You Know Something, Don’t You?

Kael stared at the Gate.

It didn't glow. It didn't pulse. It didn't move.

But it felt like it was breathing.

Have you ever gotten that feeling—like someone's watching you from across the room? That itchy, crawling sensation on your neck?

Now imagine it's not a person.

It's a giant stone tower doing the staring.

That's exactly what the Gate felt like.

***

The others were still asleep.

Finn had curled up near the fire, using his jacket as a pillow. Silas was sprawled out on his back, snoring, one hand still resting on a chunk of rebar like it was his comfort teddy.

Riven was the only one half-awake, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed and her gaze—of course—locked on the Gate.

Kael stepped away from the camp. Sleep had been useless anyway—not after what he'd seen. The vision Brizzar had shown him had dug into his brain like a splinter.

He looked at the silent Gate again.

It didn't whisper. It didn't beckon.

But it knew something. It held something.

Something about him.

"You know something, don't you?" he muttered.

The Gate didn't answer.

"If you won't tell me…"

Kael took a deep breath and stepped forward.

One step.

Two.

Every footfall was cautious, measured. Riven had warned him not to go near it. Hell, even he knew this was a bad idea. But he couldn't stop himself. He had to know.

His boots crunched softly over broken rubble as he closed the distance.

The Gate didn't open. Didn't change.

It waited—like it was testing him.

"Alright," he muttered, "you want a show?"

He reached out and touched it with his bare hand.

"show it to me then"

Instantly—

Then a Pain, but not the sharp kind. Not a stab or a burn.

This pain was worse. Like grief twisting its way up your throat. Like remembering something you weren't ready to remember.

The glyphs etched into the Gate shifted. Not glowing—shifting, like fast-forwarding through time and reforming into a new shape.

Then, Brizzar's voice thundered in his mind:

"You remember."

"You return."

"You are… incomplete."

Kael dropped to his knees, strength draining like someone had pulled the plug.

Sweat dripped down his chin. His breaths came in ragged bursts.

"Still here," he gasped. "Still alive, damn it—"

Suddenly, the glyphs flared angry red.

Like he'd triggered the wrong sequence.

He reached out again, fingertips brushing the surface—

And the world cracked.

Like shattered glass.

He wasn't in Sector 9 anymore.

He stood in… white. Pure white. No floor, no ceiling, no horizon. Just fog curling around like smoke in zero gravity.

No sign of the camp. No Gate. No friends.

"Where—" he spun, heart racing. "—where the hell am I?"

Footsteps echoed behind him.

He turned fast and saw her.

A girl, maybe sixteen. Dressed in black robes, silver hair floating weightlessly around her head despite the still air.

Her eyes glowed softly like candlelight. She didn't blink. Didn't breathe. No emotion. Like a doll left in the fog too long.

"Hey, kid," he said cautiously. "You know where I am?"

She tilted her head. "This is the Veil. The space between countless worlds."

Then she walked toward him.

And didn't stop.

"Whoa, hey—bit too close," he backed up instinctively.

But she reached out, gently grabbing his hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" he tried to yank away, but she held firm, pressing her fingers against his palm.

"You haven't changed," she whispered. "You're still the same."

Kael blinked. "...Do I know you?"

"You always ask that," she said softly.

"So… we have met?"

She stepped past him, brushing her fingers through his hand.

"You open the door in every cycle. Sometimes sooner. Sometimes… never."

"Cycle?"

"Rebirth. Reset. Transmigration. Many names."

His head throbbed.

"Wait. Are you a ghost? A memory? AI? What?"

She didn't smile, but her lips twitched.

"I'm the key you keep forgetting."

"What key?"

"The key to your past."

He pointed at her, frustrated. "If I forgot you, why can't I remember you?!"

"Because you chose not to."

Something in his brain snapped.

"Alright, I'm done. Just stop being cryptic and tell me."

She looked up at him calmly. "Then answer this—what are your parents' names?"

Kael blinked.

"Of course I know my parents' names," he scoffed. "Their names are—"

The smile faded from his face.

Sweat broke across his brow.

His lips trembled. "My parents' names are…"

Nothing.

Blank.

His heart pounded faster.

"M—My parents… why can't I remember my parents' names?"

"Because you forgot," she said simply. "Because you wanted to forget."

He staggered back.

"No, no, no—why would I ever choose to forget that?"

She hesitated. "Because remembering hurt too much."

His hands shook. "Can I… recover them? The memories?"

"There's a way," she admitted.

He grabbed her shoulder, almost pleading. "Then tell me."

"Please remove your hand."

"...Sorry."

He let go.

"So there is a way?"

"There is," she said, rubbing her shoulder. "But I don't know how much you'll recover."

"It doesn't matter. Even if it's a piece—I'll take it." He clenched his fists. "I'll do whatever it takes."

She raised a single finger.

The fog split like silk.

"You have to find it within yourself," she said, and her body began to dissolve into the mist.

Then—

It hit him.

A battlefield.

Screams.

Palaces crumbling.

A woman—older, fierce—throwing herself in front of him.

"You're the last one, Kael. You can't break now."

His sword cracked.

His voice screamed a name he couldn't remember.

Back in the Veil, Kael collapsed to his knees.

The girl caught him gently.

"I'm not here to fight," she whispered. "Only to remind you."

"Remind me of what?"

"That you're not broken."

Kael's chest tightened. "Then why do I feel like a mistake every time I wake up?"

She reached out and touched his forehead.

"You carry every life. Every failure. That's not a mistake. That's a burden. One you chose."

"I don't remember choosing it."

"You never do."

The fog thickened around them.

"You don't have long."

"Wait—who are you?"

"I've had many names," she said, leaning in.

"But you always called me Laniriel."

And then—

She vanished.

***

GASP!

His lungs seized. Sweat clung to his face. Tears blurred his eyes.

The Gate was there.

Still silent. Still stone.

Kael didn't speak. Didn't laugh. Didn't cry.

He just stood up quietly.

"You're late," he said.

Behind him—

"Kael?!"

Finn's voice.

Kael turned.

The kid was rushing toward him, wide-eyed. Riven followed, blade already drawn.

"Are you—what happened?" Finn asked, panting.

Kael looked at the Gate.

"Nothing," he said. "I just remembered something."

Riven came to stand beside him, gaze fixed on the stone.

"That's not nothing."

Kael shrugged. "Depends on your perspective."

She didn't ask for more.

Just gave him a look—half concern, half… respect.

They returned to camp.

Silas stirred, groaning. "What the hell was that noise?"

"Kael opened the Gate," Finn said.

Silas stared. "You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Silas scratched his beard. "…You look like you died again."

Kael dropped onto a slab of broken concrete. "Not far off."

Later, Riven tossed him a dented can. Some kind of food. Maybe.

"You alright?" she asked.

He poked it with his knife. "i am damn alright.'"

She sat beside him in silence.

Then: "What's in there?"

Kael didn't look up.

"Ghosts. Mostly mine."

She snorted. "You're not making this easy."

"I'm not trying to."

"..."

"You gonna keep going?"

Kael nodded. "Yeah. The Gate's not done. It reminds me. It'll open again."

Riven leaned back. "You know, most people don't go poking cursed towers in dead zones."

"I'm not most people."

She gave him a sideways glance. "No. You're something way more complicated."

***

That night, Kael didn't sleep.

He sat by the fire, flipping his knife through his fingers, staring at the flames.

Thinking.

Turning the girl's name over and over in his mind.

Laniriel.

Why did that name ache?

Why did it feel like—long ago—he made her a promise?

And worse…

Why did it feel like he broke it?

Kael sighed.

"Figures."

He flipped the knife again.

"Better not get me killed."