The scene unpauses. Masaru raises his hand and clamps down on young Raiten’s wrist tightly. I watch as he drags me into our hut and tosses me down in front of Mother.

  “This makes things easier,” he says, dusting his hands off.

  “Why don’t I remember this?” I hiss at Thraevirula. Rather than answer, she just places her white-gloved hand on my shoulder. I slap it off, but my eyes are still glued to what should be an unforgettable scene. Masaru, confronting my mother and I in our own home? This should be a core memory of hate for me. Yet it's all new.

  And it’s all wrong.

  “Masaru—”

  “If you do not want another child, Hanata, then perhaps this one is taking up too much of your time. Allow me to fix that.”

  He stalks forward and, without prelude, delivers a chin-cracking kick to the young Raiten. I practically fly into the opposite wall before flopping to the floor.

  My mother screams.

  She tries to come between Masaru and young me, burying her head into the Elder’s chest and pushing against him with all her might. He presses forward towards me, unaffected. Then, Masaru shoves her aside. Hard. She crashes into a lonesome chair in the corner of our living area, breaking its legs and ripping her shirt along the shoulder.

  “Please Masaru!” she pleads through the pain. “Please I’ll do—”

  Just as the young man is finding his feet once more, Masaru raises me by the collar of my shirt and delivers an uppercut to my chest.

  Young me starts coughing up blood.

  I turn to Thraevirula now. “What is the point of this? This is not real. This never happened. Why are you constructing memories for me? Are you just trying to make me angry?”

  The witch shakes her head. Masaru keeps wailing on young Raiten as my mother protests and begs any which way she can. The scene is so… barbaric.

  “Just… keep watching Raiten,” Thraevirula says.

  Having seemingly grown bored of just punching me, Masaru tosses me down once more. Now, however, he places my head just between the rising step from the living room to the kitchen. He makes sure young Raiten’s bloody teeth bite into the small step, bearing my head down with his hand. Then, Masaru stands tall and raises his foot to stomp on my head.

  “I’ll do it! I’ll do it Masaru, I will! Please,” Mother says. She’s been saying that for the past minute.

  Yet, only now does Masaru listen. He stomps his foot down next to my head—like a warning blow—and turns to Mother, adjusting his robes once more—as if refitting himself after a bath

  “You’ll do what? Tell me exactly what you will do,” he says.

  She sniffs. The black outline of her liner now drags along her cheeks like tears of void.

  “I—” she pauses, taking one look at me. Then, gathering her strength, she inhales a deep breath and says, “I’ll have your child. And, I won’t tell anyone.”

  My head goes spinning, splitting, screaming.

  The house itself seems to push in, the walls tilting sideways. I post my arm to the ground and keel over, catching my breath.

  It's not real. This never happened. It’s not real—

  “Not a soul,” Masaru says, grabbing my mother by the neck. She begins flailing as he raises her. “Not a damn soul. If you do, I will finish the job. Do you understand me, whore?”

  She nods. Her face turns puffy red.

  He drops her unceremoniously.

  Her neck is stained by his hand grip—like someone splotched colors of blue and black on her.

  The wheeze of Mother’s next breaths lights up all the fury in my muscles more than lightning ever could. As Masaru begins walking towards Thraevirula and I, I ready myself to fight him. Unfortunately, he just passes through our spectral forms.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The Elder reaches the door and looks upon all the destruction he caused. His eyes fling to young Raiten as the boy slumps against the kitchen counter, weeping and coughing.

  “One more thing.” He points at me. “He’ll have to forget about this. Children are no good with secrets, after all. So,” he reaches into his inner pocket and produces from within a folded up piece of yellow parchment. Then, he tosses it to Mother. “Both of you sign this.”

  “A… contract?” Mother asks.

  “Yes, very good Hanata. See, I knew you were smart.”

  She picks up the paper and unfolds it. “I can’t read this.”

  “That’s because it is in Incanta. But it binds you to our… oral agreement and it will keep your brat silent. Which is good, in all honesty. You wouldn't want him to remember this now, would you?”

  The sound of my pathetic, childhood self sobbing and wailing annoyingly pitches at that moment.

  I can see how torn my mother is. How every part of her wants to rip up the paper and spit on Masaru. But, with her eyes flicking back and forth between young me and Masaru, she makes her choice. And she signs the paper.

  She brings it over to me next and, with hushing, cooing noises, lifts my hand up gently to sign it as well. She tosses it over to Masaru.

  “You’re an evil man,” she says.

  He shrugs. “I’m doing what I have to do. As are you.”

  Mother hugs me closer, allowing me to cry into her chest as Masaru leaves our house.

  “When will the effects come into play—”

  “They already have Hanata, just ask your son.”

  When he exits, a steady wind blows through the slitted windows, creating a low, mournful howl. Mother hugs me tighter and I can see her almost begin to fully break down as well.

  She chokes back the sobs.

  Hushes me further and rubs my back, cradling me.

  And she starts humming.

  I slip away from Thraevirula and kneel down in front of the two of them, watching with a blank, faroff stare as Hanata Kuragami, the strongest woman I’ve ever known, somehow lulls me to sleep after all that hell we just went through.

  A few stray tears leak down my own eyes. I wipe them off with my sleeves and try blinking them away.

  When the wetness is removed, I find myself sitting back in the tea party, at the Glades. Thraevirula sits across from me, watching my every movement with sincere, naked empathy.

  I…

  I don’t know what to think anymore.

  “That must have been a lot, huh?” she asks.

  Slowly, I shake my head. “I had a sibling?”

  She nods.

  A brother. A sister. Someone who could’ve been there for me, with me. Someone I could’ve helped. I could’ve cared for. Another piece of my mother left behind in this world.

  “Where—”

  “They were stolen from you, Raiten,” Thraevirula says. “Just as that memory was stolen from you.”

  Enough of this. My rage coils.

  I flip the table over. Dishes smash against each other and the utensils make a series of ringing clashes, like the sounds of pitched infantry battle. The tea and biscuits go flying, tumbling down the hill along with the umbrella. The sun illuminates both of us now as I grab Thraevirula by her scarf and begin shaking.

  “I don’t understand! Why show me this? What is your goal here? If you hate Masaru that much, why work with him? If you and I are enemies, why give this back to me? Why warn me about the spear’s attack?”

  Thraevirula’s expression does not change.

  “Why!?! Why do any of this you—I—” I growl at my own stuttering and let her go. She adjusts her brocade once more as I stomp away to the edge of the hill. It was not so long ago that here, in this dream world, I defeated her. She, the one who plagues children and my friends. She, the one who resurrected Baroth and gave him the Elk. She, one of my greatest enemies since I’ve been free.

  She, who helps me now for reasons beyond my comprehension.

  Who lets me view my stolen memories, with only sincere empathy in her eyes.

  “Why?” I ask simply when she strides up next to me.

  “These men, Raiten. These people,” she spits. “They’ve stolen everything from you. Your memories. Your mother. Your sibling. Your childhood. They deserve to die. Just as well as Saegor deserves to die. I know what it is to be wronged.” She cups my face with her hands and turns me to her.

  Her red eyes are hypnotic. “I can give you what you need. I’ve told you this before. But, not when our goals are so diametrically opposed. You have your vengeance, and I have mine. Why let them clash?”

  You're a child murdering genocide indulger. You raze villages. You infected Dandy.

  Those reasons come to mind, yet not to mouth.

  “I’ll offer it again. Make a contract with me. If you do, we can move beyond one another and to our real goals. But if you don’t, then we’ll be forced to fight. And you will lose.”

  This time when she leans in to kiss me, I can’t do anything to avoid it. My mind and body are reeling from everything else. I’m like a stone block. Unmoving. Unfeeling.

  Her touch is like the morning dew. Fleeting.

  When she pulls away, she smiles. “I’m on your side. Remember that.”

  With that, the dream falls away.

  And I am left only with the memory of who was stolen.