Eden chose him. Not Therin. Not Micah. Sage.
—THERAEL
She felt like mine.
Those four words are heavy enough to choke me.
Not yet. It is too soon.
Sage stands before me, vines writhing around his legs, his wings trembling in panic.
His mismatched eyes search my face for answers I am physically incapable of giving him.
“Sage.” I force my voice to stay steady even as my mind races. “What exactly did you see?”
I need to know how much. A glimpse? A full flashback? Did he see her face clearly, or just the dark hair? Does he know it was her?
He drags a hand through his hair.
“It started with a migraine. I’ve never felt pain like that before.
It was like someone had their fingers pressing into my brain,” he chokes out.
“I crawled to the shower from our bed—crawled, Therael. I was so weak I couldn’t stand.
I was in and out of consciousness in the shower and then all of a sudden there was this woman, running through the snow. ”
This poor child.
“I knew it wasn’t Eden with every fiber of my being, and yet… it felt like she was.”
Lumi.
It is starting.
He is starting to remember the cracks in reality I have been trying so hard to patch.
We knew this would happen, but I thought they would have more time.
“When did this happen?”
“This morning. After—” He stops, a flash of something protective washing over his face.
He does not need to explain. There is not a male of our kind who would not be able to scent what happened here.
“How did you stop the vision? What pulled you out?”
His wings flare wide. “Eden. She—”
Lavásia drips from his fingertips, shimmering as it hits the grass. Tiny sprouts shoot up in response.
“I see,” I murmur. “I am going to get some tinctures for the migraines. And I will see what I can find out about the visions, and maybe your… potency.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Do not apologize, Sage. I remember what it was like with—”
I stop myself before I say her name.
“I will be back before nightfall.”
I can feel his desperation like it is my own. His need for answers. And I am walking away with nothing but cryptic promises and half-truths… just like he said.
Forgive me, Little Reaper. I am trying.
The dream realm does not have a door. It is a feeling you follow before it yields and accepts you inside. I walk through miles of glittering sand before I am sucked into a portal.
Stars drift past like snow, falling in lazy arcs around me.
Here, the world is inverted. There is no sky above me, only a vast, violet infinity.
The ground is thick with a sea of fluffy clouds that glow like trapped moonlight, swirling around my boots as I wade through, nuzzling my ankles like playful little creatures.
A lilac cloud, no larger than a kitten, twirls around my knee, venting a soft puff of cotton-candy scented air before drifting off to rejoin its siblings.
My wings twitch under my skin, longing to burst free into the violet ether. Another particularly bold cloudlet attempts to nestle in between my hair and elauvhe. I have to suppress the undignified urge to shiver.
“Remavau,” I call out into the vastness. “I know you are here. Stop your cloud-children from grooming me and show yourself.”
A soft chuckle echoes from the stars above—or below; it is impossible to tell.
“You are too tense, Therael,” a soothing voice drifts through the air. “The clouds only want to show you the dreams you have been denying yourself.”
“I do not have time for dreams,” I mutter, gently extracting the persistent cloudlet from my halo. It chirps indignantly before floating off.
“No,” Remavau agrees, and suddenly he is standing before me. “You never do.”
His white hair falls in a familiar, loose braid over his shoulder, woven with dangling gold charms shaped like crescent moons and tiny stars.
He looks at me through a thick fringe of impossibly white eyelashes, his lavender irises glowing behind thin, round glasses perched on his nose.
His warm, bronze skin is mapped in drifting constellations, every major star represented by a small pulsing light.
He is built like a fortress—broad shoulders, devastating height—yet standing in his presence feels like falling asleep somewhere you know you are loved.
Iridescent dust clings to his fingertips. I must have interrupted his work.
“The pediatric ward?” I ask quietly.
“Mm.” He adjusts his glasses with a single, elegant finger. “There’s a six-year-old girl with leukemia. Her parents have not visited her in six weeks.” His voice does not shift. It stays soft and even, but I do not miss the way his jaw tightens.
“I conjured her a dream about flying on a baby dragon named Pip. She giggled in her sleep for a full minute.”
The clouds surrounding us pulse brighter at his words. I do not ask what will happen if she is not healed. I already know she will join the others here, happy, loved, and forever safe in Remavau’s twilight.
“As much as I love talking about my shaeveni?,” he says softly. (Fading ones) “I know that is not why you are here. What is wrong, old friend?”
“Sage’s flashbacks have started.”
Remavau’s gentle smile drops, and the playful clouds pause their drifting.
“Already?” He reaches up, adjusting his glasses, a nervous habit I have seen him repeat a thousand times over the centuries. “I did not think the bleed-through would start this early. She has been awake just over a week.”
“I know.” I drag both hands down my face, my halo flickering with distress. “This morning he had a migraine, and he saw a vision of Lumi, running through Andrik’s forest.”
“Does he know it was him she was running from?”
“No. He saw enough that he felt she belonged to him. Not enough to understand why.”
Remavau turns away, looking out across the infinite expanse of his realm.
“He’s mated with Eden,” he finally says.
“Yes. I could scent it on him.”
“And it didn’t affect the bond at all?”
“No. It is still not sealed. I hoped at least the immortality thread would take, but it did not.”
A small blue cloud bumps against my knee, letting out a soft trill of concern.
“I do not know how to fix this,” I admit quietly. “I can only stand by and watch it happen.”
Remavau tilts his head. “What do you need from me?”
“Blur the flashbacks.” The words tumble out of me. “Make them fragmented enough that he does not realize who she is. Buy us time—buy him time.”
“Therael…” He removes his glasses. “You know that will not stop whoever is placing these curses on the hybrids. The best I can do is soften the edges.”
“That is all I am asking.”
“For how long?” He pushes his glasses back into place. “A month? Six? The memories will keep fighting their way up, Therael. And they will become more painful as they force themselves through. Eventually they will either break through what I’ve put in place… or they will break him.”
“Then give me whatever you can.” My voice cracks. “Please. He is not ready. He just found her again. We cannot do this to him. If the cycle takes him before they’ve had any time at all—”
“He’ll reap her,” Remavau whispers.
“Yes.”
A cloud drifts between us, chirping softly. Remavau catches it gently in one hand, cradling it like glass.
“These little ones,” he murmurs, stroking the cloud with his thumb.
“Died before they could understand what love truly was. Before they knew what it meant to be chosen by the very people meant to adore them.” He looks up at me.
“How do you think he will react when he realizes he chose the wrong love twice?”
My chest tightens. “He did not choose the wrong love twice, Remavau. We were bound not to reveal that he was chasing the right soul in the wrong body. He never loved Lumi or Naya. We all know that. He was always after the scent of Eden’s soul.”
“That may be, Therael. But he will not understand that.” His markings pulse in response to his sorrow. “He will not understand why he feels drawn to her.”
“And Eden—”
“Will eventually learn her mate chased her sister across two separate lifetimes.” Remavau releases the cloud, watching it float away. “Even when she understands the truth—that it was always her soul he was searching for—how will she not feel like she came second?”
“She did not come second. She was always who he was searching for. He just couldn’t find her through the—”
“Knowing something intellectually and feeling it are very different things, Rael. We know that better than anyone.” He gives me a sad glance. “And until we find who is behind all of these curses, this will continue to happen to all of them.”
He lifts both hands, and golden dust blooms in his palms.
“I will do what I can,” he says. “The visions will come as fragments. He will see Lumi running through the snow. He will feel the pull, but he will not understand the context. He will not remember being Micah or Therin—or why she feels familiar.”
“How long?”
“Four or five months. Maybe six if we’re fortunate.” He grimaces. “But Therael…. when the cycle fully takes him, nothing I do will hold it back. He will remember everything. Two lifetimes of breaking his heart over women who were never actually his—”
“I will be there,” I promise. “When it happens. I will help him understand.”
“Will you?” Remavau’s eyes flash white. “Because I am not sure even I understand how to reconcile that kind of tragedy.”
“He loves Eden. That is what matters.”
“I do not doubt that. I have seen his dreams.” Remavau steps forward, pulling me into an embrace. His arms are strong and solid, and he smells like cotton candy and coconut. “But we both know love is not enough.”
I do not know how to answer. So I stand here, held by one of my oldest friends, and let everything else fall away for just one moment.
“I will start tonight,” he says. “The next time Sage sleeps, I will weave the blur into his mind.”
“Thank you, brother.”
“Do not thank me.” He gives me another sad smile. “Every vision I blur is just another lie by omission. Another day he does not know the truth about himself.”
“Every day he has with Eden before the memories break through is a gift. It is the best chance we have at him coming out of this as himself and not a full-fledged reaper.”
“I will give you as many days as I can.”
The dream realm fades around me, stars dimming, clouds evaporating into mist.
“Therael?” Remavau’s voice echoes through the fading light. “When the cycle begins, and he starts to spiral… remind him of one thing.”
“What?”
“Eden chose him. Not Therin. Not Micah. Sage.” His markings pulse brightly one last time. “She did not fall in love with who he was. She fell in love with who he truly is. That has to count for something.”