The morning mist clung to her skin like a secret not yet told.
She tightened the cloak around her shoulders, feeling the coarse fabric rough against her fingers. The path ahead was uneven, a ribbon of broken stones swallowed by roots and time, leading into the dense wood where light struggled to reach.
Beside her walked the shadow.
He made no sound. Not the soft crunch of boot against earth, nor the rustle of fabric in the waking breeze. Only the scent of rain and earth accompanied them, threading between the trees like a forgotten song.
"How far does it go?" she asked, voice low.
"As far as you are willing to remember," he replied.
She frowned.
"I don't even know what I've forgotten."
"Not all truths are kind. Not all memories ask to be remembered."
They passed beneath a fallen archway, half-eaten by ivy. Beyond it, the forest thickened into corridors of green and shadow, each branch drooping like the weight of lost years.
A bird took flight somewhere deep within, its wings a sharp flash against the grey. She watched it disappear into the mist, feeling a twinge of something she could not name.
"I keep thinking," she said, stepping carefully over a knot of roots, "that if I just keep walking, it will come back. Like a door suddenly opening."
He said nothing.
She glanced sideways at him.
"You could tell me who I was."
"I could," he said. "But it would not be the same as remembering."
"That's not fair."
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
They came to a stream, narrow but swift, carving a silver line through the undergrowth. She crouched by the edge, trailing her fingers in the water. It was icy, alive. It left her fingertips tingling.
In the reflection, she saw herself not as she was now, but as something older, heavier. Her eyes were the same, but her mouth was set in a line of sorrow she had not yet earned.
She jerked her hand back.
The vision rippled away, leaving only herself once more.
He stood a few steps behind her, his face hidden by the shadow of his hood.
"What did I do?" she whispered.
"You lived," he said simply.
"That's not an answer."
"It is the only one that matters."
Frustration prickled at her. She wanted to shake him, demand the truth, demand all the pieces of herself he kept hidden like a miser hoarding gold.
But something in her stopped her.
Perhaps some broken shard of instinct that still knew him better than her waking mind did.
Instead, she rose and crossed the stream, stones slick beneath her bare feet.
The forest opened slightly ahead, revealing a grove bathed in the muted light of mid-morning. At its center stood a weathered monolith, half-buried in moss and dirt. Strange runes spiraled up its surface, their lines worn thin by countless seasons.
She approached it cautiously.
"What is this?"
"A marker," he said. "A place where something ended. Or began."
The runes seemed to shift as she watched, writhing like ink in water. She reached out, not touching, just letting her hand hover above the ancient stone.
A hum rose in the air a low, thrumming sound that resonated inside her ribs.
Without thinking, she spoke.
A single word.
A name.
The moment it left her lips, the stone flared with violet light, casting dancing shadows across the grove.
She staggered back, shielding her eyes. The hum became a low chant, the runes pulsing like a heartbeat.
When the light faded, the forest felt changed. Closer. Listening.
"What… what did I say?" she gasped.
He stepped forward, his voice almost reverent.
"The name of your first oath."
She shook her head. "I don't remember making any oaths."
"No," he said softly. "But the wind does. And the stones. And me."
She stared at the monolith.
Somewhere deep inside, a key had turned in a lock she had not known was there.
Not open yet.
But waiting.
The hum faded into a silence so thick it pressed against her skin.
She stepped back from the monolith, heart pounding wildly, uncertain whether she had awakened something sacred or something best left buried.
"What did I promise?" she asked, voice barely louder than a breath.
"That you would never forget," he said.
A bitter laugh slipped from her lips.
"Well, that worked out wonderfully."
His silhouette shifted slightly, but he didn't answer.
She stared at the moss-covered stone, feeling an ache deep in her chest. The name she had spoken she couldn't remember it now. It had slid from her mind like mist through fingers. But she knew it mattered. Knew it had once bound her to something, or someone, beyond mere life and death.
Turning away, she wrapped the cloak tighter around herself and continued walking.
The forest thickened again, shadows pooling between the trees. Branches creaked overhead, whispering secrets she couldn't yet hear.
He followed her silently, his presence steady, unwavering.
"Tell me," she said at last, "what I lost."
He did not hesitate.
"You lost yourself."
The simplicity of it cut deeper than any blade.
She stopped beneath a sprawling oak, its bark blackened by age and lichen.
"How do I find myself again?"
He moved closer, close enough that the edges of his form blurred into the dusk.
"You listen."
"To what?"
He tilted his head, as if hearing something far away.
"To the places where your heart remembers even when your mind does not."
She closed her eyes.
There was only the rustle of leaves, the hush of mist rolling across the forest floor.
But beneath it, like a thread of music barely heard, there was something more.
A warmth.
A sadness.
A call.
When she opened her eyes, the forest seemed to pulse around her, breathing in time with the ache inside her chest.
A path stretched ahead, narrow and winding, lined with violet blossoms that glowed faintly in the gathering dark.
She took a step forward.
The path felt familiar under her feet, though she had no memory of it.
He fell into step beside her, his stride matching hers with effortless grace.
"Where does this lead?" she asked.
He answered without hesitation.
"To the beginning."
They walked in silence, the only sounds the soft pad of her feet against damp earth and the distant, mournful sigh of the wind.
As they moved deeper into the forest, she began to see shapes half-formed in the mist arches, crumbling walls, fragments of a city long devoured by time.
Stone cracked by roots. Towers fallen to ruin.
Yet amid the decay, beauty remained.
Flowers bloomed in window frames where glass had shattered centuries ago. Ivy cascaded down broken staircases like green waterfalls.
It was a city of memory, and sorrow, and something close to hope.
They crossed a bridge that no longer spanned any river, its stones suspended impossibly in midair, held together by threads of forgotten magic.
At the center of the bridge stood a statue half-buried, weatherworn.
It depicted a woman in flowing robes, her face turned upward, her hands outstretched not in pleading, but in offering.
At her feet lay a sword, its blade cracked and rusted, its hilt entwined with vines.
She stopped before it, breath catching in her throat.
There was something achingly familiar about the figure. About the way the statue's gaze defied the heavens with quiet defiance.
"Is that… me?" she whispered.
He did not answer with words.
Instead, he stepped forward and placed a hand lightly against the statue's base.
The ground trembled.
The air shimmered.
And for a moment just a moment she saw it as it once was.
The city whole and shining.
Banners of silver and violet snapping in the breeze.
Crowds filling the streets, faces turned toward her with hope and awe.
She stood at the city's heart, sword in hand, light spilling from her like a river of stars.
And beside her, always beside her, stood the shadow.
Not hidden.
Not cloaked.
A man with dark eyes full of devotion, his hand resting lightly against the hilt of his own blade, his gaze never leaving her.
The vision faded as quickly as it came, leaving her gasping, tears streaming down her cheeks without her realizing.
She touched the base of the statue with trembling fingers.
"I was… someone important," she said brokenly.
"You still are," he said.
"But I failed."
He was silent for a long time before answering.
"No. You chose."
She shook her head, wiping at her face with the edge of the cloak.
"I don't understand."
"You will."
She turned to him, feeling the weight of all she didn't know pressing down on her like a second sky.
"Will you stay?" she asked, voice shaking.
"Until the end," he said simply.
She reached out, fingers brushing against the edge of his sleeve.
Solid.
Real.
For now, it was enough.
Together, they crossed the broken bridge, leaving the ruins behind, following the winding path into the deepening night where the stars waited to remember them.