The fire crackles warmly beneath the shelf above it. The room looks familiar.

Well, everything here looks familiar. The high ceiling, the long halls and the leafless branches winding in and out of walls and around the pillar-like trees placed in front of the massive staircases. This room though, it warms me. 

The shelf above the fireplace is filled with drawings and paintings, along with a few pieces of writing. All are framed in beautifully carved dark wood. I feel more at home in this room than in any other room in the Kings Hold. I can imagine myself- before – sitting in this chair and sketching. I imagine sitting here with friends and family, laughing and celebrating, before retiring here to just sit. I probably fell asleep here as well.

As I sit in front of the fire reading, a quiet peace descends over me. My shoulders relax as my eyes roam hungrily over the words. A swish of robes makes me look up to a tall figure walking through the doorway. I smile.


He nods. His eyes are warm, but behind the warmth, I see the usual pain and sadness writhes. He sits heavily on the couch beside me. I study him as he stares into the fire.

His black hair falls loose and wavy to his shoulders, his face is tired; there are slight shadows under his eyes. His crown is a thin band of silver. A single small gem is embedded in the front and the silver breaks into three weaving bands that circle his head.

“How are you?”

He looks up, and I’m taken aback at the intensity of his gaze.

“Tired. My days seem to be filled with endless meetings. The Harpies are in conflict after an attack from some of their own. They’re blaming us.”

It’s what happens when you’re king. I speak throughour mental link.

I try and fill the words with the warmth of the room. The corner of his lips lift slightly.

Chyros is a feared king, respected only by those who understand him, and even then to an extent. He was crowned in the middle of the war. His father died in battle and his mother remains forever in a state of quiet. She stays in her room, muttering random words. I stand, and place my book upon the shelf. My fingers trace the drawings and sketches that are oh so familiar.

‘I drew these, didn’t I?” 

He stands too, and his gaze is transferred to the drawings. He bows his head before answering.

‘Yes. You did.” His voice is quiet, the words laden with a deep despair.

My mind was destroyed a few months ago, ripped apart and put back together. Pieces pushed back, shoved away, out of reach.There is a part that remembers. The part that holds my more recent memories. The other half is hazy; it is covered in a dark cloud I cannot even hope to penetrate. Every now and then though, I remember a small thing. 

Now, about two months after I awoke in this kingdom, all but a few memories have revealed themselves to me. One that hasn’t is Chyros.

I am aware that in my past life I fell in love with him. I cannot even imagine what pain it must cause him to see me, or hear my voice, but know that I do not recall any time we spent together. I cannot say I dislike him, or that I do not feel a semblance of deeper emotions

‘And you? Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

I turn to him and grin, memories of the day shining brightly.

‘Yes. I—” 

—Magic. Magic everywhere.

The sound of swords, shouts, and screams fill the air. The scent of blood is thick. 

“Meleh nei!” 

A man’s scream cuts through the chaos.

Nir turns as a gray wall of magic slams into her and she drops like a stone, while the man increases his speed.

He casts a wall of protection, and picks up her limp body. His heart beats frantically as he shakes her. He examines her with magic, and finds her mind dissolving. 

He finds the memories of them together fading, being forced under the blanket of gray magic.

Their first kiss. Him teaching her how to fight. Her winning a duel between them.

They all fade away.

His heart is ripped in two. 

And then a veil of gray covers her from head to toe.

When the veil lifts, her body is gone.

I gasp. When I shake my head of the gray mist, and the room sways.

Arms wrap around my waist, and I am pulled up, and against his chest. I feel the thud of his heart against my hand. His eyes are full of worry as they scan my face. 

I blink.

‘I-I-I lo-love you.”

His face goes completely blank in shock. 

‘I-I saw the war, and-and then I got hit, and you-you…All the memories…everything—” The last words come out as a whisper.

My face is wet. The tears can’t seem to stop. I look anywhere but his face until fingers tilt my head up, and I see his eyes. Eyes that stare into my very soul. Eyes that are filled with the most passionate, deep, fiery love in this world.

His thumbs wipe my unconsciously shed tears away, then he bends his head, and he kisses me.