Memory Shards

His entire right hand felt numb, as if lightning had struck him directly. Slowly, he lowered his hand from his eyes. The pig that had been charging toward him had slammed into the wall of a bakery, punching a hole through the brick and shattering its front window.

Haku and the other flying pigs—with their abnormally small wings next to their balloon-like body that could barely hold their weight—had stopped. They stared at him in eerie silence—then, all at once, rushed toward him. Ren's legs moved before his mind caught up. His arm was useless, throbbing with pain, and every pulse made it harder to think about what had just happened.

“Run toward the glass shards! Don’t—slow—down!” Haku shouted, each word sharp and urgent.

A new burst of strength shot through him. Ren picked up speed and sprinted toward the bakery. He had no idea what her plan was—he didn’t care. He was just relieved that someone else was thinking.

Something red flashed in the corner of his eye. Haku reached his side and passed him without even glancing. While Ren and the pigs panted in a desperate chase, Haku was already at the bakery. She tossed the broom aside, punched through an intact pane of glass, and grabbed a long shard. Her eyes burned with warning, as if implying Ren, if he stopped now, she’d kill him before the pigs got the chance.

When he reached her, she grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie with her left hand and, with a brutal spin, hurled him across the city square. His body slammed into the wall of a blacksmith’s shop. Something cracked. The air was punched out of his lungs as he hit the ground hard. Dazed, he slowly lifted his head to see what was happening.

The pigs had stopped directly in front of Haku. They ignored her and turned toward him.

But before they could fly away, she kicked the broom into the air, caught it mid-spin, and smashed a cluster of pigs into the already-damaged storefront like a professional athlete. Then she jumped after them into the building. Ren couldn’t see what was happening after that inside, but the smell of fresh pastries wafted through the air—something else had broken.

At last, Haku climbed out through the shattered window. Blood dripped from her clenched fist. A thick, black liquid oozed from the shard she still held. Without flinching, she smeared it into the crook of her elbow, then tossed the now-clean glass shard aside.

She walked through the small, circular town center, which was surrounded by many different shops surrounded. She went straight up to him, hoisted him like a sack of grain, and slung him over her shoulder. Ren cried out in pain, but she didn’t slow her pace. She carried him across the city to the attic room where he’d woken up that morning. Instead of placing him on the bed, she dumped him onto the floor.

Ren hissed through clenched teeth. If his ribs hadn’t been broken before, they were now. He almost wished he’d blacked out from the pain, so he wouldn’t have to feel any more of it.

She knelt beside him, placing her oni hand on his neck like a blade. Her short nails dug into his skin.

“I hate that I have to ask this,” she said quietly, “because I like you, Den. But I remember what you told me—no memories, no idea who you are.”

She paused. “But somehow… You still used magic. Those two don’t exactly go together.”

Ren tried to speak and tell her that wasn’t his name, but no sound came out. Part of it was fear. Most of it was because her boot was pressed against his lungs. He lifted his numb hand and slapped it weakly against her leg in protest. She waited several long seconds before slowly removing her foot and planting it beside him.

Ren finally got a little air. Although he had to strain to speak at an acceptable volume, he managed. “No,” he wheezed. “Lie.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a very convincing answer.”

“Ribs. Hurt,” he croaked.

She bent down and pressed the spot in question. Ren hissed sharply.

Once she confirmed something was wrong, she stood and left without another word, leaving him on the floor. A few long minutes passed—minutes that felt like hours to Ren—before she returned with a suspicious-looking glass bottle filled with an even more suspicious-looking liquid.

“Say ‘ah’,” she ordered.

He opened his mouth, and she poured it in. The gentleness from earlier was gone. He choked, still lying flat, but the girl just watched in silence. Gradually, his lungs began to expand. Then again. And again. Relief flooded his body as each breath brought him more strength.

“How long are you going to lie there?”

“But the—” The words came effortlessly. He touched his ribs. They felt completely normal. The pain was gone. Even life had returned to his right hand—he flexed it easily. He pushed himself into a sitting position, staring in amazement at his savior… forgetting she was also the reason he’d been broken in the first place.

“How did you do that?”

She corked the bottle and shyly sighed, “I know a little about alchemy.”

A strange excitement bubbled up in him. He didn’t even know why—but admiration spilled out before he could stop it, “A little? That’s amazing! How—?”

His head began to throb painfully. He pressed his palms to his temples and felt his consciousness slip away. Images unfolded before him in fragments and shades of gray, like an old television.

A small child lay in a worn, rickety frame, buried under several heavy blankets that obscured their gender. Only the top of their head was visible. Their greasy black hair stuck to their forehead. The room looked no better than the bed. Paint peeled from the walls, and mold spread in ugly patches.

Ren sat slouched in an old chair at the foot of the bed, its broken backrest making his back ache. A tiny nightstand stood next to the bed, holding a small lamp whose shade was full of holes. He wasn’t sure if it still worked. The blanket pile shifted, and the little person beneath coughed harshly. Ren didn’t need medical knowledge to know it sounded bad. He wanted to pull off the blankets and hold the child close—but something told him not to.

A cold shiver ran through him. The window was broken. Someone had tried to patch it with duct tape, but it no longer held, flapping wildly in the strong wind and pushing aside the thin pink curtain.

It was hard to stay calm seeing these sights. Anger welled inside him. The little figure tossed and turned, then carefully folded the blankets and sat up. A little girl looked at him, pale and sickly. Her face was hollow, making her smile seem more tired than joyful. Her shoulder-length hair framed her face, and an oversized T-shirt hung loosely on her small body.

Ren didn’t see her eyes. They were just a blur in the middle of her face—as if his mind had deliberately erased them—which annoyed him deeply. The girl’s voice was hoarse as she said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m better now. You can go to sleep in your room.”

She gave him a weak smile. Tears stung his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He clenched his lips to hold them back, but failed. Slumping onto the bed, he hid his face in his arms. The little girl gently stroked his hair. “Brother...”

Ren woke up on the floor of the attic room. His cheeks were still wet. He heard Haku calling his name—faint, distant—but he didn’t care. He jumped up and bolted toward the library.

Haku froze for a moment, startled, then ran after him. Ren knocked down everything in his path to slow the red-haired girl behind him. It was pointless. She jumped over the makeshift obstacles with ease. He didn’t stop to think about how hopeless it was. All that mattered was getting to the library—getting paper and a pencil—before the memories slipped away.

Haku finally caught his wrist and opened her mouth to speak, but he snapped: “I don’t care what you want to do. If I must, I’ll cut off my hand to get to that library.”

He slipped out of his unzipped hoodie and kept running. The oni didn’t follow. He stumbled through the library door and tore a blank page from one of the history books he’d seen earlier. He looked around frantically for something to write with, but nothing looked familiar.

Haku walked in calmly behind him. She went to the long window and flipped an elongated glass container upside down. A piece of stone fell out. She picked it up and silently handed it to the boy.

He took it, sat at the nearest table, and started writing. The images returned in vivid flashes—his eyes blurred again. Haku stood behind him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He paused for a second but kept writing. He had to capture every detail before they disappeared.

“…Thank you.”