Chapter 59 – Excellence Camp Outing XII

Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 15th of Brightforge, year 315 UC

His head throbbed—worse than usual. Pain was nothing new to him, but this felt different. Like something vital had been ripped away.

The sensation gnawed at him, consuming his focus. He barely paid attention in class. Training sessions that once grounded him had stopped. Instead, his thoughts spiraled—looping around questions with no answers.

Even now, while other students explored the city, he sat alone in his room.

That voice—Zoltan’s voice—was gone. He knew the mouse would return eventually, but it had been too long. The silence was unbearable.

He blamed Gloria. And she knew it.

Fights he should’ve breezed through ended in frustration. Not because of his opponent—but because he kept looking toward her. She would be there, standing on the sidelines, smirking. That damned smirk.

Why had she told him all that? What did she gain?

He gritted his teeth, frustration mounting. How did she even know in the first place?

His mind slipped again—back to the name.

Emilia Valentine.

Who was she?

It gnawed at him worse than the pain. The name felt familiar. But every time he tried to place her, his memory recoiled into darkness.

And then the pain would spike.

Three times in one day he’d been to the infirmary. The nurses were different now. No sign of the woman from the Inquisition. The one he knew was watching him.

She should’ve appeared by now.

He wanted nothing to do with the Inquisition. Contacting them was a terrible idea. And yet...

He had to know.

Who was Emilia Valentine?

That’s why he was going to find that nurse. She might have answers. But the staff told him she no longer worked there.

More questions. No answers.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

'I really hate mind games.'

Bryan thought as he rose. Leaving his jacket on the back of the chair, he headed for the door.

When he opened it, he found Farrah standing there, arm raised mid-knock.

“Oh!”

She said, startled, stepping back.

Not now.

He didn’t have time for her constant hovering. Her concern, though well-meaning, grated on him. Always watching. Always asking. Always there.

Alexander and the others were easy. But Farrah? No matter what he did, she wouldn't leave him alone.

“What?”

Bryan asked, stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

“You need something?”

Her surprise faded, replaced by quiet concern.

"Are you okay? You've been... different lately. Distant."

Bryan moved past her without slowing.

“I’m fine. Going out.”

“Wait—”

She followed quickly, falling into step beside him.

“I’ll come with you.”

He sighed.

“Why can’t I ever get rid of you?”

“Because you’re doing too much alone.”

Her voice was calm, steady.

“And don’t take this the wrong way. I should’ve done more when Alexander was captain. I didn’t. I’m not making that mistake again.”

He shot her a sideways glance.

“So this is about your guilt?”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“It’s about me being worried something might happen to you.”

That made him stop. They stood at the top of the stairs.

“What exactly do you think is going to happen?”

She hesitated, her green eyes searching his face.

"I don't know. That's what worries me. I've seen you staring at nothing, missing obvious openings during practice duels."

She took a breath.

"You're heading into the city, aren't you?"

Bryan's jaw tightened. He hadn’t planned on going—but now, the idea took root.

Brandon was in the city. He could reach out, ask the questions clawing at his mind. He didn’t like Brandon—never had—but feelings didn’t matter. Answers did.

"Maybe I am."

He said finally.

"What’s it to you?"

"Nothing."

Farrah shrugged, but her gaze didn’t waver.

"Just thought I’d offer some company. The city can be... overwhelming. Especially when you’re trying to sort things out."

Bryan studied her. He couldn’t tell if she genuinely wanted to help—or if she was watching him for someone else. After Gloria, he trusted nothing. No one.

"I work better alone."

He said, continuing down the stairs.

But Farrah followed.

"You know it’s impossible to stay alone forever, right? Eventually, you’ll need someone."

"And yet, that day is not today."

He glanced back.

"You know people tend to dislike those who refuse to leave them alone?"

"I know you’re not one to care what people think." She smirked.

"I don’t. But you do."

Bryan replied as he glanced at Rebecca who stood behind the counter with a smile on her face. The woman never looked bored, and he wondered if there were multiple people, twins maybe with the same name. Because whenever he was in the dormitory, she was there, and he had not seen her leave once.

Farrah stepped out just behind him.

"Thanks. That means a lot."

She said.

"That wasn’t a compliment."

"Yet I’m taking it as one. Means you’ve been paying attention to me."

"Don’t flatter yourself. I pay attention to everyone."

He turned to face her.

"Now tell me—what can I do to make you go away?"

Farrah’s ear twitched slightly as he stared into her green eyes. She wasn’t in uniform. Just a simple white shirt and blue jeans—dressed for the city, yet here with him.

She smiled, casually twirling a curl between her fingers.

"Easy. Just tell me what’s bothering you."

She said it softly, without pressure.

"Talking through it is better than bottling it up. Trust me. You don’t want to go through this alone."

Trust. The word felt laughable.

Before his conversation with Gloria, trust had already been a tall order. Now? It felt like fiction. A luxury for people not being pulled in five directions by lies and half-truths.

"I thought we made progress after that night."

Farrah’s voice was quieter now.

"But it feels like you’re pulling away. And I’m wondering why."

Bryan remembered the night she came to his room. The game they played—truths and passes. What he told her was real... mostly. Not the full truth, but enough.

But what if she’d done the same? What if everything she’d shown him was a mask?

What did he really know about Farrah?

'Damn you, Gloria, and your games.'

He looked at Farrah again. His expression softened, the edge of annoyance fading into something closer to doubt. The headaches, the nosebleeds, the unrelenting questions... Maybe—just maybe—talking wasn’t the worst idea.

"Let me ask you something. A hypothetical."

Bryan said.

Farrah raised an eyebrow.

"Okay?"

"What if everything in your life was a lie?"

He didn’t wait for her to respond.

"What if the people around you were just... props in some experiment? Nothing real. Just pieces being moved to see how you'd react. And you believed it was all real. What would you do?"

Farrah’s casual posture shifted. Her expression sobered as she studied his face.

"Is that what’s been on your mind?"

She asked softly.

"Because... that’s a scary thought, Bryan."

"Just answer the question."

She took a slow breath, brushing her fingers through her curls as she considered it.

"I don’t know."

She said at last.

"I honestly don’t. Part of me... might be happy."

"Happy?"

His brow creased, eyes narrowing.

She nodded, gently.

"If it meant the bad things weren’t real. The pain. The loss. Then, yeah... maybe a part of me would feel relief."

She looked down at the steps, then back at him.

"But other parts of me would be devastated. And angry. So angry."

Farrah stepped over to the dormitory steps and sat down. Looking up at him, her voice softened.

"Because if everything’s fake... then who am I? If my memories aren’t mine—if none of it ever happened—what’s left? What makes me… me?"

Her green eyes met his with calm intensity.

"Is that what this is about?"

Bryan hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod.

Farrah exhaled slowly.

"That’s a hell of a thing to carry around."

She shook her head.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you thinking about this?"

She pressed.

"Is this something you normally dwell on?"

He looked away. Just for a second. But her hand closed around his arm, drawing him back. He nearly pulled away—almost—but didn’t.

Her grip eased, and she gave him a look that said sit. So he did.

"It was just a thought."

Bryan said.

"A hypothetical. But the more I sat with it... the more it dug in. And now I can’t shake it."

They both stared forward. The path outside the dormitory was empty.

Farrah shook her head.

"You’re lying."

Bryan glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at him.

"No one just starts thinking like that without a reason. So what aren’t you saying?"

He turned his eyes to the sky, watching faint clouds drift through the afternoon blue.

"I feel like I’m missing something."

He said quietly.

"Something important. And no matter what I do, I can’t recall what it is."

Farrah turned toward him.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged slightly, gaze still skyward.

"I don’t know. That’s the worst part. It’s like... there’s a hole where something should be. And the more I try to fill it, the worse it gets."

They sat in silence. Wind stirred the trees. Leaves rustled and danced across the stone.

"The nosebleeds?"

She asked.

Bryan looked over.

"What?"

"The nosebleeds."

She repeated.

"Are they because of... this? This feeling?"

He paused.

"Could be. Maybe not. They started before the feeling did, I think. But... it’s all tangled now."

Farrah leaned back, palms braced against the step behind her.

"At times like this, I used to walk the city with Randel. We’d always end up at the beach somehow, staring out at the water. Listening to the waves. Saying nothing at all."

A small smile tugged at her lips, fleeting.

"There’s so much we don’t understand about why things happen. Some people blame the gods. Others blame themselves. Most just wish things were different—wish the past didn’t happen the way it did."

She turned her head toward him, her expression serious but gentle.

"But we can’t change the past. All we can do is accept it—without regrets—and face the future without fear."

Then she leaned forward, looking him squarely in the eyes.

"You need to live, Bryan. Not just exist. Not just train, or isolate, or observe. Live. Like the rest of us."

"And how exactly are you living?"

She smiled and gave him the answer without hesitation.

"Like a teenager."

Farrah exclaimed.

"We’re not perfect. We have flaws, we make mistakes—and we’ll keep making more."

Farrah paused.

"I think I can understand, at least a little, what you're going through."

Bryan glanced at her but said nothing.

"It’s true."

She said.

"I didn’t have much of a bond with my parents growing up. Not that they didn’t love me, I just… never really felt it. My grandmother was the one I connected with."

She gave a quiet, breathy laugh—one that sounded more practiced than genuine.

"And when she passed away... it felt like the world cracked open. It's been so long now, I can’t even remember what she looked like."

Her words struck something in him. Not just sympathy—but something deeper. The pain of forgetting someone important. Of trying and failing to hold on to a fading memory.

"Do you have a picture of her?"

He asked, the question escaping before he could second-guess it.

Farrah blinked.

"My grandmother? No. Well, there’s one back home, but I never carry it."

She tilted her head.

"Why?"

Bryan looked away.

"Just curious."

Silence followed. But it wasn’t heavy—it was a quiet reprieve.

"I’ve been having dreams."

He said finally, almost to himself.

"Or memories. I’m not sure anymore."

Farrah turned toward him.

"What kind of dreams?"

"Just... fragments. A woman’s voice. A feeling. Then nothing. It fades as soon as I wake up."

He shook his head.

"It doesn’t make any sense."

"Maybe your mind’s trying to tell you something."

She offered gently.

"Something you’ve buried. Or forgotten."

Bryan rubbed his temples, trying to calm the steady ache behind his eyes.

"You know what the worst part is? I can’t even tell if these are real memories—or things someone wants me to believe."

Farrah watched him for a moment, then nudged his shoulder with hers.

"You want to know how to tell if something’s real?"

He glanced at her, eyebrow raised.

"How?"

"It’s usually the most embarrassing or inconvenient thing possible."

She smirked.

"When I was twelve, I tried to impress this boy from Dynosis by pretending I was a fire mage. I soaked my hand in alcohol, grabbed a torch, and—boom—set my hair on fire."

"You set your hair on fire?"

"Just the tips."

She tugged on the ends of her curls.

"But enough to smell like burnt hair for a day. My mom was not impressed."

A small twitch pulled at Bryan’s mouth.

"Did it work? Did you impress him?"

"Oh, definitely not!"

She said, laughing for real this time.

"He screamed, ran off, and told everyone I was a dark elf sorceress trying to immolate him. Last I heard, he became a fisherman who still tells the story like a ghost tale."

Bryan exhaled—part laugh, part sigh. It was small, barely audible, but real.

Farrah noticed immediately, her grin softening.

"There it is."

She said it like a quiet victory.

"That? That moment? That’s real, Bryan."

He turned away slightly, but didn’t pull away. The faint warmth of that moment lingered, almost fragile.

"You don’t understand."

He said quietly.

"It’s not just about what’s real or not. It’s about knowing who I am. And I don’t think I do anymore."

Farrah’s expression gentled. She reached out and placed her hand over his—slowly, carefully, like she wasn’t sure if he’d pull away.

"Maybe that’s okay."

She said.

"Maybe you don’t have to have all the answers right now."

Bryan stared at her hand on his. The warmth of her skin seeped into his, grounding him in the moment. It didn’t answer anything. But it eased the ache, just a little.

"This is real."

Farrah said, her voice almost a whisper. A soft flush colored her cheeks.

"Not a dream. Not a hypothetical. Whatever else you're unsure of... this? This is real."

She stood, brushing off her jeans with trembling fingers.

"Don’t get lost chasing shadows, Bryan. The answers you’re looking for—"

She paused, then met his eyes.

"They’re not in your head. They’re out here, in the real world. And I think… part of you already knows that."