The Bonds Between Love and War: Part 2

“I’m not sure I understand. You’re going to do what?” Aria’s voice was shaky. “I— I don’t know about actually deleting specific memories. That sounds super scary.” She stopped. “Look, I thought about it, and all I really want are my parents back. That alone would make me happy…”

“And you will, but if you have memories of the same thing, different copies, it could cause a mental decay. You’ve heard of the Grandfather Paradox, correct? This is the same thing, just without the time travel.”

“Uhh… Maybe? But why would having two different memories of something cause a mental decay, and what does that mean? Like, is that not the same as making up a fake scenario and then believing it happened two different ways?” A look of confusion crossed her face. “Wait. Does that even make sense? I’m so lost right now.”

It doesn’t need to make sense.” He tapped Aria’s forehead. “Just like that, we remedy the problem. Now tell me, what is it you were doing here again?”

Aria opened her mouth to speak, certain she had a legitimate reason for being there, but nothing came to mind. She felt like she was searching for a word that wouldn’t come, synonyms bouncing off the walls of her mind—every word but the one she needed. What was she doing there? Was she ever given a reason?

“I’m… not sure, to be honest. I think it was for an internship of some sort? I can’t seem to remember…” A gut feeling told her she was in over her head, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. “I’m on this strange boat with some guy I’ve never met, and supposedly I’m here for an internship? So many red flags, but I’m on a boat in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I’m just overthinking it?”

“That’s right,” the man exclaimed. “I’ve had trouble with my memory lately, too, so I’m glad at least someone remembered!”

“Are you certain? I don’t even know what the internship is for, and I’m only sixteen… What— What would I be interning for?”

The man walked over to a series of filing cabinets. The smell of manila folders and printer ink wafted through the air. A moment later, his head re-emerged from the drawer as he waved a folder through the air like a hard-fought prize won at a summer festival. Aria Miruna was neatly printed across the front. Grinning, he walked over to Aria as her feet began a subconscious, backwards retreat.

“I don’t know. Call it intuition, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” she said, stumbling over her own feet. She had no idea how she made it onto the ship, much less what her actual purpose for being there probably was, or why it had taken her so long to listen to herself. “My intuition is also telling me I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, I have all of your application files right here in this folder,” the man said, shuffling through the papers. “Besides, it’s not like you’re of much use to anyone else.” He promptly ceased the paper-shuffling without looking up. “Whoops. That wasn’t supposed to come out.”

Aria seized the folder from his hands as she sifted through the papers herself. She struggled to hold it, still careful not to drop the only lead she had—figuring out where she was and why she was there could prove useful. But if she really filled out such an application, wouldn’t she have remembered? Panic set in as she shook, alarm bells ringing in her head; she worried her heart might beat out of her chest at any moment. She stopped the paper shuffling. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely keep from dropping the folder. She locked eyes with the man, scrutinizing her every movement. For the longest time, neither blinked until Aria threw the folder in a flurry of white paper—all blanks.

Her feet moved before she knew what she was doing—carrying her down a nearby hallway faster than her thoughts could race. Each passing second felt like eternity. There was an exit door right in front of her—if she could just get outside… Adrenaline pumped through her veins like a stimulant drug—everything but time felt like lightspeed. Her shoulder hit the push bar at the same time her face collided with the metal frame of the door. In her haste, she’d missed the actual push bar by mere inches. She crumpled at the base of the door. The impact had knocked the breath out of her; her head buzzed like static from a speaker amp.

Frantically, she swiped at the door, trying to find the push bar, desperate to complete her escape. A sharp pain in her shoulder ran chills through her arm as she stumbled to her feet—she’d likely dislocated her shoulder after hitting the door. Her other arm was still numb, having fallen on it—she was relegated to using the dislocated one.

“Fine,” she muttered, “have it your way.” Painfully, she ordered her hips to lend her the strength to push the door open.

Peeks of sunlight poked through the crack in the door; she could taste the salt-filled air streaming through—freedom was just inches away. At the same moment she felt the sun warm her face, she felt herself pulled back inside and, moments later, on the floor again. Her cheek was pressed against the cold tile, generating waves of icy shock that temporarily numbed her body. She attempted to lift herself up, but something held her down. She whipped her head around and was immediately greeted by a slap so hard she briefly forgot where she was. Normally, she’d submit to the slap, associating it with her late-mother’s disciplinary actions when she misbehaved, but this was different: her adrenaline was pumping, her blood felt white-hot, and she was pissed.

A powerful gust of wind sent the man flying down the opposite end of the hall seemingly unphased as he landed with a figure skater-esque pose. The corners of his mouth formed a mischievous grin. He seemed eerily pleased with both his performance and Aria.

“I knew you had it in you,” he clapped, “and would you look at that? I landed right next to your room! Why don’t you come join me?” He grabbed at the air like the reins on a horse.

“What are you talking about?” she groaned, still wobbling to her feet. “My room—”

She flew through the air with monumental speed, cratering through the wall next to the man. A cloud of plaster and dust poured from the human-sized hole she’d created in the drywall. Her eyes bulged as she gasped for air. A cacophony of dry coughs reverberated through the small room she found herself in.

“This will all be wiped from your memory later as well, but I’ll introduce myself while you’re still listening.” He took a bow. “My name is Ahzef. It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Miruna.”

“Bite— Me—” she said through shallow breaths. “I don’t give a damn who you are.”

“You’re suddenly so foul-mouthed. Let’s fix that,” he said.

“Wait,” Aria pleaded with a little more vigor. “What,” she wheezed, “are you going to do with me? Why am I here?”

“You signed a contract, remember?” The clipboard from earlier floated in front of her face. “Signed in blood and everything,” Ahzef snickered.

“What the hell is happening right now—?”

“It’s funny you should say that. First, I erased your memories of the last, say, twenty-four hours or so. Remember, you wanted to be rid of your past. Your parents were killed in a horrific car accident, and I am truly sorry, but this contract makes you my property now. Your past is no longer relevant here.” He let his words sink in. “Starting today, you have no past.”

She tried to lift herself off the floor only to find herself pinned down by something she couldn’t see. “Car accident? Property? My past?” She squirmed a little more. “I don’t belong to anyone,” she emphasized through gritted teeth. “Let me go, and I promise I won’t elbow you into next year—just next month.”

“I wonder what kind of position you’re in to make demands.” Ahzef snapped his fingers as black shadows slithered out from behind him. The jellyfish-like tentacles wrapped around Aria’s limbs, enveloping her in a frosty hold. “I can mold these to my liking, too. After all, they are shadows.” He pulled Aria from the crater in the wall. “I really don’t even have to use these against you, just so you know.”

“What are you?”

Ahzef pulled his sleeve up to reveal a wristwatch. “There’s still time, but I will be re-erasing your memories after this. Eventually, you’ll break—they always do.” He rolled his sleeve back down. “I am a devil, the most powerful of the Reverse World, but I am not without compassion.”

“A… devil? Like out of a fairy tale?” Aria snickered.

Ahzef grabbed the door handle of the room next to him, dragging Aria through the hall and into the next room. She read the nameplate on the door as she slid across the hospital-like tile: Aria Miruna – 005.

Her stomach sank as she felt the shadows momentarily tighten, and then abruptly loosen, their grasp around her limbs. She soared through the air, grateful she didn’t go through the back wall as she slid down onto the bed—the worn-out springs exacerbating the growing ache in her body.

“At least I didn’t go through it this time.”

The room was spacious but lacking in decoration. Medical cabinets hugged the wall closest to the door, and a small, wooden nightstand was posted next to the bed. A bathroom door hid around the corner, thankfully adorned with toiletries and a shower. Small porthole windows dotted the length of the wall closest to the bed, but the room remained relatively dark despite the luminous daylight, casting a lonely feel across her new living quarters.

“The last laugh always goes to me,” Ahzef taunted. He tapped her forehead again, harder. The light left her eyes, head falling back onto the pillows, legs half-draped over the edge of the bed as sleep consumed her. “No takebacks, Aria.”

The scene shifted, leaving the ship behind as a pit formed in Brendan’s stomach. Colors melded together like a watercolor painting. He assumed he’d reached the end of the first fragment, but he questioned how Ahzef had gone unnoticed for so long. Why was there so much time between the last Rezertia and the current one, and how were Earth and Chiipha left unguarded for so long?

“Is she what set this whole thing into motion? I mean, I know it’s not her fault, but things got way too out-of-hand before anyone even realized something was wrong.”

Colors faded back into focus again as a new scene emerged from a second memory fragment. Aria stood outside her room as she ran her fingers across the placard outside the door, tracing the letters of her name with her finger. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she entered the room and immediately plopped down on the bed, screaming into her pillow. She kicked her legs in the air, frustrated.

“I can’t keep this up. If he really wants to open some kind of crazy, other-dimension-y thing, why doesn’t he do it himself?” she groaned. “This internship was way beyond my qualifications. Even after a year and a half, I still don’t have this thing down.” She lifted her face from the pillow, staring at the feathers that poked from the pillowcase, lost in thought.

Brendan took the opportunity to examine the room a bit; he tried to open the cabinets first. Unsurprisingly, his hands phased through the metal handles. He peered through one of the porthole windows, but all he could see was pitch dark. There was no doubt they were still on the ship—he could feel the steady motion of the waves, though he wondered where exactly they were. He turned around, discovering a large schedule planner and torn remnants of a map pasted to the door. Aside from the planner and strange map, the room was exactly as it was in the first fragment.

“It seems that on Mondays and Fridays she’s supposed to report to the Medical Examiner’s Office. Tuesday and Thursday are Operating Room duty and Wednesdays are for special seminars with Ahzef…” He put his hand to his chin in thought. “This map though… Why tear it up? And who tore it up? Where does it lead, and what does it mean?”

The sound of approaching footsteps grabbed his attention. He jumped back as the door flew open, leaving a hole where the doorknob struck the wall. Ahzef stormed into the room, forcing Aria into a haphazard scramble against the bed wall. Her eyes grew to the size of marbles as the color left her face; she looked so terrified, Brendan thought she was going to open a window and jump out. With every footstep, Ahzef’s foul mood soured the atmosphere. Aria edged further up the wall until she sat with perfect posture, pillow pinned against her chest for protection.

“Explain to me why I found 008 in their room with a sheet tied around their neck,” Ahzef barked. “There will be consequences for wrong answers.” His face was beet-red, and his hands were balled into angry fists.

Anxiety riddled Aria’s body, sending her heart into an uncontrollable flurry. Seconds passed like days, but she didn’t have an answer to his question, no matter how much time she had. Regardless of what she told him, he wasn’t likely to believe her. It was a lose-lose situation, and there was no way around what seemed like a hopeless scenario.

“I wasn’t anywhere near 008, yesterday or Monday,” she stammered. “I came straight back here after labs last night, and I did the same thing after seminar today!”

Ahzef ripped the pillow from her arms. She tried to fight back but promptly found herself dragged from the bed and onto the floor where she fell onto her tailbone. He grabbed her by the hair, holding her mere inches from the ground as her toes reached for the floor.

Brendan watched in horror, knowing that there was nothing he could do, even if he wanted. Aria had found herself on Ahzef’s bad side, and she likely didn’t even remember what he was. It infuriated him to no end and, even if he could, was it right to stick his nose where it didn’t belong? What if he derailed everything they’d worked so hard to right? Still, he couldn’t sit idly by and let Ahzef proceed to pester Aria like he was.

“Aghhh! Dammit!” He pulled at his hair in frustration.

“Your strong desire to protect that girl is peculiar. You realize you are witnessing the events of the past, yet your heart burns so intensely, so passionately, just to protect her.”

With a sudden flash of light, Brendan found himself in an empty white room, alone. The floor was littered with lavenders, but their petals had been stained crimson like blood. He took a step forward, squinting, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Taking another couple steps forward, he realized the room wasn’t empty, after all. In fact, several dark marble sculptures stood proud amongst the backdrop of white: one depicted a warrior mid-stride, sword in one hand, shield in the other; another portrayed two small children, hiding behind a woman in fear—most likely their mother, their arms wrapped around her legs.

Brendan opened his eyes a little wider. What he thought were originally only three sculptures turned out to be four. The third, however, was made of the same black marble as the first two, but it seemed almost iridescent. He walked closer, hoping for a better look.

“It’s just as I thought. The way the light hits the marble,” he said, walking around the base, “reflects other colors, too. Is it perspective-based, or something else? White is the reflectance of color and black is the absence, so how…” He ran a hand along the smooth surface, surprisingly warm to the touch. “Ah. I get it now. It’s not that you’re made of black marble at all. I guess, in some ways, your iridescence kind of reflects the uncertainty you feel about what color you want to be.” He imbued his mana into the sculpture as the dark hues dripped from the marble like wet paint, revealing unscathed, pristine white marble. “You were concealing your true feelings, just like me.”

He took a couple steps back to fully examine the sculpture in all its glory: a young woman, about his age, he surmised, stood poised in an elegant stance. A hand rested above her breasts, seemingly in defense of something. Looking up, he noticed her mouth had formed a slight frown, her extenuated eyebrows joined with the scowl across her forehead. He looked away for a moment, wondering what she was upset about. He had a theory, considering her position towards the fourth, and final, sculpture, but when he turned back around, her hands were clasped against her chest and her eyes were closed as if she were in prayer.

“Aside from the changing features, which is both creepy and disturbingly telling, whoever sculpted her was a master. The way the marble folds and dances around her body is incredible. I can tell what direction her clothes are moving—every wrinkle, every fold.” He circled the sculpture. “Certain colors seem more reflective in specific areas, though. Why?”

Verdant greens seemed to reflect from the skirt of her dress as they faded into darker hues near the bottom. Turquoise hues reflected off the front, viny ornamentation etched into the fabric and down her arms. Golden yellows reflected from her wind-blown hair, the occasional vibrant, summer red glinted in her highlights—the same shimmering red that glinted from her wrists. A lance rested against her leg, adorned with several ribbons elegantly wrapped around the shaft of the weapon. Something was written on it:

In my final stead, I pay my homage to the one I worship and the one that protects me in this time of trial. It is through this grace that I have been allowed to walk the path of life and face the darkness before me. I am the colors in the dark.

“The darkness before me,” Brendan read aloud. “That must mean…”

He turned his attention back towards the fourth and final sculpture. It was in considerable disarray compared to the other three, almost as if someone had decided it wasn’t worth the upkeep. Cracks spiraled throughout the dark stone, also littered with chips and scratches. A shiver raced through his body, down to his toes.

“Can’t say I’m a fan of that missing eye there, pal, but I figured it was you, Ahzef. Can’t really blame anyone for the lack of upkeep on you, though. Hell, if I was in charge of keeping your image up, I’d quit too.”

He took in the sight of all four sculptures, impressed that such intricate detail could be crafted into marble. One final addition to the room, however, made its presence known: the sound of trickling water caught his attention as he turned around. There, in the center of everything and nothing, was a stone pedestal that rose from a floor of crystalline water.

He hadn’t realized he’d been wading in ankle-deep water the entire time. “This place gets more interesting by the second…” He approached the pedestal. The top was flat and as smooth as the marble sculptures.

Water poured from the top, cascading off each side like a tiny waterfall. In the center of the pedestal, a silver chalice embedded with a gleaming display of rubies and amethysts cast a purple-red glow through the room, reflecting off the water’s surface. No— It wasn’t that the light was reflecting off the water—the gemstones were also embedded in the floor, capturing the strange light of the room as they dyed the water a combination of royal purple and ruby.

“I don’t think I ever could have imagined that I’d find something like this here.” He peered into the bowl of the chalice. “It’s… a ball of yarn…? Is this a joke or something?”

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the chalice. “Your heart remains troubled, but it is on the right path. I present myself to you so that you may change the destiny that awaits us all.”

The synapses in Brendan’s brain were working overtime, fueling the thoughts that raced through his mind like shooting stars. He knew what the chalice was and with the word ‘destiny’, he also knew that the ball of yarn nestled inside its bowl was anything but a ball of yarn. The chalice itself was useless, nothing more than a decadent display meant to dazzle those who gazed upon it.

“Tell me,” he said, addressing the chalice, “are you the infamous Holy Grail of legend, sought after by countless adventurers? If you’re here… I’ve already figured that ball of yarn isn’t some random part of a forgotten sewing set.”

“Indeed,” the grail answered. “However, my purpose has been misinterpreted. I do not grant immortality, nor do I grant power to those who seek me. I am the Holy Grail now but tomorrow I could be a letter or even a sword. My form is dependent upon those who view me.”

“So, if you’re the Holy Grail to me…”

“You seek adventure and righteousness but, most of all, you seek change.”

He came to the sudden realization that the time he’d spent chasing after Lacia and the devils was only half of the story. The grail was a myth—the chalice, or whatever its original form was, was a manifestation of his subconscious desires. It wasn’t that he desired the mythical effects of the grail—he desired the purity and honor it symbolized, but the strange ball of yarn in its bowl was another matter.

“Destiny, and destiny is often interchanged with fate. If I think about how fate is symbolized, like the Holy Grail, and the color of the yarn… Thread of fate?”

“Within my bowl rests a Destiny Bow,” the grail clarified. “Once you remove it, I will disappear, but you must first imagine what your heart should represent.”

“Noted. So,” Brendan said, “I have a question for you. You seem to know a lot about me and ‘destiny’. Will you tell me, then… Who truly leads the devils? What else should we be afraid of?”

“…You are the only one to ever ask me this question. Very well then.” Without mincing words, the grail answered his question. “Ahzef leads the devils and Reverse Royalty now, but you face a far greater threat that is not Ahzef. There resides a being filled with tremendous capabilities. It has merged continents, devoured galaxies, and is responsible for the deaths of many ancient civilizations.”

“I take it we’ve yet to come across whatever it is you speak of, then.”

“Indeed. The last time this monstrous evil was defeated, Saint Miruna sealed it away, but it was only at a mere fraction of its maximum strength. Thereafter, he was revered as a god. He destroyed not only Lucifero—he was victorious against the primordial evil, Nertiia.”

“You don’t mean… The Nertiia? The primordial goddess of creation and destruction from the Amalon empire? That’s what we’re up against? The same empire that was ruled thousands of years ago by King Kreshnar?”

“Yes, but Nertiia has been around since before the Earth had even cooled from a molten ball. That is all that I can tell you. You must return to Aria Miruna’s past and discover for yourself the history you have yet to record and learn. Now,” the grail said, “take the Destiny Bow from my bowl. You must not waste more time.”

He dipped his hand into the bowl, disrupting the glassy surface as he pulled the Destiny Bow from the chalice. For a brief moment, he thought he felt something strange, like an uncomfortably warm shiver—he wasn’t a fan. With the Destiny Bow in hand, he watched as the chalice faded away, shimmering into the air like a desert mirage. He turned to examine the sculptures once more, hoping to analyze them further, but the room faded from illustrious hues of ruby and amethyst to white and, eventually, back to the ship from Aria’s memories.

As the remnants of Aria’s past faded back into view, he realized his hand suddenly felt heavier than usual. Looking down, he realized the Destiny Bow had become something else entirely: a prismatic blade extended from a ruby and amethyst-encrusted hilt, its iridescent luster gleaming beneath the ceiling lights. He wasn’t sure where it had come from or what, exactly, it was made of, but a faint pulse of mana seemed to emanate from somewhere deep within.

He ran his fingers along the edge, impressed by the blemish-free surface and cool-to-the-touch make but, for some reason, he felt inclined to enchant it. Another pulse of mana traveled from the blade, this time into his body. Suddenly, he knew the exact words to say and how to enchant it.

“From the darkness comes truth. From the light comes obscurity. Guided by our collective will, my soul shall become my sword for even in the daylight, the truth hides in the dark.”

The words hung in the air, glowing with the same vibrant hue as the rubies nestled within the hilt of his sword. One by one, he took each word and etched them into the blade where they sank into the iridescent steel, transmuting the weapon itself into a ribbon-like flutter. The blade decoupled from the hilt as it transformed into a flowing, crimson ribbon before reattaching itself. Lightly, he pressed a finger against the outer edge of the fabric, surprised to find it even sharper than the blade it had been prior to its transformation. Moreover, a faint, lavender aura seemed to envelop the outside of the ribbon.

He swung the strange weapon around. It was surprisingly light, yet it felt powerful, like he was tapping into some unseen power source. His body tingled, causing the hair on his arms to rise and then fall in the same instance. The ribbon billowed like it was caught within a brisk wind but, as he steadied his heartrate, he realized he could also steady the ribbon blade.

Aria’s frustrated cries drew him from the strange weapon. “Let go! I swear I didn’t—” A decisive slap emanated from Aria’s cheek, leaving a sweltering red handprint in its wake. “I swear you’ll regret that,” she warned.

“If you’re telling the truth,” Ahzef said, ignoring the threat, “then explain to me why this note is in your handwriting and why it was found in your clothes.” He read the crumpled piece of paper aloud: “The only way to escape this floating prison is through death. Just end it. Ahzef has no use for you.”

“I didn’t wr—” Tile fragments were hurtled into the air as Ahzef slammed her into the ground, blood spattering from her mouth. A stout kick quickly ensued, forcing her deeper into the newly formed crater.

Brendan’s heart began to crash against his ribs. “If this is truly a memory fragment, that means this fragment is separate from the rest of Aria’s memories, but that also means it exists outside of the parameters of the present until it’s reunited with the rest of her memory.” The ribbon blade fluttered to the beat of his heart, rapid and enraged.

He recalled the trial Millee told him he was supposed to face. “I seek to protect my friends and those I care about. I don’t need a greedy wish or some crazy, God-like power.” A smile crossed his face. “I finally understand that this trial isn’t just about understanding what makes Aria who she is—it’s about discovering who I am through her.”

“That’s the correct answer, Brendan!” Millee applauded. “Now, I know you want to absolutely tear into Ahzef,” she said, appearing next to him, “but if you engage him in the past, it could have profound effects on the future.” The memory fragment ceased its replay. “Aria’s mind has to break here. This fragment is too interwoven into our current present,” she explained, holding up a finger. “By the way, how is it you have that? Is that… part of the Holy Grail?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” he said, “but there was this white room filled with marble sculptures. There were all of these lavenders just littered across the floor too, but their petals were kind of an eerie crimson red. Know anything?”

“Actually, it’s interesting you mention crimson lavenders because there’s an old saying that talks about finding peace within the conflict.” Her mind went into overdrive. “Brendan, do you know what that flower symbolizes? Lavenders symbolize peace and tranquility. Its petals being stained red almost undoubtedly represent the blood that splatters their petals in war, and you know what flower symbolizes remembrance of war? Poppies. Specifically, red poppies.”

“So, what you’re saying is that room was some kind of ominous foreshadowing?”

She lowered her gaze in thought. “I do think we have our work cut out for us, but I can’t say for sure what it all means without more information.”

“Well, about the sculptures I mentioned earlier, there were four of them: one looked to be a warrior of some kind, and the second was of a woman—two children hid behind her. He went on to explain the third statue of the woman, the iridescent marble, and the lance as well its inscription. He saved Ahzef’s crumbling statue for last. “It was weird because why would they all be there in the same place, and why were the first three kept-up while Ahzef’s was left to deteriorate?”

Millee had grown invested in the details of the white room and its sculptures. “I believe the woman you just described was one of Earth’s princesses. The first two sculptures were likely meant as a homage to those who helped her along her journey.” She looked up. “Anything else?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he laughed nervously. “Let me preface first. Do you recall learning about the first civilizations on Earth? Specifically, Amalon.”

She gave Brendan a puzzled look. “I know enough. They were a polytheistic culture. I recall a legend about a goddess that was so revered people were literally sacrificed just to try and appease her—that, and the name of their king, Kreshnar.”

“This goddess… Was her top half that of a human and her bottom half that of a serpent? Much bigger than the other gods and goddesses?”

“Yeah. Half human, half serpent and really big.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He sighed. “That’s Nertiia, the primordial goddess of creation and destruction, and that is what we’re up against.” He took a breath. “You mentioned King Kreshnar as well, but did you know he wielded the Holy Grail during their battle? Before you say anything,” he said, holding up a hand, “the Holy Grail isn’t really, uh, real. It’s been depicted that way in storybooks, and even some textbooks, probably because that’s the form his weapon took.”

“Okay, well, now that you mention it, I guess that kind of sounds right. Since it was probably that silly little grail that told you all of this, let me fill you in on the missing bits, okey dokey?” She danced around the room as she explained. “King Kreshnar had a rival, Kugil, but they weren’t enemies or anything. After Kugil died, his soul was returned to the world of the living, but that doesn’t mean King Kreshnar fought Nertiia alone. In fact, Kugil fought with him which is how they were able to subdue her the first time.”

“I’ve heard stories about Kreshnar and Kugil, but I wasn’t aware that after Kugil’s death he returned to life.”

“More specifically his soul, but yea. If you’d read the assigned readings in class, you’d know this,” she poked. “There’s a lot that the history books didn’t record either, though, so it’s fine. As a matter of fact, Kugil’s return isn’t mentioned anywhere except in ancient Amalian manuscripts. It wasn’t until his soul found another inhabitant that he was fully revived and able to fight alongside King Kreshnar again. But,” she clenched her teeth, “this wouldn’t happen for another ten years after his initial death. Likewise, as I’m sure you were told, Saint Miruna sealed her away, but this wouldn’t come for another thousand years. The battle was long and drawn out, but it put an effective end to another attempted rezertia.”

Brendan looked as if he’d had a euphemism. “You know this means that either Ahzef is bluffing about being able to revive other devils or he’s siphoning off of Nertiia. But that doesn’t exactly explain the hihouyo, though… I don’t know. It seems that, somehow, this all connects back to Amalon, but so many questions remain—especially about the Reverse World itself and Aria’s family history.”

“You’re right. Aria is still alive even though the hihouyo failed which contradicts the sacrificial toll the spell takes if it fails.” Millee scratched her head. “Honestly, this is kind of hurting my brain, but yeah. There’s so much we still don’t know, but I’d suggest you pick her brain when we finish with this.”

“No kidding,” Brendan laughed, “and that’s if I get the chance. More to the point, though, for starters, we don’t even know where Lacia is and if she’s alive, but—”

“If Aria’s alive, she’s our best shot at figuring out what happened that night,” she said. “Speaking of, shall we continue? The sooner we’re finished with this final fragment, the more time we have to finish this conversation. Time still flows in the present, but only by seconds—for now.”

“That would have been helpful information before you threw us into a whole ass sandstorm, you know.”

“Hehe. Sorry,” she winked.