Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 16th of Brightforge, year 315 UC
Bryan stood before the bare wall of his empty room, his eyes tracing over the chaotic web of notes he had arranged.
In the center of the clusterfuck of notes was a note with his name—"Bryan Valentine"—surrounded by a bold question mark drawn in heavy strokes. The paper was slightly crumpled at the edges from how many times he had touched it and adjusted it.
Who was Bryan Valentine?
From this central note, a red string extended upward to another paper where he had written "Veron". Below that name, he had added "Father?" in smaller, less certain script. His fingers reached up to touch the string, tracing its path as he considered the absurdity of questioning something so fundamental. Yet it had to be asked.
From there was a line going up with the name Veron, and underneath was the word Father with a question mark. Was Veron his father? It was an absurd question, but one that had to be asked anyway.
He stepped back, his boot heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The emptiness of the room amplified the sound.
Bryan's gaze returned to the wall. Close to Veron's note were two smaller papers, connected by blue thread—one for his mother, the other for his sister. Both remained unnamed, blank spaces where identities should be. His jaw tightened as he reached up to adjust the sister note, which had begun to peel away at one corner.
Veron never told him their names; the pain, as he said, was too great for him to talk about.
Bryan could believe that. Losing a wife and child? Someone who was supposed to go through life with you, in the ups and downs?
He clenched his hand into a fist as he even tried to imagine it. Then he did imagine it as a memory flashed through his mind too quickly for him to grasp.
On the right side of his constellation was a note labeled "Zoltan," surrounded by a cluster of question marks. Friend? Ally? Manipulator? Bryan's fingers drummed against his thigh as he stared at it. What was Zoltan really? Why had he pushed Bryan to come to this specific academy? And most pressingly—where was he now?
His hand moved to touch the paper, then dropped back to his side. Too many questions about the mouse. Ones that needed to be answered.
Another thread, this one black, connected to a note reading "Brandon," positioned as a distant satellite to Veron, aligning him with the Inquisition. Bryan crossed his arms, feeling the smooth fabric of his uniform against his skin as he studied this connection. What was Brandon hiding? How much did he know about the missing nurse? What did he know about Emilia Valentine?
The name "Emilia Valentine" was written on a separate note, connected to both Brandon and the central question of Bryan's identity. The paper was wrinkled, as if it had been crumpled and then smoothed out again.
Detached from the main web, but still present, was a note simply labeled "Nurse" with a massive question mark.
He had only encountered her once, but that was enough. Now she was gone, and none of the staff seemed to care.
‘I was exposed, so was she?’
Bryan ran a hand through his white hair, turning away from the wall to pace across the room. He moved from the wall to the window and back again.
He stopped pacing, his reflection visible in the large window. His entire backstory meant little to the Reinharts; they seemed to know it was all false. If they had seen through him, who was supposed to have a rock-solid identity, what about the other Inquisition members at the academy?
Couldn't they, too, have been found out? If so, how many were there, and where were they now?
The Inquisition took orders directly from the king. The Reinharts wouldn't murder them—that would be insane. Though the thought had crossed his mind, the implications were too terrible to contemplate.
More likely, she had left to protect the Inquisition's interests.
'But if it were me and some bugs were poking around my home, I'd want them squashed.'
Bryan stepped closer, picking up a pen from his desk and adding "Murdered?" beneath it, followed by another question mark. The pen hovered over the paper for a moment before he capped it and placed it back on the otherwise empty desk.
Everything he knew, everyone he knew—he had mapped them all on his wall. What were their relationships to one another? To him? How did all the pieces connect?
Slowly but surely, he would find out.
Bryan's fingers clenched into a fist at his side. No one was going to manipulate him and escape consequences. He would make them pay.
He might not be strong enough yet, but in a few years? His lips curled into a small, cold smile at the thought.
If he could determine what they wanted from him, he could ruin everything. Watching their carefully constructed plan crumble would be the perfect outcome.
Bryan took three steps back, the backs of his knees hitting the chair by his desk. He sank into it, the leather creaking under his weight as he gazed at the countless names and connections covering the wall.
Gloria Reinhart.
His eyes narrowed on her name. She had started this, but she was untouchable for now. He needed to discover what she knew. Bryan doubted Julius would have answers—he might not even be a player in whatever game this was. But he could be a useful pawn.
How much did she care about her son? What was she willing to do for him? Would she protect him or burn the world if he were murdered?
Bryan tapped his finger against his leg. . He needed to learn more about Gloria, which meant getting closer to Julius. Understanding what kind of mother she was, the relationship between Julius and his father—all of it would help him build a profile on Gloria so he could determine the most likely action she’d take next.
His gaze flickered to each name, and then paused on one.
Farrah Heartland.
He leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he studied her name. She was an odd one. Friend? Foe? Interested Party? She always seemed to show up right after an event took place with him.
That was strange, and he knew it.
Why was she so interested in him? What was her purpose?
Bryan stood abruptly, the chair sliding back slightly on the floor. Farrah could easily be a planted actor meant to keep him grounded in this false reality. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched of an idea.
One night he was meeting with Gloria, and a few days later, she showed up.
Any other boy his age would have fallen for whatever act this was. Farrah was cute, a good listener, somewhat relatable, calming, and…
‘Did I just think she was cute?’
Bryan clicked his tongue.
What had happened to him? For someone like him to develop even a slight interest in another person beyond mission parameters... it was unprecedented.
Bryan frowned at the wall in his room, his mind still replaying the conversation with Farrah from yesterday. Despite her insistence that he needed to "live" more, her words had resonated in ways he hadn't expected.
What makes me... me?
The question haunted him, especially after Gloria's conversation and Brandon's evasive responses about Emilia Valentine. Something important was missing from his memories, and the harder he tried to remember, the more his mind resisted.
His fingers traced the edge of his black ring. At least this was real—a tangible object with measurable data. The name that appeared on it, though... Valentine. The same surname as the woman who kept triggering his headaches.
They had the same last name, so they had to have been related to one another. But in what manner?
It couldn't be his mother's name. It... couldn't be.
Yet if it were, certain aspects would make sense, such as why Brandon might or might not know who she was. If she were his mother, Brandon's ignorance would be logical.
Veron held high rank in the Inquisition, and all members kept their real identities secret. The chances of Brandon knowing Veron's personal connections were unlikely.
Brandon was not close to Veron as far as Bryan knew, so the likelihood that they revealed real information to one another was low.
A soft knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
He called, expecting Farrah again as he ran his hand through his white hair, attempting to look more composed than he felt.
The door opened with a soft creak, and Alessia stepped inside. Her gaze immediately traveled past Bryan to the wall where he had arranged his notes.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he should have removed the notes before telling her to come in.
'Hopefully she won't ask.'
Bryan doubted that would happen. With the various notes, it was just too big of a question to not ask.
Bryan turned, surprised to find her in his doorway. She was the last person he expected to visit—not once had she sought him out, and their previous interactions suggested she wouldn't start now.
"What is this?"
She asked, gesturing toward the wall. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the lone note where his name—or rather, not his name—was written. Her right hand, still gloved as always, moved slightly as if she wanted to touch the paper but thought better of it.
Bryan glanced back at the wall, momentarily disoriented. In his mind, he'd covered the entire surface with notes, connections, and theories. But looking at it now, there was only that single sheet of paper with "Bryan Valentine" written on it. Everything else—the questions about Veron, his mother, his sister, Zoltan, Brandon, the missing nurse—existed only in his imagination.
The realization sent a cold sensation down his spine. He blinked hard, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch the wall where other notes should have been. His fingers met only the smooth, painted surface.
"It's nothing."
Bryan said, moving to stand between Alessia and the wall. He already had Farrah worrying and constantly checking on him. He didn't need another person doing the same.
Usually, he wouldn't care what others thought. However, he couldn't have Alessia questioning his behavior and wondering if he was crazy.
"Just a project I'm working on."
He lied as it was the perfect excuse. It was not like Alessia could counter his statement. She has no proof he was doing anything else.
Besides, it was not all a lie. It was a project, and he was working on it. It just turned out he hadn't progressed as far as he'd imagined.
Alessia's eyes remained fixed on the paper for a moment longer before shifting to meet his. There was something different in her gaze today—a brightness that hadn't been there before.
"Do you need something?"
He asked as he reached behind himself to slide the note into his back pocket, the paper crinkling softly as it disappeared from view.
A small grin spread across Alessia's face as she removed her right glove, holding up her bare hand in a gesture that seemed almost triumphant.
Her right hand was flawless like a porcelain doll. Alessia never removed her glove, yet her fingernails were trimmed with a light green polish that caught the sunlight streaming through the window.
"I've been making progress."
She said, turning her hand over to examine it in the light. The pride in her voice was unmistakable as she flexed her fingers, watching them move with obvious satisfaction.
"See?"
She took a step closer.
Bryan nodded once.
"That's good, but I don't really need to know your progress."
He replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
Alessia's smile faltered, a frown creasing her brow. She lowered her hand slightly, her fingers curling inward. She clearly hadn't expected his dismissal, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly.
If she was looking for someone to tell her that she was doing an amazing job then she came to the wrong place.
"We should celebrate."
She continued, ignoring his dismissal. She moved further into the room, her eyes scanning the bare space as if noticing for the first time how empty it was. Not a single personal item adorned the surfaces, not even a change of clothes visible.
"It's been too long since I could touch things... people... without my hand being gloved."
She added, her voice softening on the word "people."
Bryan narrowed his eyes, studying her. There was something different about her demeanor—a brightness that seemed out of character, an eagerness that didn't match her usual reserved nature.
"Are you okay?"
He asked, tilting his head slightly. He couldn't help but wonder if she had taken more of that tea to help her relax. While he hadn't pegged her as someone who would rely on such methods. It was still a possibility.
It would also explain the sudden shift in personalities.
"I am."
She replied, looking confused by his question. She tucked a strand of dark auburn hair behind her ear, a casual gesture he'd never seen her make before.
"Why are you asking?"
"You're acting different."
Bryan stated bluntly, his back still to the wall with its single note.
"Blackwood."
She used his last name, which she's never done before. Her tone suggested that she was upset as well.
Bryan quickly wondered if he'd said something wrong. Usually when people got upset with him, it was because of his bluntness—they couldn't handle the truth, so they lashed out.
But he didn't make any remarks about her that would cause her to be angry.
"Yes?"
"Have you ever not been able to touch anything with your bare hand for years? No? Then what about having your power also chew threw everything? Also no? Then wouldn't being able to do those things cause a person to be happy?"
Alessia glared at him, her hands moving to her hips in a gesture of frustration.
He took a second to process everything. Truthfully, he had barely been paying attention to her. He was more concerned with the fact that there was only a single card on his wall when he'd been interacting with a wall full of notes.
That was significant in a way that terrified him.
He did not have time to worry about her, but taking this moment to think about it, he could see how she might be upset.
"You're right."
He stated.
"I'm glad you think that. Now, let's go celebrate. This was only possible thanks to your help, so let me treat you to something."
Alessia's expression brightened again, her earlier annoyance seemingly forgotten as she gestured toward the door.
Bryan really didn't want to leave. There was too much happening, too many questions swirling in his mind. Even if there wasn't, where would they go? Down to the cafeteria?
"I'm pretty busy at the moment, how about some other time?"
He suggested, his hand unconsciously moving to touch the single note in his back pocket.
Alessia looked at Bryan, then around his bare room—the untouched bed, the empty desk, the closet door firmly shut—until her eyes came back to focus on him.
"If you didn't want to go, you could have just said so. No need to make up excuses."
She crossed her arms, mirroring his closed-off posture.
"I…"
Bryan sighed, his hand dropping to his side.
"Why don't you take a seat. I'm actually busy, but maybe you can help me out."
He suggested, gesturing to the chair by his desk.
Alessia furrowed her brow, glanced at the lone chair, then deliberately put her glove back on slowly. The eagerness from moments ago had faded. She crossed the room and took a seat, the leather creaking slightly beneath her.
"What can I help you with?"
She asked in a tone that sounded faintly amused, one eyebrow raised as she settled into the chair.
"I'm having a difficult time recalling something, I'm not sure what it is, or if it's even a thing."
Alessia furrowed her brow, clearly processing Bryan's question.
"What do you mean by 'recalling something'? Like a memory?"
She leaned forward slightly, her gloved hands resting on her knees.
Bryan nodded slowly, moving to the window to look at the garden below.
"I keep feeling like I'm missing something important. Like there's a hole where a memory should be. When I try to focus on it, everything gets... fuzzy."
Alessia's expression shifted from confusion to something more thoughtful. She sat up straighter in the chair, her fingers interlacing in her lap.
"That happens sometimes with traumatic events. The mind protects itself by blocking certain memories."
"This feels different."
Bryan said, running a hand through his white hair, turning back to face her.
"It's like something was taken from me."
Alessia was quiet for a moment, studying him.
"Have you considered the possibility that you're right? That something was taken?"
Bryan took a step closer to her.
"What do you mean?"
"There are mages who specialize in memory manipulation."
She explained, her gloved hands tightening slightly in her lap.
"My father once told me about them. They're rare, but they exist. Some can erase memories completely, others can alter them."
Bryan felt a chill run through him.
"If someone did tamper with your memories, trying to force them back could be dangerous. It might explain the headaches and nosebleeds."
Alessia added.
Bryan leaned against the windowsill, considering this possibility.
"How would you even know if your memories had been altered?"
"Inconsistencies."
Alessia replied. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.
"Things that don't quite add up. Emotional responses to stimuli seem disproportionate. Dreams about people you've never met or activities you've never done."
Bryan thought about the name Emilia Valentine, how it caused him physical pain whenever he tried to recall who she was. About the flashes of memory that didn't fit with what he knew of his past. About the wall of notes that existed only in his mind.
"I've been having these... moments."
He admitted, pushing away from the window to pace again.
"Where I hear a voice, or see a face, but it's gone before I can grasp it."
Alessia nodded slowly, her eyes following his movement across the room.
"That could be your mind trying to recover what was taken."
"So what do I do?"
Bryan asked. He stopped pacing and turned to face her directly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
He was frustrated by all of this. Someone was screwing with him, and when he found out he'd return the favor ten-fold.
"Just accept that someone might have messed with my head and move on?"
"No."
Alessia said firmly, rising from the chair.
"But forcing it won't help either. Sometimes memories return when you're not actively seeking them. When your guard is down."
She hesitated, then added.
"There's a theory that certain triggers can help recover lost memories. Places, scents, objects associated with the missing time."
Bryan considered this, his anger subsiding slightly. If his memories had been altered, what would trigger their return? And more importantly, who would have done this to him?
"Why are you telling me all this?"
He asked suddenly, studying Alessia's face for any sign of deception.
She shrugged, her gloved hand fidgeting slightly with the edge of her uniform sleeve.
"Maybe because I know what it's like to have your life defined by something you can't control. To have people keep secrets from you 'for your own good.'"
Bryan felt an unexpected connection to her in that moment—two people whose lives had been shaped by forces beyond their understanding.
"Thanks."
He said quietly, the word feeling strange on his tongue.
Alessia looked surprised by his gratitude, her eyes widening slightly.
"Don't mention it."
She replied as she began to remove any dust on her uniform skirt.
She paused, then added with a small smile.
"Really, don't. I have a reputation to maintain."
As they stood in silence, Bryan's mind raced with new possibilities. If his memories had been altered, everything he thought he knew about himself could be a lie. His father, his training, his purpose—all of it could be fabricated.
'Was this what she meant?'
Bryan asked himself as he thought about that encounter with Gloria. It would make a lot more sense if that were the case. But, why would she tell him, lead him down this path?
More importantly, how would she have known?
Bryan looked up at Alessia, who had moved to examine the empty shelves along one wall of his room.
"You said you have an estate here, yes?"
Alessia nodded, turning back to face him.
"I did."
"And you owe me a favor, correct?"
Alessia paused for a moment before answering, her fingers trailing along the edge of the empty shelf.
"It would seem I do."
"Then, can you get me information on someone?"
Alessia opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it. She looked at Bryan for a moment, studying his face, before a slow grin spread across her features.
"I could, yes."
Bryan nodded.
"Good. How about we head into town, I invite the others, and you can have your celebration. Although I'd like information on someone, and I'd prefer it if you didn't ask questions."
***
Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 16th of Brightforge, year 315 UC
Alessia stepped out of the Rose Garden dormitory, the heavy door closing behind her with a soft thud. She flexed her gloved right hand, the fabric sliding against her skin.
What was that about?
The single note on Bryan's wall bothered her more than she cared to admit. "Bryan Valentine" with a question mark. Not exactly what one would expect in a student's room.
She started down the path leading away from the dormitory, her steps measured and deliberate. The campus was relatively quiet, most students enjoying their free time elsewhere.
Missing memories? Memory manipulation?
Alessia's brow furrowed as she considered Bryan's questions. She hadn't expected him to share something so personal, so vulnerable. It didn't align with the cold, calculating persona he typically projected.
"Why tell me of all people?"
She muttered to herself, adjusting her glove more snugly around her wrist. Their relationship had been antagonistic at best, professional at worst. She still hadn't fully forgiven him for the Calamine Tea incident—drugging her without permission, regardless of his intentions, crossed a line.
The memory of waking up in her room, groggy and disoriented, still made her blood boil. Yet here she was, contemplating helping him investigate someone. The irony wasn't lost on her.
Alessia veered off the main path, taking a less traveled route that wound through a small garden area. The privacy allowed her thoughts to flow more freely.
What would Father say about this?
Duke Hayes had always warned her about getting entangled in other people's problems. "A Hayes observes, analyzes, then acts only when beneficial," he would say. But there was something about Bryan's situation that resonated with her.
She knew what it felt like to have your life controlled by forces beyond your understanding. Her erosion magic had dictated every aspect of her existence since it first manifested—what she could touch, who could approach her, where she could go.
'But memory manipulation?'
That was different. If someone had tampered with Bryan's mind, it was a violation more profound than any physical constraint. The thought sent a chill down her spine despite the warmth of the morning sun.
Alessia paused beside a stone bench, considering whether to sit but ultimately deciding against it. Her fingers traced the edge of the bench.
Bryan had seemed genuinely disturbed by the possibility that his memories weren't his own. She'd seen something in his eyes she hadn't noticed before—uncertainty, perhaps even fear. It humanized him in a way that made her uncomfortable.
He's just using me for my family's resources.
The thought surfaced. Of course he would. The Hayes family had connections throughout Evergreen's noble district and beyond. If Bryan needed information on someone, approaching her was a logical move.
Yet he'd helped her understand her magic. That control she'd demonstrated today—being able to remove her glove without destroying everything she touched—was directly due to his insight.
"A favor for a favor."
She said quietly, continuing her walk. The debt existed whether she acknowledged it or not. Her honor demanded she repay it.
Alessia rounded a corner, the academic buildings coming into view. She had nothing special to do for now, which left her with time to consider Bryan's request.
Emilia Valentine?
The name sounded familiar, as if she had heard it before. Maybe in passing or something along those lines. There were a lot of people named Emilia, but Alessia would have recalled someone with the last name Valentine.
Alessia removed her glove again, examining her bare hand in the sunlight. The progress she'd made was real—tangible evidence that understanding could lead to control. Perhaps Bryan was right to seek answers rather than accept his situation.
Still, something about the whole scenario felt off. The empty room. The single note. The way he'd seemed genuinely surprised when she mentioned memory manipulation, as if the possibility hadn't occurred to him despite his suspicions.
'I'll help him.'
She decided, slipping her glove back on. Not because she particularly liked him, but because she understood what it meant to search for answers about yourself. And perhaps, though she wouldn't admit it aloud, because she was curious.
The Hayes family had extensive records on noble houses throughout the kingdom. If Bryan's target was anyone of significance, she could likely find something. And if not, she knew people who specialized in discretely gathering information.
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