Cyrus sat stiffly on the leather couch, hands in his lap. Azalea sat on the other chair diagonal from it, holding a cup of coffee in her hands. She offered him some, but he had declined, telling her coffee wasn't his thing. Immediately wincing a little bit. Something Azalea definitely noticed, but didn't say anything about.

Cyrus wondered what she was thinking right now. To find out he isn't dead, but then to realize he didn't remember her anymore. She must be hurting a lot. Cyrus wanted to help her, but how can the person who hurt her in the first place help?

He didn't want to hurt her even more than he already had.

The least he could do was try.

So, he took his hands out of his lap and rested his arm on the side of the couch. He crossed his legs, and offered Azalea a small smile. She looked back at him with the corners of her mouth lifted, and the colour in her eyes seemed brighter.
"Do you want to ask your questions now?" He bit his bottom lip, then shook his head quickly.
"Is it okay if you explain?" He asked hesitantly, curling his fingers on the armrest. She nodded.

"I can even do one step further than that. I can show you—" she stopped with a little frown on her face as a thought struck her, "—But I don't know how you'll react to my memories with your memories..." Azalea trailed off, lowering her eyes.
"Damaged," Cyrus spoke up, wanting to lean forward and tip her chin up. Fear of saying it would do nothing but increase the fear of what happened and what will happen.

She looked back at him to meet his silvery eyes, flickering through so many emotions.
"Try just one memory. A bad one, not a happy. It'll give me a better understanding." She hesitated again, looking torn.
"Your life wasn't very pretty Cyrus. We were in the middle of war."

"There was a war?" Her silence spoke for itself.
"Show me. Please, do it for me." He couldn't quite catch what she whispered sadly under her breath, but it was along the lines of,
"I am doing this for you. Protection." Cyrus could have sworn her eyes watered. The guilt slowly started to build.

"I need to be prepared Azalea," he got out. He was hurting both of them now, but he needed to know what was going on. He couldn't walk into all this blindly. Cyrus knew she understood that, which is why when she finally nodded, there was no sense of relief.

Azalea got out of her chair and sat beside Cyrus. She offered a hand. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and placed a hand in hers, albeit carefully.
"Whatever you do, don't let go of my hand. You cannot affect the memory as it has already happened, all you can do is observe. If you let go, there is a risk of losing you in my memories. Do you still wish to see?"

His throat was dry as he replied,
"Yes, I do. I understand the risk." Seeing the memory would do more than just someone telling him. The details, surroundings and expressions were all important. He needed to see as much as he could.

Azalea swallowed, closing her eyes to block her surroundings. He did as well, the only anchor being her hand. It grounded him. He barely heard her speak, but he made out the word,
"Memento." Darkness engulfed his vision, and suddenly, he was falling.

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"The conflict between Fire and Water Kingdoms has almost reached its boiling point," the bearded man broke the tense atmosphere surrounding the long command table. A younger-looking Azalea cracked a smile at the unintended joke. Perhaps she looked younger due to the not yet pained look in her eyes. Or how she did not constantly watch her back.

The man caught himself quickly and made a mess of himself trying to explain what he meant,
"I mean, I meant that it'll start an all-out war. It wasn't a joke, don't look at me like that Azalea." The smile lingered as she replied,
"Wouldn't dream of it."

The healer from before cut in to their little conversation, hands folded on the table and expression as sharp as ever,
"This is no time to be making bad puns at this crisis. The Kingdoms of Aquatus and Incendel has had an already strained relationship for decades. It's a wonder they haven't started this war sooner. We need to be prepared with counter-measures."

"So the war has already started," the younger-looking Cyrus stated grimly. Outside Azalea's memories, Cyrus held back the gasp of pain, holding onto her hand even tighter. Darkness engulfed them again as they fell into another memory.

Dead bodies were everywhere, strewn across the bloody, hard ground. The few weeds scattered in the packed dirt were browned and shrivelled. The fighting still continued.

Soldiers clashed their weapons with one another, clangs ringing in their ears as they desperately fought for their lives. Blades shattered, faced with a stronger metal and force. Weapons were swung and thrusted at opponents with a great ferocity. Several swings were wildly off as fear took control and their training was forgotten. Their skills were stripped down to the bare basics, with only a couple tricks. Fear and panic were everywhere.

For some, bravery and courage stayed as their weapons became an extension of themselves, and they whirled around and struck down opponents with frightening accuracy. The fear was still there, but they kept a tight lid on it as they fought for their comrades and their kingdom. For their world.

Words were seldom spoken, but cries of anguish and anger had become common. This was not a fun, little game. War took a toll on even the most experienced soldiers. It did not just cause physical pain, more so mental.

The mages stood at the backlines, casting spells at the opposing mages, and blocking their spells. Though they were not front and centre, their battles were just as important. Casting spells needed delving into yourself and concentration. You needed to truly focus on the word, the action you needed to complete. The intention. Then you could harness the magic and expel it. If you lost concentration, there was a risk of backfiring, and you could hurt yourself or your comrades. Casting spells together could either help or make them more difficult, depending on who they are casting with.

Occasionally, the mages would send a boulder or so over to the frontlines of the opposing side, flattening quite a few that couldn't escape fast enough. The boulders appeared sporadically across the battlegrounds, about the size of 20 men. A bloody limb or two was usually sticking out from under.

The elements reigned free; water rose over fire, crashing down on the blue flames. They refused to be extinguished, flickering for a moment, but coming back stronger than ever. There would be no winner from this outcome, they were both evenly matched.  

Soldiers wept for their fallen comrades, usually struck down in their moment of vulnerability. It was kill or be killed. This was the way.

The memory brought them to Cyrus and Azalea, fighting together as a deadly whirlwind of power and finesse. The pain in his head was almost too much for him to handle, but he gripped on to Azalea's hand, no doubt probably breaking it in the process. It was still his anchor, grounding him through it all. It was selfish of him, but he just wanted to hold onto the memory, even if it was not truly his. He had experienced this though, and he did not want to let go of something of his memories. Even if guilt weighed his chest down.

If that made Cyrus selfish, so be it.

The Cyrus and Azalea in war fought with a hard determination in their eyes. They did not put a lid on their fear, only welcomed it like an old friend. It was only right they would be scared, but it did not have to control them.

Their fighting styles were very different from each other, yet somehow complimented each other's in synchronization. Cyrus' fighting style was erratic and shifting, never at the same place as before. He faked a horizontal slash and turned, delivering a slash from the waist to the shoulder. He was never where the opponent expected him to be, and it was like he could anticipate all their movements.

A muscled woman with a battle axe and war paint came charging at him, axe raised and deadly. His eyes shifted over to her slightly, and he readied his double blades. She slashed down at a diagonal, and he dropped down at an angle, sweeping his leg around. She fell to the ground hard, and he thrust one of his blades at her throat.

"Leave. You can save your life if you leave this fight," he told her, giving a chance at surrender. One less death on his bloody hands. She spit at his face and scorned,
"Never." Spit dribbling down his jaw, he met her eyes with a sadness and acceptance,
"May you find peace." He stabbed her, and her head rolled back, the life leaving her eyes. In a few moments, she became still.

Azalea flicked her eyes over at Cyrus, who gave her a grim nod. Their silent way of showing comfort. It was all they could afford. They headed back into battle.

Azalea's fighting style was more steady and strong. She used a metal staff, and in her hands, it was just as good as a sword or two. Coming up against two opponents, she ducked and weaved around them, sending a solid thwack to one of their legs. He was sent to one knee, while the other tightened her grip on her spear.

She thrusted at Azalea with both arms, aiming for her heart. Azalea knocked it aside with her staff, one leg forward and knees bent. She swung it on a slight angle, aiming for her neck, when the other woman stumbled back. It narrowly missed her, and the woman started sprinting away.
"Never turn your back on a fight," Azalea muttered, trading out her staff for a bow.

She plucked an arrow out her quiver, and readied her bow. Azalea carefully peered at her target, while keeping a lookout for any others who slipped past Cyrus' guard. She drew back the arrow. At the same time she released her breath, she released her arrow, and it flew true. It sunk into the heart of the woman, ensuring a quick death. Repeating the same words Cyrus spoke, she whispered,
"May you find peace."

Another death by her hands.

But perhaps there would be another death prevented.

Cyrus and Azalea were engulfed in darkness once again.

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Cyrus opened his bleary grey eyes to see he was back in the room again.

"Percuro." He turned to see light pink flecks settling into her hand. Cyrus widened his eyes, guilt weighing 20 times more than before. She looked up at him,
"Don't apologize. I know what it's like to want something that's just out of reach." It felt like a punch to his gut.
"I'm really sorry though," he choked out. Sorry for everything. It was her turn to widen her eyes as she hurriedly explained,
"No, no, not like that. Well, yes, but no. Agh, I was referring to something else you helped me with." Cyrus stared at her. The corners of her mouth twitched as she saw the expression on his face.
"You helped me with a lot of things Cyrus. Even if you can't remember, you did a lot of good. You aren't a killer. You don't mean to hurt people," Azalea told him earnestly.

"You... help people too, Azalea. I know you do, because you're helping me."

She hugged him tight,
"Thank you."

A/N And thank you for reading! Feedback and comments are welcomed 😊 I hope to post every week.