Forgotten memories

DiViNe InTeRvEnTiOn

I tore across the sky, limbs flailing, air ripping past me until I finally hit the ground—hard. Not landed, not descended. Crashed. Somewhere in the dense woods north-west.

When I came to, my body felt like shattered glass. Bones pulverized. Clothes completely gone, burned to ash. My skin? Charred and blistered beyond recognition. I should have been dead. By every law of nature, I was dead. And yet... somehow, impossibly, I was still breathing.

For what felt like hours, I barely moved. I just lay there in the crater I'd carved into the earth, clutching the talisman as its lingering magic worked to pull me back together piece by agonizing piece. Slowly, painfully, I healed. And then—through the haze of my half-conscious drifting—I saw someone. A figure, getting closer, step by step.

"Orion!?" The voice cut through the air, sharp with shock, then quickly breaking into something closer to fear.

I recognized it instantly. My heart sank. For one horrified second, I thought he was about to recite a smug little haiku about the sorry, crispy mess I'd become.

"Hey, uncle," I croaked, my throat raw. "Mind giving me a hand...?"

Darkness swallowed me again after that.

When I finally woke, I had no idea where I was. Not at first. The ceiling above me wasn't the charred, ash-stained sky or the endless canopy of trees I had grown used to—it was smooth, white, unmarred, like freshly polished marble. The bed beneath me wasn't the hard-packed earth or the jagged stone crater that had been my grave for weeks—it was soft. Absurdly soft. Layers of down pillows and silken sheets cradled me, swallowing me in warmth and comfort so decadent it almost felt like a cruel trick. This was not the kind of place someone like me belonged in. It was far too luxurious, far too... perfect.

My eyes drifted around the room, struggling to process the sheer elegance of it all. The walls were painted in a muted cream, glowing faintly with the warm golden light spilling from crystal sconces shaped like flames. A chandelier hung above me, delicate threads of glass glimmering like frozen sunlight, each prism scattering subtle rainbows across the walls. The air itself smelled faintly of sandalwood and something sweeter—like honey glazed with citrus—and for the first time in weeks, I could actually breathe without the scent of smoke or burning flesh clogging my lungs.

The floor was dark hardwood, polished so flawlessly that it reflected the room like a still lake. At the foot of the bed sat an enormous rug, handwoven, with swirling patterns of gold and crimson that seemed to dance when the light touched them. Across from me stretched a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, their sheer curtains whispering with the faintest breeze. Beyond them, the city spread out in glittering lights, each one shimmering like a star that had fallen just for me.

My heart started racing as the memories came flooding back, and I frantically checked myself over.

I was... alive. Against every law of nature, every crushing certainty that I shouldn't have made it, I was still breathing. My body was mostly healed now—though "healed" was a generous word. Faint patches of raw, pink skin stretched across my arms and chest, reminders of the fire that had tried to claim me. Only a few burns clung stubbornly, refusing to fade. The worst of them throbbed angrily along my arm, as though the skin itself still remembered the heat of the lava.

My bones no longer screamed with every twitch, no longer felt like splintered glass grinding together inside me, though the deep ache was still there, a heavy, constant reminder of the ordeal. My body felt as though it had been trampled by a thousand stampedes—crushed, reshaped, barely stitched back together. Each movement was a negotiation between pain and stubborn willpower.

Still, I forced myself out of the bed's cocoon of silks and down, feet sinking into the plush carpet like it wanted to pull me back down, whispering rest, stay, heal. I ignored it and limped toward a tall, full-length mirror glimmering in the corner of what appeared to be a walk-in closet. The handles on the wardrobe doors nearby were gold, gleaming in the soft light, and for a moment I almost didn't want to look. Almost.