Kael didn't rember walking away from the house.
He only rembered the hollow ringing in his chest, the strange mixture of heartbreak and numb shock, and the way Eira and Jorah flanked him like two guardians who weren't sure what they were protecting him from—the world, or himself.
The village had never felt so loud.
Children playing.
rchants shouting.
Blacksmiths hamring tal.
Life happening so easily…
…while Kael felt like a ghost haunting a world that didn't want him.
Jorah kept glancing sideways at him, visibly uncomfortable with silence but too worried to joke like usual.
Eira walked closest, her hand brushing against his every few steps, as though her body kept reaching even when her mind couldn't explain why.
Finally she spoke.
"Kael… I— I can't stop thinking about that boy." Her voice wavered. "He has your eyes. Your smile. But he's not you. I know he's not."
Kael tried to swallow the tightness in his throat. "The tiline needed a version of that didn't… break it."
"Break it?" Jorah shoved his hands into his pockets. "You fought your past self because you were supposed to. I an, maybe you weren't supposed to win—actually no, that sounds rude, forget I said that."
Kael let out a humorless breath. "No… it might be true."
They walked in silence for a mont.
Then Kael slowed to a stop. "I want to see the house again. The inside."
Eira hesitated. "Kael…"
"I need to know what else was rewritten."
She didn't argue.
They waited until the family left—mother and son heading toward town—and then approached the door again. The mont Kael stepped inside, sothing twisted in his chest.
His mories flooded him—
The rough wooden table he used to study at.
The chipped ceramic bowl his father once repaired.
The window where he used to watch storms roll in.
But the room was wrong.
"Gods…" Jorah whispered. "It's cleaner."
"Not just cleaner," Eira said softly. "It's lived in."
Kael walked to the small shelf near the furnace. It used to hold his father's old tools.
Now it held toys.
Small carved animals. A wooden sword. A clumsily drawn picture.
A picture of a boy with two parents.
Kael stared at it until the lines blurred.
He had never drawn such a picture.
He had never had the chance.
Eira moved toward him, quiet, gentle. "Kael… tell us what's wrong."
He laughed softly, bitterly. "How much ti do you have?"
Jorah opened his mouth, then shut it again, stepping beside him. "All the ti you need."
Kael set the drawing down, hands shaking. "This world stitched out and replaced my childhood, my ho, my family… with a version who lived a life I never got."
"But that's not fair," Eira whispered.
"Fairness doesn't exist in ti," Kael said. "Only corrections."
He didn't realize he was swaying until Eira caught his elbow, steadying him with both hands.
And then—
A mory slipped.
A small one.
A simple one.
But real.
Kael blinked, confused. "What was your mother's na again?"
Eira froze.
"You told once," he said slowly. "When we were traveling through the mountain pass. I rember the mont. I rember the cold air. I rember the fire. I just… can't rember the na."
Eira's grip tightened. "Kael, you never forget details like that."
Jorah's expression darkened. "Is the tiline… taking your mories?"
Kael exhaled shakily. "Not taking. Replacing."
The realization hit him with ice-cold clarity.
"If this continues," he whispered, "I'll forget everything. Including both of you."
Eira's eyes softened with sothing painful. "No. No, I won't let that happen."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Kael looked away quickly—because looking at her made his chest feel too full, too raw. "I won't vanish. I'll fight this. I have to."
Jorah nodded firmly. "We'll fight it together. The three of us. Like always."
Kael smiled faintly. "Always" felt like a word that might collapse any second.
But before he could voice the fear sitting in his throat, sothing caught Eira's attention.
"Kael… look."
She pointed to the corner of the house—where the shadows bent inward, unnaturally dark.
A figure stood there.
The sa figure Kael saw earlier.
Closer this ti.
Clearer.
Still watching.
But now Kael could see its shape—human, but wrong. Unmoving, silhouette warped like fog trapped in a human outline.
Eira stepped protectively in front of Kael.
"Show yourself!" she demanded.
The figure tilted its head—slow, unnatural—like a puppet without strings.
Kael felt the weight of its stare. A pressure in his skull.
Then… a whisper.
Not a voice.
Not a sound.
More like a mory soone pushed into his mind.
You are not supposed to be here.
Kael staggered, breath catching.
Eira grabbed him again. "Kael?!"
The figure dissolved into smoke—gone before Jorah could swing at it with the broom he grabbed from the wall.
Kael pressed a hand to his chest. His heart wasn't racing.
It was slowing.
The world, the tiline, whatever force was behind this—
It was recognizing the paradox.
Recognizing him.
Rejecting him.
Eira cupped his face suddenly, forcing him to focus. Her palms warm. Her expression fierce. "Listen to . I don't care what the world rembers. I don't care what it rewrites. I know you. I feel you. And I won't lose you."
A shiver went through Kael—not from fear but from the intensity in her voice.
Sowhere in the haze, he managed a small, shaky smile. "Eira… you're too stubborn for existence itself."
"Good," she said. "It can hate ."
Jorah threw his hands up. "Sa here! I'll fight ti itself! I'll punch the concept of causality if I have to!"
Kael laughed—really laughed—for the first ti since the world broke.
But as the mont faded, Kael realized sothing chilling.
He hadn't forgotten Eira's mother's na because of stress.
He had forgotten because the tiline had started erasing the parts of Ka
el that connected him to others.
And the next mory it stole……might be one he couldn't get back.
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