowned. "What—"

She met my gaze. "It's just a name on a page. And if we are not careful, ours will be next."

A Pact That Cannot Be Broken

We vanished from the archives long before anyone recognized us.

The fortress felt quieter tonight, the night long-spun, the air an alchemy of all things left unsaid.

Asura walked beside me, her gait smooth and breaks between each step steady, while her face was impassive.

I hesitated. Then, gently "Why did you tell me?"

She didn't look at me. "What?"

"About Rai. About all of this."

A pause.

And then finally "Because I don't want to be the only one who remembers."

I swallowed.

That surprised me, actually. Some disgust, some clever comment. But she had been honest in her response.

I exhaled. "Then I'll reminisce with you."

She turned to me then, and for the second time that night, I saw something unguarded in her eyes.

Then—she smirked. "Don't die, then."

I let out a small breath. "You either."

And just like that, it was a pact we had made.

We would remember.

No matter what it costs.

No matter what the kingdom had done to wipe us from memory.

Regardless of who attempted to discourage us.

We would remember.

And one day they would pay for what they had done.