Memory That Isn’t Yours

The basin rippled.

Not with water—but with thought. Kai recoiled slightly, not in fear, but in sheer disorientation. Images struck his mind like lightning—impressions of flight, flame, something ancient and winged falling from a dark sky. Not dreams. Not visions. Memories.

But not his.

Sienna’s breath caught. She was staring at the wall now—at the symbols that had begun to glow in sequence, forming spirals within spirals. “It’s trying to show us something,” she murmured. “But it’s not language, it’s experience.”

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

Kai’s fingers twitched at his side. His body felt distant. Like it was being rewound.

“I felt falling,” he said finally. “And fear. But not mine.”

Sienna nodded. “I saw something cradled in fire. Carried underground.”

They turned to the pool again, and for the first time, it reflected their faces. But behind their reflections, another appeared—a shifting presence made of light and fractured geometry. Not human. Not whole.

It spoke in layered echoes.

“YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST TO ARRIVE.
YOU ARE THE FIRST TO STAY.”

Kai’s heart slammed against his ribs. “What are you?”

“WHAT IS LEFT.
WHAT REMEMBERS.
WHAT WAITS.”

Sienna looked down at her journal, blank pages glowing faintly under the chamber’s light. “Why us?”

There was no answer. Only the feeling of something immense leaning in closer—like the wind pausing, listening.

The light dimmed.

And the stairway behind them was gone.

Not closed.

Gone.