Devin walked ahead, his boots crunching over roots and broken stone. Every step echoed faintly, too loud in a forest that seemed to listen. The air carried whispers — not of people, but of memory. He could almost hear them again: the voices that weren't his, but lived inside his head anyway.
Keep moving. Don't stop to feel.
That voice — calm, disciplined — was his anchor. It always had been. The other one, though… the one that whispered doubt, guilt, and fear, was never far behind.
Sara trailed a few steps behind him, quieter now. She'd stopped asking questions, though he could feel her gaze on his back — cautious, uncertain, but not afraid. That was new. Most people feared what they didn't understand. She just wanted to understand it.
He hated that.
When they finally reached a ridge overlooking the valley, Devin stopped. The land below was scarred — trees blackened, rivers glowing faintly with unnatural light. It was the aftermath of a rift gone wrong. The kind that devoured entire towns.
Sara gasped. "What happened here?"
"Magic without balance," he said. "Someone tried to force a crossing between realms."
He crouched, brushing away ash from the dirt. "Same energy you brought with you."
She frowned, defensive. "So this is my fault?"
"No," he said quickly — too quickly. "It was broken long before you came."
That slip annoyed him. He was supposed to sound detached, but his tone came out sharper, protective even. He straightened, jaw tight. "You just stepped into a war that's already been lost."
Sara looked at him for a long moment. "And you? You're still fighting it?"
He didn't answer. The truth was complicated. He fought because he didn't know what else to do. Because the other version of him — the one who didn't care about rules or restraint — wanted to fight. And Devin couldn't afford to let that side take over again.
He turned away. "We'll camp here tonight. The creatures don't come this close to the rift."
Sara nodded, still watching him. Then, quietly, "You keep talking like the rift is alive."
"It is," he said. "Everything in Veridia is."
That seemed to unsettle her. Good. Maybe fear would keep her safe.
He gathered firewood while she unpacked what little she'd brought. The silence between them was almost peaceful. But peace never lasted. Not for him.
As the fire crackled, Sara sat beside it, legs drawn close. Her eyes reflected the flames, thoughtful and distant. "You said you remember what it's like to be lost," she said. "What did you mean by that?"
Devin's fingers froze around a piece of bark. For a moment, he considered lying — saying something vague, forgettable. But her voice had that softness again, the kind that slipped under his defenses without permission.
"I lost time," he said at last. "Days, months… years, maybe. I'd wake up somewhere else, and things would be burned, or dead, or gone. I'd see blood on my hands and not know who it belonged to."
Sara's eyes widened. "You—"
"I didn't want to know," he interrupted, staring into the fire. "Some things shouldn't be remembered."
A silence followed, heavy and fragile. Then, quietly, she said, "That's not losing time. That's being haunted."
He almost laughed. "Same thing, isn't it?"
But her words stayed with him, sinking deep where even the other voice couldn't reach.
Haunted. Maybe that was closer to the truth.
For a moment, the calm voice inside him faded — replaced by static, then a colder whisper:
She doesn't belong here. You know what happens when you get attached.
His hands tightened. "Not now," he muttered under his breath.
Sara tilted her head. "What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Go to sleep. We move at dawn."
She hesitated, clearly sensing something was off, but didn't press. She lay down beside the fire, curling up under her jacket.
Devin watched her until her breathing slowed. Then he looked up at the rift-light bleeding across the night sky — a faint tear of blue fire stretching through the stars.
He used to think the rift was a curse. Now he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just a mirror — showing people the worlds they deserved.
And for him, that meant none at all.