The road to Seredath no longer existed.
The once-great magical capital had been wiped from every map, every book, even the minds of most who lived near it. Time itself curled around the place like a scar, refusing to name it.
But Ael Rynhart remembered.
Or rather… he remembered that he had forgotten.
Something had been taken from him there. Something important.
And now, in this new era of healing, he was ready to face whatever truth had been sealed.
Even if it was one that chose to be forgotten.
—
The forest before Seredath was too quiet.
Birdsong halted at its edge. Trees grew in spirals, their trunks bent like they were fleeing backward. Even the wind hesitated—whispering only in half-breaths.
Ael stepped forward.
The moment his boot touched the old path, reality shifted.
—
Suddenly, he was a child.
Nine years old.
Standing in a courtyard of silver leaves, holding a sword too large for his hands. A woman stood before him—warm eyes, wild hair, voice like running water.
Her name sat on the edge of his tongue.
But vanished the moment he reached for it.
He blinked—and the image was gone.
He was himself again.
The path continued.
—
Seredath revealed itself slowly.
A city beneath a sky that no longer matched the world.
Towers bent inward. Streets looped into impossible angles. Lanterns flickered with memories instead of flame.
Ael passed a fountain, and it spoke.
"You came here once," it whispered in dozens of voices. "You made a pact. Do you remember?"
He did not.
But the farther he walked, the more his mind itched.
Like something buried alive was scratching its way back to the surface.
—
In the center of the ruined city stood a spire of translucent glass, webbed with violet light.
And within it—sealed in a prism of magic older than time—was a figure.
A woman.
Floating.
Unmoving.
Alive.
Ael staggered.
Because his soul recognized her.
Her presence struck every shard inside him like a tuning fork.
Emotion. Hope. Longing. Remorse.
All of it surged.
He whispered her name before he could stop himself.
"…Elarin."
The crystal pulsed.
And the illusions around him collapsed.
—
He was back in the past.
Sixteen.
Inside Seredath.
A war council.
He and Elarin stood side by side—two weapons forged by the kingdom. Two prodigies. She with her living runes. He with his emotionless mind.
He remembered now.
They were in love.
Not the romantic kind. Something deeper.
They were each other's escape. Ael could breathe near her. Could almost feel.
And then—one mission. One betrayal.
One pact to trade memory for power.
He had chosen to forget her.
To become the cold king who would win the war.
She had chosen to be sealed away, rather than let herself become a weapon.
—
Back in the present, Ael fell to his knees.
She was still inside the prism.
Still asleep.
Still waiting.
And the magic holding her was not cruel.
It was hers.
A lock forged from a promise:
"Not until you remember.Not until you are ready.Not until you feel."
He placed his hand on the prism.
"I remember."
And the seal broke.
—
She collapsed into his arms.
Eyes fluttering open.
Voice a whisper.
"Ael…?"
He nodded, tears sliding down his cheeks.
"I'm here."
"I waited so long."
"I'm sorry."
She smiled.
"You came back. That's enough."
—
The city did not crumble.
It breathed.
With her awakening, the illusions lifted. Seredath shimmered with soft light. Buildings stood straighter. Time untangled.
And for the first time in over twenty years…
The magic capital of the world began to heal.
—
They sat beside the fountain that night, saying little.
No need to explain what was lost.
Only what came next.
She turned to him at last.
"Why did you come back?"
He looked at the stars.
Because now he could see them clearly.
"I wanted to remember the part of me that made everything else worth saving."