Chapter 35

Kye stared at the white cube. It pulsed like a heartbeat—soft and steady—but the feeling it gave off was anything but calm. Standing this close to it, he felt something deep under his ribs twist uncomfortably. Not pain. Not even fear.

Just… pressure.

Like something inside the cube *recognized* him.

The voice still echoed faintly in the chamber, like a ripple clinging to stone. His voice. The other him. The one who had stepped out of the broken pod and into the world like a living scar.

Don't open it, Kye. Not unless you're ready to lose who you are.

Renna stepped beside him.

"You heard it too?" she asked.

Kye nodded. "Clear as day."

Veika was slower to approach. She looked at the cube like it might explode if she breathed on it too hard.

"Okay, so, weird glowing box that talks in your voice and warns you about opening it—can we all agree this is definitely cursed?"

"It's not cursed," the boy said quietly.

"It's worse than cursed," Renna murmured.

Kye didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

Because he already knew—somehow, deep inside—that this cube didn't just hold memories. It *was* a memory.

Or maybe *all of them.*

He circled it slowly. The light inside flickered, dimmed, brightened. There were no seams on its surface. No inscriptions. Nothing to suggest how it was made or what it had been used for.

"How does it open?" he asked.

"You don't open it," the boy replied. "You let it open you."

Kye stopped walking.

"That's not cryptic at all."

The boy didn't smile.

Veika rubbed her temple. "I'm starting to really miss the days when our biggest problem was running from guards and eating expired rations."

Kye looked back at the cube. His voice came quieter now, more to himself than to anyone else.

"He said I'd lose who I am. Is that what this thing does?"

The boy hesitated.

"It doesn't erase," he said. "It returns."

Kye turned sharply. "Returns what?"

"Everything they took."

Renna stepped in closer now. Her expression was unreadable.

"And once it comes back," she said slowly, "you're not the same."

"No," the boy confirmed. "You're who you were before they changed you. Before the sword. Before the memory tampering. Before they decided what version of Kye the world was allowed to have."

A long silence stretched across the room.

Kye looked at his hands. He had always felt like there was something missing—something dull in the back of his mind, like a word on the tip of his tongue that refused to form. He thought it was trauma. Pain. Loss he couldn't place.

But maybe it was *the truth*, scraped away like bark peeled from a tree.

"What happens to this version of me," he asked, "when I remember who I was?"

The boy didn't answer right away. Then finally, quietly, he said—

"He ends."

Renna turned sharply toward him. "So he dies?"

"No," the boy said. "But everything he believes in… everything he built to survive… gets overwritten. It won't be like watching a memory. It'll be like waking up."

Kye touched the side of the cube.

A jolt ran through him—not electricity, but warmth. Familiar. Like touching something he hadn't seen since childhood. The back of his eyes burned, and suddenly, he could smell something. Wet ash. Leather. A candle burning down to the wick.

Then it vanished.

He stepped back, breath shaky.

Renna caught his arm.

"You don't have to do this now," she said.

"I might not have time later," he replied.

Veika was pacing behind them, muttering to herself.

"So let me get this straight—this cube could basically reboot your soul, overwrite your personality, possibly unlock a rage monster that's been sleeping in your skull, and maybe make you disappear entirely… and we're just considering it?"

"We're not just considering it," Kye said.

He faced the cube again.

"We're already here."

---

He knelt in front of the pedestal. His hand hovered over the light. It pulsed faster now, like it could sense his intent.

Then, without asking for permission, the cube opened.

A single seam formed down the center and split outward. No noise. No machinery. Just smooth motion, like the cube had been waiting for this moment since the moment he was born.

From within, a soft mist spilled out.

Not vapor.

Light.

And in the middle of it—an orb no larger than a stone.

It floated upward and hovered between Kye's eyes, spinning slowly.

He didn't touch it.

He didn't need to.

The moment it connected with his gaze, everything stopped.

---

The chamber was gone.

So were the others.

Kye stood in a field.

It was raining.

But the sky was golden.

He looked around. Grass rose to his knees. The wind carried a faint hum. And in the distance, he saw two children—no older than ten—playing near a tree carved with dozens of small symbols.

One of them looked exactly like him.

The other… didn't.

Shorter. Darker hair. Quieter.

Kye's heart stopped when he saw the boy's face.

It was the twin from the mural.

He wasn't a twin.

He was something else.

The memory continued without him touching anything. He heard voices—his own voice, younger, excited. Talking about a sword they weren't supposed to find. A door hidden in the woods. A promise they made to protect each other no matter what happened.

Then came the flame.

The memory split.

The field turned to fire.

The children screamed.

And something—someone—*cut* the memory in half.

Kye saw a man step into the scene. Cloaked in white. Face hidden. Holding Vireon's Breath.

He knelt in front of one child.

And *erased* the other.

Not with fire.

With a rune pressed to the forehead.

Kye gasped.

He remembered.

That boy wasn't a twin.

He was *him*.

A second version. One made when the sword split him.

The man didn't kill him.

He *separated* him.

To make Kye stable.

To make him usable.

To make him forget.

---

Kye collapsed to the ground, the memory vanishing like mist sucked back into the cube. His chest heaved, arms trembling. The chamber returned. The others rushed forward. Renna caught him before he hit the floor.

He couldn't speak right away. The words came out dry and cracked.

"They… they split me."

Veika was pale. "Who?"

"The Memory Division," the boy said. "They didn't just seal your past. They carved it in half."

Renna held him tighter.

Kye stared at the cube. Its light had faded now. Dim and cold.

He knew the truth now.

But knowing didn't bring clarity.

It brought weight.

He had lived as half a person. Trained. Recruited. Deployed. Everything he did was filtered through the version of himself the Memory Division wanted.

Now the other half was awake.

Loose.

And worse—he wasn't angry.

He was patient.

That was what scared Kye the most.

He finally looked up at the others.

"We need to find him," he said. "Before he remembers something even worse."