The forest was no longer white.
It bled into grayscale, trees stripped of color, branches hung like bones against a bruised sky. Ayla stumbled forward, vision hazy, breath shallow. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but her head still throbbed from the name the child had spoken—Elira. That single word had splintered something inside her, like a hammer cracking old ice.
The others had vanished. Or maybe they'd never been real.
She stood alone in a clearing of shifting fog, her ring pulsing with faint light, a distant heartbeat on her finger.
"You're not ready for your name," a voice said behind her.
She turned.
Kael stood between the trees. No mask. No floating descent. Just a man—tall, draped in black, his silver eyes shining like cold stars.
Ayla didn't speak.
He stepped closer. "But you want answers. And I want to give them to you."
Her hands curled into fists. "Then give them."
"No," he said. "You haven't earned them yet."
Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating the cracks in the forest—edges tearing like paper, reality stretching too thin. He stepped closer again, and this time she didn't back away.
"Why do you keep watching me?" she whispered. "Why do I matter to you?"
Kael's expression didn't change. But his voice did—quieter, hoarser. "Because you made me."
The words were absurd. Chilling. She shook her head. "I don't know you."
"You knew me better than anyone. Once."
He looked down at her hand—the ring, still glowing faintly. "You placed that on my finger. In another life. And promised you'd never leave."
"I didn't—" Ayla swallowed, but the words caught. "I didn't choose this. I don't even know who I am."
His eyes flared.
"Then play."
The word hung like a blade in the air.
He raised one hand, and the world twisted. The trees vanished, the sky flattened, and the ground beneath her feet dissolved into a black void.
A platform rose from the dark—small, circular, lit by runes she couldn't read. Kael stepped onto it first. "One challenge. Just you and me."
Ayla stared. "What kind of challenge?"
"If you win, I give you a memory," he said. "Something real. A piece of who you were."
"And if I lose?"
Kael tilted his head. "You forget me. Entirely. I erase myself from you."
Ayla felt the weight of that settle into her chest. It shouldn't matter—he was the one trapping her here. Killing players. Turning her memories into weapons. But… the way he looked at her. The things he said.
There was something there. Something real.
"And if I don't want to play?" she asked.
"Then you stay broken," he said simply. "Lost. Drifting. Dying one memory at a time."
The platform gleamed brighter. Symbols etched into the air. A clock began counting down from ten.
10…
9…
Ayla's heart pounded.
"You said I made you," she said. "What does that mean?"
Kael stepped forward. "Win. And I'll tell you."
8…
7…
She stepped onto the platform. Her feet felt cold against the glowing surface. "What's the challenge?"
6…
He smiled, and it wasn't kind. "Survive me."
5…
"What?"
4…
"I'll show you who I was," Kael said. "And you'll decide if that man is worth remembering."
3…
2…
1…
The world exploded.
Black light surged upward, engulfing them both in a vortex of sound and fire. Ayla screamed—but no voice came out. She fell through something—memory, time, pain—and landed in a throne room made of glass and shadow.
She knew this place.
It was broken.
Flames licked the walls. Blood stained the steps. A crown lay discarded on the floor, shattered into three jagged pieces.
Kael stood at the center—no armor, no mask—just a younger version of himself, cloaked in red and fury, sword dripping black blood.
"You told me to protect your kingdom," he said.
Ayla stood across the chamber, now dressed in white robes stained with ash. Her reflection shimmered in the glass—Elira. Her face, but regal. Older. Wiser. And afraid.
"I trusted you," her other self whispered.
"And I destroyed everything you loved," Kael said.
He turned to her—not the past version, but the Ayla of now. "This is the memory you asked for."
She shook her head. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for war."
"You asked for truth. That was always your mistake."
He vanished in a flash, reappearing behind her. "Fight me. Or I erase myself from your soul forever."
Ayla's hand closed around a sword she hadn't seen before—lightweight, silver, warm to the touch. It responded to her thoughts, her fear.
Kael struck first.
A blur of motion. Steel clashed. Sparks flew. Ayla parried, stumbled, struck back. The room cracked with every blow—fragments of memory falling like snow.
"You made me a weapon," Kael hissed.
"You lied to me!" she shouted.
"You asked me to kill your enemies!"
"You didn't have to enjoy it."
He paused.
Then, softly: "But I did. Because you loved me when I did."
The fight slowed. They stood in a circle of broken glass. Ayla's chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Kael lowered his blade. His hand trembled.
"You told me," he whispered, "that even monsters deserve to be loved."
She stared at him. Her heart broke open.
And then she struck.
The blade stopped just short of his throat.
The platform reappeared beneath their feet. The memory began to dissolve.
"You win," he said quietly. "This time."
He held out a small slip of parchment. A letter, aged and burnt at the edges.
Ayla took it.
The challenge ended.
The black void faded. The forest returned. But her knees buckled beneath her and she collapsed against the tree roots, gasping.
Kael was gone again.
In her hand, the letter read:
Elira—If you're reading this, it means you don't remember what he is. Or what you made him become. Do not trust the Game Master. Do not fall in love again. The last time you did, the world burned.
Ayla closed her eyes.
The name still hurt. But not as much as the truth.