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On the road to Trosten, Thane and Lirien clash over prophecy, guilt, and what he really is, until the appearance of the Riders forces them into hiding. They find refuge in a hidden Sanctum with a mysterious man named Cael, where Thane begins to realize the fractures in Arbelon run deep.
Chapter 7 - Buried Memories
The sounds of dawn crept into the Sanctum, the chirp of birds announcing the morning, soft and muted. The remnants of the fire smoldered in the hearth, tendrils of smoke curling lazily upward.
Thane stirred, the stiffness of sleep making his muscles protest. The weight of his clothing—a sturdy tunic, thick woolen trousers, and a travel-worn cloak—felt strangely familiar now, though he knew they hadn’t been his. They fit as though they had always belonged to him, another layer of the illusion pressing against the edges of his mind. He longed for a pair of jeans and a hoodie, but even he couldn’t pull that off here.
He stretched and sat up, glancing toward the entrance of the Sanctum. Lirien wasn’t inside. Frowning, he pushed himself to his feet and stepped outside, the cool morning air brushing against his skin.
A few paces away, Lirien knelt near a patch of soft dirt, her movements slow and deliberate. The pale light of dawn made her expression unreadable. Thane hesitated, watching as she placed a delicate gold ring into a shallow hole she had dug. She pressed the dirt down gently, her hands trembling slightly.
“What are you doing?” Thane asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Lirien glanced up, startled, then quickly looked away. “It’s my mother’s ring.” Her voice was quieter than usual, rough at the edges. “It’s all that’s left of her.”
She hesitated for a second longer than she meant to, fingers pressing into the dirt like she could still take it back. Then, in one sharp motion, she smoothed it over and exhaled through her nose. “Sometimes it’s easier to let go than to carry it.”
Thane frowned. “You sure?” He didn’t know why he asked. Maybe because he wasn’t sure if he could do the same, if it were him. “Holding on… having memories… it’s not always bad.”
She let out a short, hollow laugh. Not amused. Not angry. Just empty.
“You think I don’t know that?” she shook her head, standing abruptly. “Memories don’t change anything. They don’t undo the past. They don’t bring people back.” Her voice wavered, just barely, but she pushed forward. “And they sure as hell don’t make anything hurt less.”
She wiped her hands on her tunic and turned toward the Sanctum. “Pack your things. We leave soon.”
Without waiting for a reply, she walked away.
Thane lingered for a moment, then crouched by the small mound of dirt. He hesitated before carefully digging out the ring, holding it in his palm. Its weight was oddly comforting. He turned it over between his fingers, thinking of his mother—of how she’d have to bury him one day, just like this. Would she let him go so easily, or would she cling to every scrap of memory, refusing to forget?
The thought unsettled him.
He imagined his mother, sitting in that too-quiet house, sorting through his old things. Would she keep them? His hoodies, his books, the dumb little trinkets that never meant much? Or would she shove them into a box and bury them somewhere deep, the way Lirien had?
A fresh wave of resentment coiled inside him. This was supposed to be an escape, not a cruel reminder of his story. He was supposed to be the one leaving behind memories, not becoming one.
He studied the golden ring for a moment before slipping it into his pocket with a quiet mutter. “Not everything has to be let go.”
Something shifted in the air, subtle but distinct, like a ripple in still water. Thane tensed, the hairs on his arms rising. He wasn’t alone.
The telling tap of a staff followed.
“It’s a beautiful morning for secrets, isn’t it?” Cael’s voice cut through the quiet. He cast a glance toward the Sanctum’s entrance before stepping closer, as if ensuring Lirien wasn’t near enough to hear.
Thane stiffened, caught off guard. “What do you want?”
Cael chuckled softly. “Nothing from you. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned forward on his staff and gave Thane one last look. “You’ll find the Elders have long memories. Their judgment is sharp, and their forgiveness… well, don’t expect much.”
Cael turned to leave, his tone carrying a mix of warning and resignation, hinting at his own strained history with the Elders.
“You choose your own path. Don’t let them choose it for you.” He adjusted the strap of his satchel, eyes lingering on Thane for a moment longer. Then, softer, more weighted—”Like I said, power’s a funny thing. It chooses us or destroys us. Be careful which way it takes you.”
The words sat heavy in Thane’s mind. He wanted to dismiss them, shove them aside as more cryptic nonsense—but he couldn’t. The way Cael had looked at him, the deliberate weight of his tone—it felt less like advice and more like a warning. One he’d be a fool to ignore.
As Cael was disappearing into the trees, Lirien stepped out from the Sanctum, pausing as she caught sight of him. Her gaze darkened, following him until he vanished into the woods before turning to Thane.
“What did he say to you?” Her voice was low, wary. Not curiosity—concern.
She didn’t look at Thane when she asked, her eyes still fixed on the trees where Cael had disappeared. Like she was expecting him to turn back. Like she wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
When Thane didn’t answer right away, she finally glanced at him, frowning. “I don’t trust him. No one does.” The words came without hesitation.
There was clearly no love lost between Lirien and Cael, but Cael had the air of someone important—like he knew things Thane didn’t, though to be fair, that was most people here. Still, there was something about him, something measured, like he’d already weighed Thane and decided he wasn’t worth fearing. Not yet.
Maybe he was supposed to be Thane’s Gandalf. Or Dumbledore.
But in stories like those, the mentor always came with a price.
Thane shrugged, feigning indifference. “Nothing important. Let’s get moving.”
Without another word, they shouldered their packs and started toward Trosten. Lirien walked ahead, her steps brisk and purposeful, while Thane lingered behind, his thoughts turning to the ring in his pocket and Cael’s words.
The road to Trosten awaited, but something told him the real journey had only just begun. And if Cael was right, if power really did choose or destroy—Thane honestly had no idea which way it was leaning.
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