When the land remembers

In the old forest, the sigils began to sing.

Aure walked the path alone, but the symbols carved into bark and bone hummed as he passed. Old magic. Memory magic.

Each step triggered flashes a blade catching sunlight, a kiss beneath thunder, a promise screamed into storm.

He fell to his knees.

The sigils pulsed and burned into his vision, forming the same shape: two hands reaching, one grasping, one slipping.

And in the center: Lian.

"Why can't I forget you?" Aure whispered.

And the forest answered with wind, scent, and a memory too sharp to bear.