Chapter Text
“Phainon, do you ever feel like you’ve lost something? Or… someone?”
Phainon paused from his ‘training’ (or as Cyrene saw it, swinging a sword wildly and hoping for the best) and looked up. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts before finally replying.
“Nothing tangible. But perhaps it was memories that I lost.” He kept going. “Sometimes… I have these dreams.” He paused, not wanting to continue. Those dreams, well, nightmares, really, were so graphic, so full of pain. They felt so real. Cyrene glanced at him expectantly, waiting for more. He took a deep breath and continued. “I dreamt of me with golden blood on my hands, with you and the rest of our friends lying dead beside me.”
At this, Cyrene seemed a bit lost for words. That description did feel rather familiar, though she was sure that Phainon would never hurt her, so she wasn’t sure why she seemed to recognise the scene Phainon was portraying.
“Oh, but it wasn’t all bad. Sometimes there would be outlanders coming to save us from whatever deadly threat my brain came up with,” Phainon continued with something more light-hearted after seeing Cyrene’s expression, laughing a bit to ease the mood.
“Outlanders, you say?” She sighed, a sound full of longing. In her mind, she saw a vague outline of a girl, a blurry figure with pink hair. A friend? Perhaps something more? There was no doubt that this girl was important. The image of her, albeit indistinct, filled Cyrene with an emotion that was undeniably love. Whether it’s platonic or romantic, well, that’s where her memories grew fuzzy. Not that there were many memories to begin with. Just this hazy silhouette, and a feeling that something’s missing. So perhaps it shouldn’t be called a memory. More like… a premonition. Instinct, perhaps. A sixth sense helping her recall something that she didn’t think she’s ever encountered.
These thoughts slowly slipped her mind in the following weeks. It was time to go back to Okhema to resume her studies. Between practicing her craft in the city, running to and from the Grove to listen to select lectures that weren’t available in Okhema, and visiting her family in Aedes Elysiae whenever she had the chance, she hadn’t had much time to think about outlanders or missing memories.
The months pass in a blur, her lessons blending together, the time spent with her friends vanishing like leaves in the wind. Soon, it was winter, though Okhema was still as lively as ever. There were always people on the streets, no matter how cold it was, bundled in scarfs and coats. Cyrene even spotted Mydei running around in a t-shirt. She shivered at the thought of being dressed that lightly even as crisp white snow was falling around them. As much as she liked the snow and ice, the beautiful crystals refracting light and shimmering under the watery sun, she still preferred summer, when it was warm enough to swim in the lake. Or spring, when flowers bloomed. Or autumn, with the orange leaves and golden wheat fields. Or… well, you get the idea. Cyrene did not like the cold. The cold was sharp, biting, always there no matter how many layers she put on.
Fires danced in lanterns on the side of the street, providing light and warmth both to passerbys. A soft wind was blowing, making her hair flutter in the wind. She couldn’t wait to go home for the winter break. Aedes Elysiae would be a bit chilly at this time of the year, orange leaves already fallen, leaving the branches bare, but even so, it had never snowed there. It would definitely be warmer than Okhema.
A shout came from the gates of the city. Not quite alarmed, but curious, or perhaps a bit surprised. The news of strangely dressed people arriving at Okhema spread like wildfire, throughout the streets, across the square, and into Cyrene’s ears. Strangers from beyond the sky? Completely unheard of. Yet it felt so ordinary, as if it had happened before. Apparently they came from the cosmos in a… train? But… what the hell was a train? As soon as that thought popped into her head, the image of metal cars linked on a silver rail arose in her mind. And… that pink haired girl again. Cyrene’s heart jumped, a strange sense of familiarity washing over her. There was anticipation, but also comfort. The image of the girl appeared again, much clearer than ever before, though her face was hazy and her name was seemingly just out of reach.
“… a pink haired girl…” Cyrene started, whipping her head around at those words. She had thought that maybe she spoke her thoughts aloud, but after double, triple checking, she was sure that it was someone else’s voice, especially as more and more people echoed the statement. There was a pink haired girl among the strangers.
It didn’t take long for Cyrene to find out they were staying at the baths. And it made sense. That’s exactly where all the tourists go, after all. All other plans left her head in a second, replaced with the thought of visiting the strangers. Though were they really strangers? That sense of familiarity hit again. Regardless, Cyrene had to go see them, especially that girl. She must. She had to find answers regarding the feelings in her heart. Did they know each other? Perhaps in another life. What were they to each other? Did the other girl feel the same about Cyrene? But what if, what if. Cyrene was afraid, afraid of finding out that the pink haired girl had no memories of her whatsoever. Or even worse, that this wasn’t the girl in her dreams, and that the one she’s chasing didn’t exist at all. But the determination to find the truth fuelled her, burning away her worries, even if just temporarily, as she steeled herself and stepped towards the baths.
♪
“Ugh! I can’t believe no one here remembers us.” March was… annoyed, to say the least. “Screw no interference! They deserve to know what happened. You agree with me, right?” She shot the Trailblazer a look.
“Madam Herta said–”
“I don’t care what Herta said! So what if she’s a genius? I swear to Akivili, if Cyrene doesn’t remember me either, I’ll–”
Trailblazer snorted. “Ah, so that’s what you’re worried about. I mean you could just, I dunno, ask her out again?”
An indignant noise escaped March’s throat, as if she was offended by the suggestion. “That’s–” March’s sentence got cut off by a knock at the door.
“I’ll go open it,” Trailblazer sighed. It was probably not a good idea for March to do anything before she calms down. It might not be wholly safe for the person on the other side of the door if March were to open it and see someone she didn’t want to see. And as far as the trailblazer could tell, if that person is not Cyrene, March didn’t want to see them.
♪
Cyrene knocked on the pink haired girl’s room. At least she thinks it’s the pink haired girl’s room. That’s what the bath attendants told her anyway. It seemed like an eternity before the door opened. Standing there was a grey haired youth, and behind them… a flash of pink.
“Cyrene?” The girl rushed forwards, her voice filled with disbelief and, against all reason, joy. Relief engulfed Cyrene, because joy meant that they weren’t strangers, that there was an explanation for her feelings, that her fragmented dreams might have been real.
Inexplicably, tears started streaming down Cyrene’s face upon seeing the girl’s face. A flood of memories, still hazy, as if they didn’t belong to her, swept over Cyrene like a wave. The girl’s name. March 7th. Scenes of passion, of stolen kisses under the moonlight, of teary goodbyes, of holding each other, afraid to let go. Nothing like what she experienced in this life. How many scenes actually existed? How many were imagined? Cyrene’s thoughts ran wild with possibilities. What exactly happened in her, for the lack of a better word, past life?
These thoughts slowed as she was suddenly jerked forwards. March had pulled Cyrene into a hug, her arms wrapping around the other’s back, holding her as tightly as she could without breaking a rib. Cyrene, hugged back instinctively, one of her hands tangled in March’s hair and the other gripping her shirt. Cyrene was still crying silently, but March was in way worse shape. She was sobbing into Cyrene’s shoulder, tears soaking the fabric of her jacket.
Before Cyrene could react, March placed a light kiss on her lips, before pulling back just as quickly. March’s tears blended with Cyrene’s, the salt lingering on both their lips. Cyrene tried to chase March, to kiss her back, but March was too fast.
“We… we shouldn’t. You technically don’t even know me,” March turned around, releasing her death grip on Cyrene and putting some distance between them. Her voice was hoarse and hollow from all the crying. Cyrene wanted to scream at the unfairness. She wanted to kiss March, hold her, be with her like before, whatever ‘before’ meant in this case. But March was right. They were technically strangers in Cyrene’s current life.
“How much do you remember?” That was the only question on March’s mind. Perhaps, just maybe, she would remember enough. Enough for them to go back to what they were before.
“Not much, honestly,” Cyrene sighed. March looked crestfallen. Cyrene continued. “But I remember us. Could you…” she hesitated. Thinking back to what Phainon had said… she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to know. It wasn’t like she felt like she was missing anything by not knowing. The hole in her heart was filled as soon as she laid eyes on March. But she wanted to know more about her past with March, about how they met, what they went through together.
“Could you tell me about it? All of it?”