Rising Ashes: Original

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It was hard to tell how much time had passed. Hours? Days? Aimee’s sense of reality had been stretched so thin it felt like she was floating between consciousness and an endless void. The cold, grey walls of her cell blurred in and out of focus, the metal bars a constant reminder of her imprisonment.

Her body was still, slumped against the wall, but her mind… her mind felt like it had been ripped from her entirely.

The Bishops had been relentless. Nills and Nico had come and gone, sometimes together, sometimes separately, each time peeling away at her resistance with their powers. They dug deeper into her memories, pulling at every thread, unraveling her thoughts, her connections, her identity.

Who am I?

She could still hear their voices, echoing in her mind. They were trying to turn her into something else, something she didn’t want to be. Each time they reached into her mind, it was like claws sinking deeper, tearing at the fabric of her memories. The Banditos, Clancy, her parents—it was all fading, slipping from her grasp.

No. Hold on. You have to hold on.

"Sahlo Folina..." she whispered, barely audible, her voice cracking with exhaustion. It was the only thing she had left, the last thread tethering her to herself, to the people she cared about. The Banditos had taught her the phrase, a cry for help, but now it felt more like a reminder—to stay grounded, to stay her.

But the words were losing their strength. The grip they had on her was slipping, just as her memories were. Nico’s voice echoed in her head, smooth and taunting. "You’ll make a great replacement for Keons," he had said, his words as sharp as the power he used to pry into her mind.

She wanted to fight back, wanted to scream at them, but her body felt like dead weight, and her mind was barely clinging to what little was left. She could feel the dark tendrils of their powers creeping through her thoughts, trying to erase the Banditos, trying to make her forget that she had ever wanted anything else but this. To serve Dema. To serve them.

Every time she tried to think of Clancy, of Torch, or the others, the image blurred, flickered like a faulty signal. They were trying to turn her into a weapon, to wipe her clean, and she was losing the battle.

Nills had said something before, something about her being special, about there always being something different about her. That they needed her, that she was an exception, just like Clancy. But Aimee couldn’t hold onto the meaning anymore. Everything was fading, blending into a fog of confusion.

As she sat there, her mind fractured and barely holding together, she felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. The Banditos felt like a distant memory, and Clancy… Clancy felt like a dream she could no longer grasp.

But she wasn’t gone yet. Not fully. Not yet.

"Sahlo... Folina..." she whispered again, her voice ragged, but still alive.

The words echoed in the cold, empty cell, bouncing back to her in a hollow, mocking way. And for a moment, she wondered if anyone could even hear her anymore. If anyone still knew she existed.

Just as she was about to give in, surrender to the void pulling her under, she felt something—a faint flicker of warmth in the depths of her mind. A vision, maybe? Or a memory. She couldn’t tell. But it was there, like a tiny, stubborn flame refusing to die.

It was Clancy. His face, clear for just a moment in her fading thoughts. He was coming for her.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late.

The door to Aimee's cell creaked open again, the sound grating through the silence like a blade being sharpened. She didn’t look up—she didn’t have the strength to. Her body felt disconnected, like it wasn’t hers anymore. Her mind, fractured and frayed, barely clung to her remaining thoughts.