Chapter 59 – Distant Memories
The world was shifting softly from day to night, casting the academy in hues of honey-gold and ember-orange. The last of the sunlight spilled across the tiled rooftops and sandstone pillars, stretching shadows long and thin over the cobbled paths that crisscrossed the courtyard. Crickets chirped lazily in the hedges, and the wind rustled through the ivy curling up the east wall like whispered secrets.
Ezra stood by the outer edge of the courtyard, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other absently tracing the worn carvings on a low stone wall. The grooves were smooth with age, their once sharp etchings faded by time and hundreds of idle fingers. The air was tinged with the smoky scent of charred wood from the duelling grounds downwind.
His eyes lifted toward the tree-lined horizon, where streaks of crimson bled into lavender. A solitary bird flew overhead, wings slicing the air in silence.
He liked this time of day best. When the light was soft, the noise thinned, and the world felt like it was holding its breath. The peace was deceptive, but comforting. A lie he allowed himself to believe.
Bootsteps approached behind him, crunching on loose gravel. Ezra didn’t turn. He already knew who it was.
“You’re early,” said Marcel’s voice, carrying that familiar casual grin behind it.
Ezra gave a slow smirk. “You’re late.”
Marcel scoffed and came to stand beside him, his shoulder brushing lightly against Ezra’s. He dropped his pack on the wall and exhaled. “Five minutes isn’t late.”
Ezra’s smirk widened. “Still five minutes you kept me waiting.”
They both laughed, the sound brief and honest. Ezra turned to glance at his friend.
Marcel’s uniform was untucked, a loose sash hanging from his hip. His hair, sun-warmed and tousled from drills, framed his tanned face, a few strands clinging to his forehead from lingering sweat. He smelled faintly of iron and leather, probably from sparring gear, mixed with the earthy note of pine from the Forest where they’d spent most of the week.
“Training?” Ezra asked.
“Field review with Master Eren. You know, the one who thinks all combat should end in philosophical debate.” Marcel rolled his eyes. “I dodged a vine whip and he started quoting poetry.”
Ezra chuckled. “What’d you say?”
“‘Sir, I don’t know if you’re picking sides, but having to hear this is killing me.’ Apparently, that was detention-worthy.”
Another burst of laughter from them both. The evening air carried it across the courtyard, where the stone absorbed their joy like a secret kept.
“Planning to disappear this weekend?” Ezra asked as they settled onto the wall together.
Marcel glanced at him. “Actually, yeah. Thinking of hitting the city. There’s a cafe on Hearthrow Street and a weaponsmith just down from there selling custom-forged blades. Supposedly, she’s got some proper good shit.”
Ezra lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “Retired champion’s work?”
“Exactly. Could be useful, especially for close-range fighting.”
Ezra nodded slowly. “Worth the trip. As long as we don’t spend all our coin again.”
“That was your fault,” Marcel said, nudging him.
“You’re the one who thought the cursed-looking mask was just ‘mildly haunted.’”
“It was only mildly haunted,” Marcel grinned. “It hasn’t screamed in over a week.”
Ezra snorted, brushing his hand through his dark hair. “Your definition of 'harmless' concerns me.”
“Comes with the job.” Marcel leaned back on his hands, face turned toward the fading light. “We’ve seen worse. Either way it’s just a gimmick”
The wind picked up, cooler now. It smelled faintly of old paper and ink from the library behind them, mingling with the distant aroma of spiced stew wafting from the mess hall. The streetlamps lit, lining the walkways in pools of amber glow.
A long silence passed. Ezra’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the stone, a quiet, thoughtful beat.
“We’re better than most,” he said finally. “You know that.”
Marcel didn’t answer right away, but his expression grew more serious. “I do.”
Ezra turned to look at him. “But we’re still not enough.”
Marcel looked at him then, brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean everything. We might be the top of our grade, but you know that doesn’t cut it in the real world. We can’t just be satisfied with what we’ve done.”
Marcel was quiet again. He turned his gaze downward, toward the polished stone beneath their boots, eyes reflecting the faint light.
Ezra leaned forward slightly. “Look, we need to find a way to step it up a notch.”
“Mind link,” Marcel said slowly. “We could try a meld.”
Ezra nodded.
Marcel ran a hand over his jaw. “It’s dangerous. People have tried and failed. Even short-term merges have left people broken. If we do this, we gotta know it’ll work, and even then, only as a worst-case scenario. People die doing this.”
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“We’re not just ‘people,’” Ezra said impatiently. “I’ve been looking at the stats. I get why you would be worried, but we can do this! You are a prodigy with mind, and I'm good enough not to let us crumble. Even then, we have amazing battle chemistry already. This is just the step up..”
“You want to try it,” Marcel sighed.
Ezra nodded again. “Not recklessly. I’m working on the ritual. I’ll show you the schematics. I want your thoughts. But I think, no, I know, this could make us something the country's never seen before.”
The silence that followed was thicker now. Not uncomfortable, but weighty, like the stillness before a storm. Ezra could hear Marcel breathing, steady and low, the soft creak of his leather bracer as he shifted on the stone ledge.
“You want to save people,” Marcel said finally. “I can see it in the way you train. But you think you have to be more than human to do it.”
Ezra stared out at the glowing lanterns. “Maybe I do.”
Another long pause. Marcel inhaled deeply, then let out a slow breath.
“Alright,” he said.
Ezra turned sharply. “Yeah?”
“We test it. Slowly. Step by step. But we do it. Just... not this week. I want to get a weapon from that weaponsmith first. If I’m going to be stuck inside your head, I want to at least be well-armed.”
Ezra laughed, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Deal.”
Marcel grinned and bumped his shoulder. “Try not to lose your mind over this.”
“No promises,” Ezra said.
Above them, the sky turned darker still, and the stars began to show themselves. One by one, like shy children emerging from the shadows, they dotted the velvet canvas with flickering white fire.
In the distance, a bell tolled, deep, slow, echoing across the grounds. Supper.
They stayed there a few moments longer, unmoving, silent beneath the stars. Two young mages, brilliant and foolish and daring enough to try something which many had tried, but to go to lengths which no one else ever had. The night wrapped around them, soft and watching.
Neither of them noticed how quiet the wind had gone. Or how long the shadows had grown.
***
The city pulsed with life in a way Kaelin had never experienced before.
Ezra had. She reminded herself again, because the dissonance was starting to pull at her ribs like wires strung too tight.
Their feet clacked on stone, switching to dark-paved roads as they crossed into the heart of the city. The transition was seamless, and yet Kaelin immediately noticed how wrong it all felt. Buildings climbed higher here, stories stacked in precise angles with wide windows framed in something too clean to be stone and too dull to be glass. Metal poles stood at corners, some with glowing crystal bulbs at their tops that flickered on and off like fireflies.
This wasn’t Erundal. Or at least, it wasn’t the Erundal she knew.
There were fewer carriages, and more strange, boxy wagons that glided without horses. People bustled in tighter clothes, finer stitching, jackets that sparkled faintly with woven enchantments or possibly just clever fashion. The air smelled of spices she didn’t recognize and smoke that wasn’t from wood or charcoal. It burned her nose in an unfamiliar way.
She was out of place here.
And yet... her body moved naturally, as though it belonged.
As Ezra.
“Come on, I want to have time to see the weaponsmith too” Marcel said.
Ezra stepped down without hesitation. Her limbs moved smoothly, controlled by a rhythm that wasn’t hers. She could only watch through the haze of the memory, trapped like a ghost in his skin.
They walked side by side through cobbled side streets that turned into tiled walkways. Lantern-light from the overhead fixtures spilled across glinting store signs, and strange objects sat, glowing faintly behind display windows.
It was like magic, or was it? The entire city sat chock full of technologies she could have never even imagined.
She felt Ezra’s curiosity mirrored in her own, though his was dulled, this was all normal to him.
Then they reached the café.
It sat tucked into a corner street where the buildings curved in a half-moon arc, opening onto a tiny courtyard shaded by sun-touched trees. The storefront was simple, dark wood with carved ivy winding along the windows. Gold letters above the door read ‘The Big Bean’ In squiggly writing.
Inside, the scent hit her instantly, strong, bitter, rich. Roasted beans and something sweet, layered underneath. The walls were decorated with soft murals of distant landscapes: glowing coastlines, grassy hills under red moons, distant stone towers half-sunk in clouds.
And the box.
Kaelin’s shock was evident in her mind, though shough itself naught on the outside. Behind the counter sat a strange, metal box. It hissed. Then clicked. Steam rose from a metal spout. A girl in a white apron twisted knobs and pulled a lever, and a loud grinding sound filled the air. Moments later, dark liquid poured into a cup like it had been conjured from the void.
What was that?
The girl smiled as she handed it to a customer. “One roasted-night special. Enjoy!”
Kaelin could feel Ezra’s thoughts settle, unbothered, familiar. But her own mind reeled. She tried to focus, tried to reason out how something like that worked. No fire, no brewing pot, no visible spells Just… a thing. Cold and impersonal and yet somehow making coffee.
“Want anything?” Marcel asked as they stepped into line.
Ezra nodded, “Grab me a cappuccino, I'll find a table.”
She tried to study him again while they waited. His features were sharp under the café’s soft yellow light, defined cheekbones, a nose slightly crooked from an old sparring injury, and eyes the colour of molten bronze. His uniform jacket was slung over one shoulder, and his fingers drummed absently against his thigh as he waited.
“One smoked-vanilla brew, and a Cappuccino please,” he said to the barista when his turn came.
The barista nodded and slid the coins into a tray. The machine hissed again.
Kaelin’s heart beat faster. This must have been an illusion. But this was all real. These people, these memories. How far in the past, or the future, was this? Who had Ezra been? Who had he become? Why was she seeing him, of all people!
The coffee was brought over in tall glass cups with cream curled like clouds on top. Marcel grabbed them and found a table near the window.
They sat. Marcel leaned back, relaxed, the amber light from above catching the faint silver threads stitched into his collar.
“So,” he said, stirring his drink. “About the meld.”
Ezra remembered the conversation from yesterday. The idea of combining their minds.
Ezra shrugged, sipping. “I’ve got the whole schematic done, but I want to try to make it portable if I can. That way we can use it on the go rather than before entering battle.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Marcel said. “You always do.”
Another long silence passed as they drank. People came and went. The light dimmed slightly as night fully descended outside. Kaelin kept her attention on the steaming mug in front of her, watching the foam swirl slowly as if it held answers she didn’t know how to ask.
“Do you ever think,” Marcel said suddenly, “that if we do this… we’ll stop being ‘us’?”
Kaelin felt Ezra pause mid-sip.
Marcel wasn’t smiling now. His gaze was distant, thoughtful. “I mean, who are we after the merge? Will I still be Marcel? Will you still be Ezra?”
Ezra’s answer came quietly, but firm. “We’ll be better.”
“Yeah,” Marcel said, and looked down. “But not the same.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s only temporary. We won’t be merged for any longer than a few hours at a time.”
Kaelin’s thoughts strained. The coffee, the glow, the warm murmurs around them, they suddenly felt fragile, as though everything here balanced on a knife’s edge. And somewhere in the deep of her gut, she felt it again. That this memory, this peace, would not last.
And neither would they.
Where is Kaelin?
