The flame that remembers her

Auren's hand froze on the hilt of his sword. He turned his head toward her, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. · "The tower?" he asked, his voice dropping. "We never went to a tower, Sara. We lived in that cottage by the cliffs. The one with the broken stone fence." · He searched her face, his eyes narrowing. Something was wrong. This wasn't just memory loss or a curse—it was like she was describing a life that hadn't happened to him. · "What tower are you talking about?" he pressed, stepping closer, his voice low and urgent. "There were no towers where we lived. Just the sea and the wind." · The growl from the woods came again, closer this time, followed by the heavy snapping of branches. Auren didn't look back at the threat; his focus remained entirely on her, his jaw set tight. · "No, no. There is a tower here. When you agreed to help me, we went to the tower because it was safe. Then for the first time I asked you to kiss me. And in that tower we became husband and wife," she said while looking at him with a confused gesture. · Auren's hand dropped from his sword. He stared at her, his face pale in the flickering firelight. The confusion in his eyes was sharp, almost painful to watch. · "Sara," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I have lived in these ruins for years. I have walked every path, climbed every broken wall in this kingdom. There is no tower." · He shook his head slowly, a look of profound distress crossing his features. The man who had faced down dragons was visibly trembling. · "The only thing I remember is the war. The fires. The people screaming." · He reached out, grasping her shoulders with both hands. · "Did I remember losing you? But there was no tower. There was no marriage ceremony in some stone room." · He squeezed her shoulders, his gaze burning into hers. · "Who are you? Truly?" · "No, no, no. You never met me during the wars. This is the exact moment where we met first, and you were so cold to me when I asked you to be my bodyguard." · She shook her head, claiming that she couldn't be wrong. · Auren's hands dropped from her shoulders. He stepped back, his boots crunching heavily on the gravel. The firelight cast his shadow long and jagged against the ruins behind him. · "I've never been a bodyguard," he said, his voice flat and dead. "I've been a soldier. I've been a killer. I've been nothing but a ghost in these woods." · He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands as if trying to drag the truth out of his own mind. · The contradictions were tearing through him—the woman in front of him claimed a life he had no record of, yet her eyes, her voice, the way she said his name—it all felt dangerously real. · "If you met me when I was cold to you," he said, his voice cracking, "then you met a man who didn't care about anyone. That man died in the trenches." · "I don't know!" · She sat on the ground like she had no energy to stand anymore, panting in confusion. · "Why is this all happening again?" she questioned herself. · Auren watched her collapse, his own body tensing with an instinct he couldn't quite name. · He moved toward her, kneeling in the dirt beside her without thinking. His heavy armor clattered as he lowered himself, and for a moment, he just stared at her—at the way she was gasping for air, the way her eyes darted around as if searching for something that wasn't there. · "Sara," he said, his voice rough. · He reached out, his hand hovering over her shoulder before he finally let it rest there. · "You're not well. This isn't just confusion. Your breathing—it's too fast." · He looked back at the dark woods, the growling having stopped, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. The air felt thick, charged with something he couldn't identify. · "I don't know who you are." · "But I know that feeling," he continued, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "The feeling that something is fundamentally broken. That the world I see isn't the one you're describing." · He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping to her hands, which were trembling against the dirt. · Without a word, he reached for his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, the heavy wool still holding the warmth of his body. · "Whether it's a dream, a curse, or some twisted trick of memory," he said, looking directly into her eyes, "you're here. And you're not alone. That's the only truth I have right now." · He stood up and offered a hand to her, his scarred face set in a grim line. · "You don't know Doran too? The blacksmith, your friend?" she asked him and looked at him like she wanted him to claim it was true. · Auren's hand stayed extended, but his entire body went still. The name hit him like a cold draft through an open wound. · "Doran," he repeated. · His eyes searched hers, searching for the trick, the lie, the reason she knew a name she shouldn't. · "Doran is the only man in this entire wretched kingdom who hasn't turned his back on me." · He slowly withdrew his hand, pulling it back to his side. · He didn't sit back down; he stood over her, his shadow swallowing her small frame. · "He's an old blacksmith. Stubborn as a mule. He keeps me fed and my blade sharp because he says I owe him for the years I spent fighting for people who forgot my name." · Auren's voice was tight, controlled. · "He's not a friend. He's... he's the only one left." · He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. · "At least you remember Doran." · She smiled a little, easing her heart and relaxing slightly. · Auren didn't smile back. He watched her face closely, studying that small flicker of relief as if it were a puzzle he couldn't solve. · "That's not enough, Sara," he said quietly. "Knowing one name doesn't make sense of the rest. You talk about towers, about being my wife, about a life I don't remember. But you know Doran." · He sat back down on the ground, his heavy armor settling into the dirt with a dull thud. · He pulled his knees up slightly, looking at her with an intensity that made the firelight feel dim by comparison. · "If you're telling the truth—if we really lived that life—then something has changed. Something has been erased." · He rubbed his thumb against the silver ring hanging from his neck. · "And if something has been erased, then whatever it is still out there." · "You are here. I don't care about anything. If you forget me, it's fine. You will remember again. I'm happy that I got you again." · Sara said slowly and hugged him tightly, like she didn't want to lose him again. · Auren went rigid when she hugged him. · His arms hung at his sides, fingers curled into loose fists. For a long moment, he didn't move, didn't breathe. The warmth of her pressed against his cold, scarred chest, and the sensation was so foreign it felt like a wound opening. · Then, slowly, his hands rose. · He wrapped them around her with a desperate, crushing strength, as if he were trying to hold onto something that might dissolve into smoke at any second. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. · "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I can't just forget. I can't just start over." · He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes raw and glistening. He didn't care how he looked—the scars, the dirt, the desperation written across his face. · "If this is a loop..."