Home sweet home IV: The Recall of Memory

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Arion returned to training.

WACK!

BOCK!

CRACK!

Each impact rang through the clearing. He stood inside the scar of obsidian, Recall flashing through arcs that shattered bark and ice alike.

The pulse of the Opening throbbed faintly behind him, rippling through the frozen ground like a heartbeat that refused to die. A reminder: the wound in the world was still open.

The Dog Flap to Hell, as he’d named it.

He exhaled and focused.

A retreat step—back foot first, staff between him and an invisible foe.

Thrust—straight snap, maximum reach.

Push-step—short, aggressive, all weight forward.

Overhead strike—downbeat from high to low, torso twisting, rear hand driving.

Underhand sweep—rising from below, cutting through the brittle ice.

Pivot—change angle, shift rhythm, never stay still.

Horizontal strike—wide, fast, carving air.

The motions blurred into a single dance—a storm of rhythm and control, the old Master’s teachings alive again through muscle and sweat.

When the pattern ended, he stepped back, breathing steady, steam rolling from his shoulders.

He moved deeper into the forest, where space opened between the trunks. This round was for accuracy.

“Recall.”

He threw her high—she spun, humming as it sliced the air—then curved back toward him. He caught her one-handed, twisted, and sent her again.

He spun her and then his foot snapped.

A branch—Recall.

A spear throw.

A fruit—Recall.

High-kick.

A startled bird—Recall.

Each throw, kick and return built trust between them, pulse to pulse.

They sparred like partners—sometimes he caught her cleanly, sometimes she caught him. Once she clipped his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh through a hiss of pain. She seemed to enjoy that.

He kept this up for a while, taking the time to get to know his new partner-in-crime.

…

Next came deflection drills.

He created a Heat Coil—a human-sized disc, then immediately used Frost Snap, aiming right at it.

The ice exploded and shot in all directions.

Ice burst into motion, streaking toward him.

He couldn’t move—by design.

Recall became shield and partner both, spinning in his hands, smashing each projectile aside in a blur of frost and ice crystals. A few snuck through; cold bruises bloomed on his arms. He grinned through them.

By the time the last ice projectile cracked against the ground, his body thrummed with exhaustion and satisfaction.

…

Back at the campground, he resumed simple strike work.

TONK.

CONK.

TONK.

Each hit against the trunk carried rhythm—a mechanical beat that dug into memory.

BONK.

KONK.

TONK.

The clearing dissolved.

…

An older man stood before him—bald crown, sharp eyes, calloused hands wrapped around a staff.

The sound was the same.

Arion struck again, faster, angrier. His balance faltered, frustration boiling up through his chest.

“Kid, stop—you’re losing focus.”

He didn’t. Strikes continued to flurry at him.

“Arion!”

The old man caught his next swing, twisted, and swept Arion’s legs.

He hit the floor hard, breath knocked out of him.

“What’s the matter with you?”

Arion’s hands clenched. “It’s Mum. She’s been away again… work, she says, but she never tells me what’s wrong. Even Oline keeps asking.”

Great Unc sighed, resting his staff across his shoulders.

“Listen, boy. Adult lives are… complicated. Especially a woman’s. Especially a mother’s. Give her time. She’s thinking of you, even when you think she isn’t.”

Arion looked down at the staff across his knees—anger, worry, love tangled tight inside him.

He blinked.

The training room faded. The black scar returned.

His grip on Recall loosened. Muscles trembled, breath shallow.

He drew her back into shard form and slid her into his robe.

Evening had fallen; shadows stretched long across the clearing.

With aching hands and a fatigued body, he turned to head towards his little personal spring.

Time to soak.

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Warm sunlight flickered like fireflies through plants and leaves, as purple hues washed over the once clear blue sky.

Arion sprawled in his personal spring bath, soaking the day's exhaustion away.

The thin stream feeding the spring kept tugging at his sense of sound; He looked down at his reflection. The ripples blurred, and a memory began to form.

Blip

Blop

…

Blop

Blop

The sound of a tap squeaking shut, a reflection of a young man, black hair, light brown eyes stared back at him.

C’mon, don’t puss out now.

He gripped the sink bowl with a shaky grip, thinking to himself, acting as his own absent consciousness.

After some time, he picked up the batch of flowers and made his way down the corridor. Machines and noises could be heard from every room he passed, until he came to one like all the same.

He took a deep breath, took the handle with shaky hands and walked inside. He saw what he’d see each time he visited.

His mother lay in a hospital bed. Surrounded by machines, she seemed less human and more machine.

He put the flowers he bought next to her.

“Hi Mum, Happy Birthday…”

He sat beside her, silence stretching thin between the beeping monitors. Then he started talking—about his scores, his papers, how she’d been right about every lesson she ever forced on him. The words came easy at first, then cracked halfway through.

…

“I–I have something else to share with you as well…”

A slightly crumpled piece of paper was held in his hands, he gripped it tight. The edges cut his palms. Then he started to read.

“Dear Arion Numen,

We are thrilled to invite you as an official member to the Institute of National Science and Anomalies, The INSA–”

Droplets hit paper, once, then twice.

“The results of your science certification reward, along with your proposed papers have impressed all of us, including the Head Chairmen. We show neither favoritism or bias, but we have all agreed that your presence will bring the Institute incredible insight and invaluable knowledge.”

A shaky pause, a stronger grip held the slightly wet paper further,

“Bu-but unfortunately, due to you still being under the age of 21, we cannot legally invite you under as an Official Member, but as an institutional assistant, the pay, unfortunately, will not reflect the funding of an Official Member of the Institution. “

Shaky breathing could be heard, droplets fell, rolling off the paper.

“...Training and any necessities will also be deducted by your first three months of pay.

We apologize for this inconvenience this can cause you.

Please do reach back as soon as possible, positions are rare and thousands of other bright minds are standing behind you.

We cannot guarantee to hold this rare opportunity for you for too long.

We hope to hear from you soon,

Alyn Corzat,

Vice-Chairman of INSA.”

“I–I know you’d be so thrilled for me, it was your dream after all, you deserve it more than me…”

He took a shaky long breath.

“I rejected it.”

Eyes watered, tears continued to flow, soaking both paper and the floor beneath.

“I don't care how amazing this is… I have to support your treatments, medical bills, caretakers…”

Hands grasped his face, trying to escape his emotions.

“I–I can't lose you too, Mum…”

“I steeled myself, like you did for all those years. But, no matter how hard I try, I’m always a crack from breaking.”

The smell of disinfectant clung to his throat; the air felt heavier every time he breathed.

“I'm not as strong as you.”

“Don’t leave… You can give me lectures all you want, I won’t—I’ll behave, I’ll carry it, your legacy, just don’t…”

“Just don't leave me”

“Please…”

Silence with only droplets hitting the hospital floor could be heard.

Bop

…

Blip

The mute of sound lifted, spring water resumed to trickle down.

With a leaf covering his face, his emotions were hidden, like they always had been.

A slight blight of a chuckle escaped his mouth.

“A new body, a new world, another opportunity. Yet, even now I’m still a god damn mess”

…

Spring water seemed to trickle more that night.

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