What the heart remembers, the mind rarely forgets.
Every Time
The night was still and heavy like the world was holding its breath. The wind through the trees was a whisper, barely audible over the steady beat of our hearts. We were close to the place, deep in a forest that seemed to stretch endlessly, its canopy dense and intertwined. The silence was a prelude, the calm before everything was torn apart.
We had three days until the full moon.
I glanced at Rolo. He looked worn, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the relentless manufacturing he'd pushed himself through. Ten mines had left him pale and ragged, but his posture was steady, and his jaw was set. This was Rolo at his most determined.
"Rolo, you and I will check the northern perimeter," I said, keeping my voice low and measured. "Mazen, you take the southern route. We'll meet back here in half an hour."
Mazen nodded, his old necklace gleaming faintly in the dim light as he turned it around his neck to activate its concealment spell. The magic shimmered and shifted, making him blend into the forest as if he were part of the trees themselves.
Rolo looked at me briefly, a glimmer of apprehension in his eyes that quickly masked itself with determination. He pulled his red mage robe tighter around him, the hood shadowing his eyes. He became invisible in an instant.
I turned the fae ring on my fingers. We slipped through the underbrush, our movements silent. We moved cautiously, keeping our senses sharp. I could feel the pulse of magic around me, the vibration of ancient spells etched into the land. Then, Rolo stopped. His body tensed, and his eyes narrowed as he focused on something I couldn't see.
"What is it?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Over here," Rolo replied, pointing. He stepped forward, the air around him vibrating with power. The forest seemed to part for a moment, and in that space, there it was—a protection spell, ancient and vast, drawn in a pattern so intricate it made my skin prickle.
I approached it slowly, inspecting the edges that glowed with a dull, almost sickly light. The spell looked old, its magic was dark. I knew this was no ordinary shield; it was something designed to keep people out, something crafted by hands that had no desire to be found.
"Can you see into it?" I asked, my voice low.
Rolo closed his eyes, the fingers of his gloved hand splayed in front of him as if touching something unseen. The silence stretched on, and then he nodded, the movement small but definitive. "I can see a vague structure. It's... big. A fortress. But it's half ruined, like it's been abandoned for centuries."
My jaw clenched, and I took a deep breath. The spell wasn't just to protect—it was to hide something.
"We need to tell Mazen," I said, taking a step back from the spell. "This changes everything."
Rolo nodded, eyes sharp and focused. "Let's go."
As we made our way back to the spot where we'd agreed to regroup, I couldn't shake the feeling that the fortress wasn't just an artifact of the past. It was a reminder that we were about to face more than a battle—it would be a war against the unknown.
Mazen was already waiting for us when we reached the clearing. The shadows around him seemed to shift and twist as the magic of his concealment faded, revealing his lean form. He took one look at Rolo and me and nodded, understanding that we had found something significant.
Rolo, still pale from his exertions, caught his breath before speaking. "The coordinates are correct. The Time Mage will be using a fortress to hide and activate the Moonlight Casket. The protection spell is potent."
Mazen's eyes widened, and the muscle in his jaw clenched as he processed this.
"Then we need to strategize," he said, looking between Rolo and me.
I felt the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders, a heaviness I hadn't felt in years. The stakes were higher than ever. But even as my mind raced with strategies and contingencies, I turned my gaze to Rolo. The boy was exhausted, sweat beading on his forehead and exhaustion painting dark circles under his eyes.
"Rolo," I said, my voice softer this time, "Mazen will take you home. You need rest. The battle ahead will require everything you have, and you won't be any good to us if you're running on fumes."
Rolo's expression wavered with protest, but he nodded. "Understood," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Mazen stepped forward, placing a hand on Rolo's shoulder.
"I'll be ready," Rolo promised and I nodded. I knew.
I watched as they disappeared into the shadows of the forest. The silence that followed was heavier than the moment before as if the forest itself were waiting with bated breath.
When Mazen came back for me his eyes met mine, and I saw the unspoken questions in them—plans, strategies, and what came after.
"Go tell the others about this. Tell them, I have a plan and we meet at dusk," I said, the certainty in my voice cutting through the tension.
"I will need to talk to Lilinette," I added. "Teleport me to her place first."
The forest seemed to shrink as Mazen stepped closer, summoning the magic that would take me to Lilinette. The air around us shifted, the familiar tingle of magic rolling over my skin as the space warped and reformed. Within seconds, I found myself standing in front of Lil's door. The scent of fresh herbs and the faint warmth of her home reached me before she even opened it.
When Lilinette saw me, her eyes widened with hope, but that quickly faded as she took in my expression. I didn't need to speak for her to know this wasn't a visit with good news.
"Shay," she said, her voice sharp with worry. "What's happened?"
I sighed, "There's a fortress. The Time Mage is using it as her base. It's protected by an ancient spell. She must be betting we won't be able to break through it."
Her hand gripped the doorframe tightly, her knuckles white. "So she's planning on what?"
My eyes met hers. "She'll send her apprentices after us while she works to open the Moonlight Casket from within."
I stepped further into the room, feeling the weight of the decision settle heavily on my shoulders. Lil's eyes followed me, and I knew that she could sense it too—how the air seemed to grow denser around us, how the tension coiled tight in my chest. It was time to tell her.
"Lil, the plan changes," I said, my voice clear, though the gravity of my words pulled at me. "I'm going to lead the battle alone."
The flash of shock on her face was immediate. "No," she said, the single word biting the air between us. "You're not doing this alone. We fight together."
I shook my head, a small, regretful smile crossing my lips. "I need you to stay back. It's not just a fight; it's a siege against a fortress protected by one of the oldest and strongest spells I've ever faced. Breaking through that barrier will drain most of your power, Lil."
She opened her mouth to protest, her eyes narrowing with defiance. But I raised a hand, cutting off her argument before it could take shape. "Listen to me," I said, the edge of my voice hardening. "I can't afford to have you out there before we've even made a dent in the defenses. You will need to focus on this."
The silence between us was long and sharp. I could see the internal battle playing out in her eyes.
"After that, I will help you out with a bit of flame, but that is all I can do," I added. "So please trust me and don't overdo it. I won't need you to go all out, okay?"
"But—" she started, but her voice faltered, the tension of her muscles easing as she recognized the truth in my words.
"I can do this, Lil," I said, my voice low but unwavering. I met her gaze, eyes steady and fierce. "I'm strong enough. I've spent days pushing my friends to be ready for this. So don't worry."
The muscles in her jaw clenched, and I saw the conflict in her eyes. The stubbornness and worry warred in her expression as she considered my words. She wanted to fight by my side, I knew that. But she also knew I was right.
"I can do this," I repeated, the words resonating in the quiet of the room.
Lil looked at me, her eyes searching mine as if to make sure I was truly ready for what was coming. I met her gaze, a silent promise passing between us.
"Okay," she said finally, her voice steady but soft.
I nodded, the tension easing from my shoulders just a bit.
"You know," I said, taking a deep breath, "would it be alright if I stayed here tonight?"
Lil's eyes widened, and the smile she gave me was momentarily lost, replaced with a look of surprise. She hesitated, her brows knitting together as she studied me, searching for any sign that I was joking or hiding something. But I was serious.
"Wait, really?" she asked, her voice soft, almost disbelieving. It was rare for her to be caught off guard like this.
"Yes," I said, my voice quieter now.
For a moment, the space between us seemed to stretch out as she processed my words. Then, her expression shifted, the initial shock fading into something softer, something warm and understanding.
"Alright, then," she said, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that made me feel exposed like she could see straight into me. "Stay."
Lil moved around the room, gathering the blankets and arranging the pillows with a practiced ease that belied the tension in her shoulders. I stood there, watching, careful not to intrude on her space, careful not to get too close. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was trying to make this moment more than it was. We both needed the night to settle before the chaos came in the morning.
When the bed was finally ready, Lil turned to me.
I could tell she was about to ask something. I waited, half-expecting her to challenge my choice, to insist that I wasn't the only one who could do this. But instead, her voice was gentle when she spoke.
"Have you ever fought the Time Mage before?" she asked.
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I let out a breath, pushing my thoughts back into order before replying.
"No," I said, the truth curling in my throat. "We've had an understanding in my past lives."
Lil's brows drew together, her gaze searching mine for answers. "Understanding? What kind?"
I hesitated, memories from my past lives flickering behind my eyes, like whispers in a language I hadn't spoken in years. I sat on the edge of a stone bench in the heart of an ancient grove, a place where the air hummed with power, the trees reaching high as if to touch the sky itself.
And there, next to me, she sat. The Time Mage. Her robes of silver and indigo shimmered in the twilight, a reflection of the magic that coursed through her veins, but her eyes, those deep wells of shadowed blue, were anything but impassive.
I stared at her for a moment, trying to read the lines carved into her face, trying to understand the woman who had shaped so many of my past lives. The air was cold, heavy with the scent of impending rain, and the silence between us was thick as if even the grove knew this was a meeting of something more profound than chance.
I broke the silence first. Will you turn back time again?
Her head tilted, the corner of her mouth lifting just barely. It wasn't a smile, not in the way that humans meant it, but an acknowledgment, an unspoken understanding. She was always distant, always wrapped in her own mystique, but in that moment, there was a flicker of something. Regret, perhaps. Or maybe just weariness.
I wonder, she said, her voice soft, almost afraid to break the fragile stillness that had settled between us. Do you ever wonder if either of us will ever succeed?
I glanced at her, my own pain reflected in those haunted eyes. I knew all too well what she meant, and it stung with the familiarity of a truth we had both shared for too long.
Every time.
A long pause followed, one where I could almost feel the weight of the lives we'd both endured pressing down on our shoulders. It wasn't something either of us could explain to others—this understanding we had. The way the loss of those we cared about echoed, unending and raw, through time itself.
She turned to face me. Then we are the same, she said, not as a declaration but as a realization.
Her words hung in the air, and I couldn't tell if that understanding made me like her more or less.
Do you regret it? I asked her, though I already knew the answer. The question had escaped my lips more for my own peace than hers. To know that even she, in all her power, could feel that deep, churning ache of regret was a strange comfort.
The Time Mage's gaze softened, a flicker of sadness breaking through her stoic facade. Regret is all I have left, she whispered, her voice cracking as if the burden was finally too much to bear. But it's also why I do it.
I stood up, the weight of the moment pressing down on me, carving itself into the marrow of my bones. The forest around us whispered, as if it, too, understood the finality of what was about to happen. The Time Mage's eyes locked onto mine, her expression unreadable yet heavy with emotion. It was an expression that, for all its subtlety, spoke more than words ever could.
See you in my next life then, I said as a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.
For a moment, the space between us grew so still, so impossibly taut, that I almost believed we had crossed some invisible line. She let out a breath, almost as if the air itself had become too dense to hold.
Even though you will forget this, she whispered, her voice so soft I thought she might break, I hope that at least one of us will succeed.
Her words hung in the space between us, suspended like the last golden light of a dying sun. I wanted to tell her that I wouldn't forget. But deep down, I knew the truth: when the time came, I would forget. All my past lives, all the losses, all the fleeting moments of understanding, would dissolve into the fog of oblivion.
A part of me wanted her to be right. That maybe, in the chaos of time and fate, one of us would find the path to victory. The corner of her mouth twitched, just a little as if to say goodbye, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. I nodded, a silent promise passing between us that transcended time and memory.
Until then, I said, and the forest seemed to sigh as the air around us shifted.
We weren't friends, and we never would be. Our connection was built on a shared suffering, a silent agreement that we each understood what the other was going through. That was the unspoken truth between us—the kind of bond forged not in alliance, but in the echoes of pain and loss that transcended lifetimes.
The Time Mage's power unfurled like a storm across the fabric of reality. It began as a faint ripple, a pulse in the air that I could feel on my skin, the hair on my arms standing on end. The leaves around us shivered, not just from the wind, but from something deeper, something ancient and unyielding. I glanced at her, the storm of her magic reflected in the dark pools of her eyes. They were as stormy as the night sky, glistening with a knowing, a finality.
Her hands rose, delicate fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air, drawing shapes I couldn't name. Light twisted, bent, and hummed as if the world itself were a violin string under her touch, vibrating with a sound only the soul could hear. A deep, resonant thrum started to build from the earth, vibrating through the ground beneath my feet and into my very bones. It was as if the air had been saturated with the weight of the past and the pull of the future, a boundless force that would lift and drag everything into its wake.
The colors around us twisted and melted as the magic took form. The forest, once vivid and alive with the summer's life, shifted as though someone had swept a brush across a canvas, turning it dark and heavy with a final stroke. The moon above, that silent witness, grew larger and brighter, burning with a cold, silvery light that washed over everything. It wasn't just the light, though; it was the pull. The sensation of time bending, of moments twisting and stretching as if reality itself were gasping, breaking apart and mending anew.
A rush of wind screamed through the trees, deafening and impossible to ignore, as if all the stories of the past and the promise of future pains had been caught in the storm she conjured. Her eyes, wide and fierce, met mine one last time, the unspoken words vibrating through the space between us, tinged with regret and hope.
I looked at the Time Mage one last time, the light of the moon catching on her silver hair, giving her the appearance of some otherworldly being. Her face, usually so composed and cold, was now twisted in a rare, sorrowful half-smile, eyes glistening with a depth of emotion that was almost unbearable to witness.
The last thing I remembered was that look and the quiet, silent acceptance that we would meet again in another life, another time.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the magic crested. Time rushed in, a river of light and shadow, grabbing me by the soul and dragging me back and my senses were overwhelmed by the energy of it—a piercing warmth that seared the air and made my vision blur. It was ancient and raw, the essence of a god's sigh; the type of magic that could unmake and remake the universe in a heartbeat.
And then, there was nothing but the sudden, piercing stillness of the beginning, the raw nothingness of rebirth. My memories shattered and faded back into the deepest depth of my mind, only the echoes of that sorrowful parting seared into the void.
That was the beginning of my fourth life. Neither of us succeeded again.
"The understanding of how brittle life is," I said, the weight of the words settling into the quiet room. "We both knew it, how fleeting it could be. We shared that suffering, the kind that comes when you lose people you care about, when you watch everything you hold dear slip through your fingers."
Lil's expression softened as she listened, and for a moment, I wondered if she was seeing the man I was now or the ghosts of the man I used to be. The pain in those past lives still gnawed at me, but so did the bittersweet clarity they had brought. It was a strange thing, the way we were all connected by those moments of loss.
"Do you think she'll ever give up?" Lil whispered, almost afraid to voice the question, but it hung between us like.
I shook my head, a small smile that was neither hopeful nor defeated playing on my lips. "No, she will never give up. Not, until she dies."
Lil's eyes met mine, and for just a second, I felt the weight of her unspoken words pressing into my chest.
"Why are you so sure?" she finally breathed.
"Because I wouldn't give up either," I said, voice low, steady. "She'll never give up. I know that because I'm the same."
Lil's eyes widened, searching mine for something. She opened her mouth to respond but then paused as if weighing her next words carefully. "I see."
We settled into the bed, the quiet between us carrying the weight of all we hadn't said. The room was still, the soft glow of the moon slanting through the window, bathing everything in silver. I stared up at the ceiling, the quiet ticking of the clock like a pulse in the background, marking time in the stillness.
After a long silence, Lil turned to me, her eyes catching mine. There was a hesitation there, something fragile and tentative, like a question she was afraid to ask.
"Shay…" she started, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Can I… touch your face?"
The question caught me off guard, surprising me in a way I wasn't used to. I met her gaze, seeing the way her chest rose and fell, the slight tremor in her hands as they rested on the blanket. I nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
"Yes," I said, my voice rough, unsteady.
Slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against my cheek, tentative at first, as if she were afraid I might vanish if she touched me too hard. Her touch was warm, grounding, and for a moment, I allowed myself to close my eyes and feel it—the simple connection, the sensation of someone being there, of someone caring.
I opened my eyes, meeting her gaze again. Her expression was soft, the shadows under her eyes speaking of exhaustion, but also something deeper, something I couldn't name.
"Why?" I asked, my voice quiet, almost afraid to break the moment.
She looked down, a small smile playing on her lips. "I just wanted to. To remember this. Just in case."
I leaned into her touch, the warmth of it seeping into my skin, chasing away the cold that had been a part of me for so long. "I'll always remember this too," I promised.
Lil's fingers lingered on my face, her eyes searching mine as if looking for something lost. "I know," she said, a small, wistful smile touching her lips. "You remember me, right?"
I nodded, the weight of her question pressing down on me, pulling at the hidden places in my heart. The past, the lives we shared—memories that never faded, even as time tore them from us. I took a deep breath, feeling the tremor in my chest.
"I do," I said, my voice quiet. "I remember you. Every life, every time."
Her smile faltered, her eyes glistening as if holding back tears. She looked away for a moment, the sorrow in her expression so palpable it nearly broke me. When she looked back, the vulnerability in her gaze was undeniable.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't remember you. Not like you remember me."
I took her hands in mine, the silence stretching between us, charged with everything we hadn't said.
"It's okay," I said, my voice rough but steady. "I don't need you to remember."
She looked at me. "But I wish I could."
The words were simple, but they unraveled something deep inside me. I felt my heart ache, but there was also a strange comfort in her words.
I held her gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite the ache in my chest. "It's enough if only I remember," I said gently. "I can easily make you fall for me again. So there's no problem."
For a moment, her eyes widened in surprise, and then a flicker of something—maybe indignation, maybe disbelief—crossed her face. Slowly, she pulled her hand back, her touch leaving a lingering warmth on my cheek. The absence was sharp, like the fading echo of a melody.
"Don't get too confident," she murmured, crossing her arms, though there was a faint flush on her cheeks. "It's not as easy as you think."
I laughed softly, tilting my head to meet her defiant gaze. "I'm not worried. It's me we're talking about."
She huffed, turning away slightly, but I didn't miss the faint smile that crept onto her lips. There was a strange lightness in the air between us now, a playful tension that softened the gravity of what we'd just shared.
"Goodnight, Shay," she said finally, her voice quieter, though it carried the same stubborn edge I had come to treasure.
"Goodnight, Lil," I replied, settling onto my side of the bed.
I lay on my side, eyes tracing the outlines of the moon through the window.