the lost memory

Chapter eleven:The Lost Memory

The fractured landscape of the Shattered Realms pulsed faintly, broken edges shimmering with Veil magic. The remnants of the Architect's influence still clung to the air like faint, poisoned embers, but it was fading.

Slowly.

Agonizingly slowly.

Emma stood motionless at the edge of the memory tide, her boots sinking into the uneven shore of fractured stone and glittering black sand. Her heart pounded steadily against her ribs, though she barely felt it.

Because before her, Liam knelt on the ground, shaking violently.

His fingers were clenched in the soil, trembling as though he were trying to anchor himself to reality, but he couldn't stop the violent spasms that tore through him.

Emma's breath caught in her throat.

She had seen him falter before—seen him bleed and stagger.

But not like this.

Never like this.

The lost memory she had just pulled from the Veil still trembled around them, shimmering like cracked glass. It had poured through him like liquid fire, forcing him to relive something he had forgotten—something he had buried so deep, even the Hollowborn's influence could not reach it.

But now it was free, unfurling violently through his mind.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her voice low and breathless with fear.

"Liam."

He didn't respond.

His hands were trembling violently, his fingers clawing at the earth.

He was fighting for control, but he was losing.

And she saw it—the flicker of silver-black magic surging beneath his skin.

She cupped his face in her hands, her fingers pressing lightly against his jaw, trying to anchor him.

"Liam, look at me."

His eyes snapped up—wild, unfocused, and flickering with fractured light.

His pupils were blown wide, like he wasn't seeing her at all.

Only the memory.

Only the nightmare.

And when he spoke, his voice was barely a breath.

"Emma… I remember."

The Nightmare of Memory

The Veil twisted violently.

And before she could brace herself, she was dragged into his memory.

The world lurched sharply around her, and for a disorienting moment, she felt herself falling—tumbling backward through time, her vision splintering into fragmented, broken images.

She hit the ground hard—cold stone against her hands.

Her breath caught violently in her throat.

When she lifted her eyes, she was no longer in the Shattered Realms.

She was in Liam's past.

The memory was sharp and vivid, no longer fragmented by Hollowborn interference.

She saw him—younger, with unmarked skin and bright green eyes—standing on the edges of the Veilwood, his knuckles white around the hilt of his blade.

The forest was dark and ancient, its branches twisted into claw-like silhouettes. The moon was a thin, silver sliver above the canopy, barely illuminating the path ahead.

Emma's breath caught as she watched the faint trembling in his hands, the slight hitch in his breathing.

He was scared, but not for himself.

She saw him glance over his shoulder, and her chest tightened violently when she saw why.

In the distance, she saw a woman—a Hollowborn emissary with blackened eyes and a soft, sorrowful voice—holding his mother's hand.

The woman's face was blank, vacant—glazed with Veil corruption.

But his mother's eyes were wide with terror, her face pale and bloodless.

And Liam, barely more than a boy, was negotiating with them.

Pleading.

Bargaining.

"Let her go," he said hoarsely, his voice thick with desperation.

His blade was steady in his grip, but his voice was not.

"Take me instead. Just… let her go."

The emissary smiled faintly, cruelly.

And when she spoke, Emma recognized the voice.

The Architect's voice.

Even then, he had been in Liam's head.

"You offer yourself so easily," the emissary purred softly, her voice dripping with mockery.

Her black eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.

"A child bargaining with gods."

But she smiled.

And nodded once.

And then Liam dropped his sword.

Without a word.

Without hesitation.

And he knelt before her, his hands shaking.

The emissary moved toward him, her fingers brushing over his face, and her lips curled faintly.

"You'll be mine, then."

And with a single word, she branded him.

Her fingers pressed to his chest, and the Hollowborn sigil seared into his skin, bright and cruel, filled with dark magic.

His mother screamed.

But Liam didn't.

He only stared straight ahead, eyes empty, as though the pain meant nothing.

And then she was gone—the emissary pulling his mother through the Veil.

Liam was left alone, marked and broken, watching the forest collapse into nothingness around him.

The Return to Reality

Emma's eyes snapped open as the memory ended, and she gasped violently.

The Veil around them shimmered and fractured, shattering like splintered glass.

She stumbled back onto her heels, her hands trembling against the cold stone.

Her chest was tight and raw, still aching from the rush of Liam's agony.

And when she turned, she saw him.

Kneeling on the broken ground, his eyes lowered, his hands trembling violently.

The Hollowborn glyphs on his arms were faintly dimming, the magic barely holding.

But he wasn't speaking.

He was staring at his hands—shaking, unseeing.

She crawled toward him and grabbed his hands, cradling them between hers, pressing her forehead against his.

Her voice was low and raw.

"Liam."

He didn't move.

He barely blinked.

He only whispered.

"I gave myself to them."

His voice cracked slightly.

"It was my choice."

Her hands tightened around his, refusing to let go.

Her voice was fierce.

"No."

She pressed his hands to her chest, right over the scar the Hollowborn had once branded into her.

"You were a boy, Liam. You were trying to save her."

But he shook his head faintly.

His voice was hollow, almost disbelieving.

"I didn't care what they did to me. I just didn't want to lose her."

He lifted his eyes, haunted and wild, searching hers.

"And I still lost her."

Her chest splintered.

And then she leaned into him, her voice breaking.

"You didn't lose me."

Her lips brushed his, trembling.

Softly. Desperately.

Her breath catching as she kissed him—slow and aching, as though she were pouring her soul into him.

And he broke beneath it.

His hands clutched at her waist, his fingers trembling, clinging to her as though she was the only thing holding him together.

And when he kissed her back, it was messy and raw, edged with desperation—a drowning man clinging to his lifeline.

She pulled him closer, refusing to let go.

Refusing to lose him.

Because she had seen his pain.

And she would never let him carry it alone again.

The Tether of Their Souls

And when the Hollowborn magic flickered violently around him, she didn't move.

She held him through it.

Through the rage, the sorrow, and the breaking.

Because he was hers, and she was his.

And she would burn the Shattered Realms to bring him home.