𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

chapter twenty - memories

When the vine proved to be strong enough to hold him up, he let out a shaky, relieved breath. Slowly, he summoned up all the upper body strength he could muster just to level his waist with the house's base. His arms were screaming out in pain as warm blood pumped to and spilled out of them. Lucas lifted a leg and tried to anchor his foot onto one of the vines, but it slipped off.

"No, no! Come on...," Lucas pleaded as he felt his limbs and core slowly begin to fail. 

As he slipped farther and farther down the weakening vine, Lucas saw black smoke seep from the cottage's cracks. The black smoke shaped into something like an erratic tornado. It dangerously made its way closer and closer to the young man. Lucas' frightened met with hollow cavities that mocked eyes. The fear creeping through his drained veins was replaced with a tingle familiarity. Maybe that was why he didn't protest when it creeped into the cracks of his lips.

And maybe that's why everything went dark.

✦✧✧✧✧✦

Lucas watched his hand reach into a basket on a market stand. He had no autonomy over his own body — he was simply watching as an unwilling audience to his own show.

The hand Lucas was watching lifted a roll of bread from the basket and hid it behind a dull brown shawl he wore over his shoulders.

"Are you gonna pay for that, brat?"

Lucas spun around to face a man in a black, austere sheriff's uniform. The sheriff had a threatening baton in one hand and used the other to reach for Lucas' shawl. Lucas' hand shot up and stopped the officer's hand, but it wasn't enough. Obviously, the sheriff overpowered him and sent him stumbling backwards. Lucas' back hit one of the stall's wooden beams, causing his bread to fly out of is grasp and into the mud beside him. A blow was sent to Lucas' stomach by the sheriff's baton, forcing a startled yelp from Lucas.

Weirdly enough, Lucas' voice didn't sound like his own. It was... higher, and more feminine. The sound that escaped from Lucas' mouth belonged to Claire.

The scene before Lucas faded then took the shape of something new. This time, Lucas was sitting on a bench this time, gnawing away at a piece of bread. His abdomen still ached from the officer's assault, but it was easily overlooked compared to the sharp pain he felt on his cheek.

"You sure are hungry," a woman beside him commented.

Internally, Lucas furrowed his brows. Externally, he turned to face the side. If he had any control over his body, Lucas would have surely spat out his food in shock. Sitting right beside him, donning intricate golden armour over scarlet linen, was a young Nathalia Reid. 

"Yeah...," Lucas heard himself reply sheepishly in Claire's voice. His throat was cleared. "Thanks... for saving me back there."

Nathalia leaned back and gave Lucas a lighthearted smile. It was jarring to say the least, especially after Lucas had only known her with a stern glare on her face. She said, "Honestly, you were doing pretty well even without my help. You could deal some real damage with the right training."

The sting on Lucas' cheek was overwhelmed by a more pleasant, warm sensation. "You think?"

Nathalia nodded. "And if you joined the military, you'd never go hungry again."

With that, the bread in Lucas' hand disappeared and was replaced with a sword. Its size, shape, and weight were nothing out of the ordinary, so it felt comfortable in his grip. After all, he had used the exact same one when he was a cadet.