Grivo's "can of tortured sadness" was a jar filled with gray dust claiming to be magick with white sparkles occasionally showing themselves especially if held up to the sunlight. It was a bright, early morning and it took Argenton and Danlen an hour and a half to find the flattened path back to the base camp in Tawny Forest.

"Should make sure you don't accidentally break the thing," Danlen said riding Veilie, his peacock, on eye level with Argenton. Apparently, he didn't want to walk because it made him feel too mortal.

Which is a stupid reason. Was I really friends with this guy? Argenton had remembered when they first met, but how they ended up becoming friends was vague to him. Danlen and his guitar grounded him in the present, connected him with the past, but what about the two of them? Where was the memory with them together?

I should be remembering more about that.

Right? I should be remembering about Danlen, he thought to Sarvy, especially if what you say is true.

Sarvy poked her head out from his shirt pocket. "It'll come in time," she telepathized.

Do you know something? he asked.

She was silent.

Sarvy, what is it?

"It'll come in time," she answered.

He guessed it was the blocked memory. Since it wasn't something by magick, he could only hope his mind would unlock that door for him soon. It was important. He could feel it.

Once they neared the camp, Danlen announced he wanted to get his sword that he left in Septent's office when he was in there before the attack.

"The attack?" Argenton frowned. "But I—"

"Shortly after you returned home, Haunters attacked." Danlen directed Veilie toward the camp. "And everyone left to base two. Not big enough for the amount, but enough. Then as I was running to chase a Haunter, I saw you running."

And that's when he was calling me.

But the carnage here didn't make sense. Haunter black goop residue scattered throughout the clearing, and splattered on windows and walls. Danlen, who had the skill of a First Tier, wouldn't leave messy carnage like a greenie. Either he, for some reason, wasn't on base when the attack came, or he didn't participate. First Tiers always became leaders for small groups of Seconds and Thirds and greenies, so it would be strange if he didn't participate.

Unless he was on patrol? At his little lonely house?

As Danlen flew Veilie into the base camp, Argenton noticed the gate was kicked in. Not a Haunter crashing the gate. The lower half of their bodies could pass through objects without breaking them. They could leave residue behind, but it was unlikely. He bent down to get a whiff of the goop.

Pungent, but stale. How long ago? He took another whiff. Years of training came back. A week, maybe two. It never rains here anyway, but Haunter stench keeps fresh for at most a week. So, maybe two weeks ago.

"Fimzle, was I away for that long?" he muttered and wandered into the camp, passing cabins with broken glass, doors, and torn roofs. Those could be explained. Greenies did have training in combat, but they never got much practice in magick battle. Unless their captain father just happened to know some sick someone who kept a few Haunters for "fun".

Now I remember that guy. Argenton nodded and stopped in front of his cabin. With the memory of the sick Haunter keeper came that same flashback of standing over the body of a man struggling with his life. As one last retaliation, the man drove his dagger into Argenton's thigh and that was where that scar came from.

He realized then that he must have killed that man. But a Haunter keeper didn't deserve to live. To Argenton, a Haunter keeper was a Haunter and a danger to the country. Being Elite Force, he still couldn't get used to the stupid title, but the protecting-the-country part was the same if the Noier army still existed.

When he came to his door, he noticed the First Tier symbol had once been underneath his name, but the badge was removed with only the outline of glue residue indicating where it had once been.

"Demoted me, but not changed my room, I see. No," He shook his head and grasped the handle, "I don't remember the last time I was here." He chuckled. "And I'm talkin' to myself."

He pushed the door and let it swing open. Argenton stood, stunned. The walls were covered with black strokes. Words calligraphed all over the wood. Some of the ink had once been so thick, the ends of letters ran into the next sentences. Taking a step inside the room, he closed the door behind and the handle came away with dried up paint that didn't quite stick to the brass.

The door, too, covered in words.

And this was no joke. It was his writing.

"Kill him," he read and then, "Don't forget. Remember. Remember what he did." And those were the only phrases repeated over and over across the walls, up to the ceiling, down to the floor, scrawled over the door and every wood space. As Argenton turned around, he tripped on the rug. Below, more writing.

When he backed up, he bumped into a tin bucket that rolled away. Dried up black paint stuck to the bottom. The paintbrush lay beside it. Argenton picked up the brush.

Another memory slipped in.

* * *

Argenton was running back to base camp, escaping his father. Killing Gail made his father angry, but it was so that Argenton could kill Septent. That was what his father wanted. But then he was accused of leaving his father to die, accused of saving Septent, and he was told that he was worthless.

As if the day couldn't get any worse, he about exploded his magick in the house. There was no telling what happened to his father, but Bailey had been outside, trying to douse the fire. His father would have been easily saved.

Slowing to a walk, he came into the clearing where soldiers were going about their day like usual. Argenton slipped into his role as if nothing happened out of the ordinary. That night, Danlen came to his room, telling him that Septent came to talk, asking about Argenton's skills.

A few chords on the guitar brought back Argenton's memories with Danlen. Short ones about them laughing together or dancing.

"So, now that I'm back for a bit," Argenton grinned, "what's it ye told her?"

Danlen smiled and lay a hand on his shoulder. "That you're ready. And that I'll follow a man like you. I trust you."

"And I trust ye, Dan," he said, pride swelling in his chest for in that short moment, he also knew Septent was more than capable of making assessments.

Then, in that short bubble of full memory, he and Danlen talked the night away. In that moment, Argenton would turn his head and listen to Danlen talk about his family or the struggles he had as a child prodigy and all the expectations, and relate. Maybe they didn't have the same upbringing, but he knew they were alike in many ways.

"Sometimes I wish that no one would judge me," Danlen whispered as the night deepened around them, "and that they would all look up to me because of who I am. And is it wrong to believe I'm destined for greatness? Is being different really that bad?"

Called a jump Tier because he went from greenie to First Tier. Called a child prodigy because from a young age he could command two tawnies and master two elements. Called "exotic" because he always had his hair long or in braids. Danlen stood out for many reasons. Not to mention, he was the mayor's son.

Argenton thought he, too, was different in many ways. He was a Woodman come from a long line of army captains. He had red hair unlike the usual brown or black of a Noiern. And, his fire magick was exceptionally strong. Then thanks to his father, he knew combat, swordsmanship, tracking, and many survival skills unlike anyone else.

"I wish that, too," he said after a while, "to not be seen as different." But he knew it was impossible if his forgetting and without-yesterdays kept taking away every connection he ever made. He couldn't remember names apart from the important figures like Bailey or Septent. He never made promises because he could never keep them.

Everyone thought he lived in the present, never to dwell on the past and how awesome of him was that? The truth of the matter was, he never retained the past, so had nothing to dwell on.

Which I guess is why I do get along with people. I'd even forget if I was angry with them.

And he could feel when the forgetting was coming, especially if, like tonight, Danlen spent time with him and went to bed right before midnight. Argenton would be closing his eyes to sleep, but then a tingling of magick would make his head itch. 

Every thought, image, memory he retained would drain from his body and he would be, once again, left with not only emptiness, but the anxiety that he still hadn't killed Septent or that his father would think he was worthless. It seemed that grave changes in his life would be remembered. Every other petty argument or little chat would be forgotten.

Danlen said, "I guess we're alike in that way. That's why I like you Argen."

"Yeah, sure. The fire moth and water moth."

"No, no. I mean, I like you. As in," Danlen leaned in and kissed Argen's cheek, "as in this."

He did what? Argenton widened his eyes and whipped his head to Danlen. For a moment, he couldn't think of what to say. Then it came to him. "You make me remember who I'm supposed to be. And I'm definitely going to remember this."

"Well," Danlen shook his head with a smile, "well, well."

"What? No one else has been able to keep my memory alive like this."

It was true. No other person who claimed to be his friend ever made him remember their conversations. Only Danlen.

Which is something to dwell on one of these days.

Danlen cleared his throat. "Well, I, I sort of thought you'd be ecstatic to know that someone whose loved by everyone is in love with you."

In love. With me? But why? Argenton chewed his cheek. On one hand, he couldn't believe they shared the same feelings for each other, but on the other hand, something was amiss about this and he couldn't quite place his finger on it. Maybe it was because he knew he would eventually kill Septent if something wasn't done about his memory. Danlen obviously adored Septent and vice versa.

"I know you want me." Danlen came in close until their lips touched. They kissed, but all the while Argenton's fire was dull. No burning sensation as when they first met. That night should have filled him up, but instead it only left an emptier hole. And even after all was said and done, and Danlen returned to his own cabin, Argenton lay awake staring up at the ceiling wondering.

Disgust. He nodded. That's what I feel.

When midnight striked, instead of forgetting the day, he remembered. Sitting up with a jolt, before the magick tingles could take his mind away, he grabbed a bucket of paint and a paint brush that was being used to repaint the hallway, and sprawled notes across his walls.

* * *

Argenton sat on his couch, staring at the writing he left himself, knowing it would be important he remember later.

"But what, that's the question," he whispered. Removed from himself, he could almost see himself feverishly writing on the walls, over and over, trying to keep that memory in. Why being with Danlen felt so wrong to him was hidden in that blocked memory, and triggered by the time Danlen told him what he said to Septent.

He's amping me up. Letting her know I'm capable. I can be captain.

Sighing, he leaned back. Come on. I need to know.

Then he glimpsed himself dueling Septent.

He sat up. He didn't remember that ever happening. But there he was with her in the clearing as others cheered him or Septent on. No details of how, but Argenton lost that match. It was his first loss to someone and the moment his reality distorted. Unlike what his father would always say about Septent, she fought well.

No wonder, because only the most talented can become Master Magees and rule an entire country, Argenton recalled thinking.

"Like your father, exceptionally talented," Septent had said as he picked himself up from the ground, "I shall then consider you for the opened position your Uncle Gail left. Perhaps we shall continue the line of Captain Woodmans? Danlen has told me a lot about you."

"Argenton!"

Argenton blinked out of the memory at Danlen's call. He left the room, making sure to close it behind him. He didn't know if anyone else saw it.

Outside, a group of Second Tiers were around Danlen. Most of them females. When Argenton went up to them one girl jumped into his arms.

"I knew you were alive, Argen. The Haunters hadn't gotten you. It's been two weeks! I'd never lose hope."

He didn't remember her name, but he played his part and hugged her back. "Sorry that I had you worried. Did Danlen tell you where we'd been?"

"Tracking the giant Haunter. But you didn't find it, huh? He said you're going to see your father?"

Argenton looked over to Danlen. How much of the story did he tell? He turned back to the girl. "What have you been up to?"

The girl stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his lips. He smiled, pretending to have not been taken aback and disgusted. The feel of her moist lips on his dry ones made him uneasy. The memory of what he and Danlen did came back. What would they all think if they knew he and Danlen had slept with each other?

Didn't even know it was possible for two guys to do it, and how did Danlen know about that stuff?

"Didn't you miss me?" the girl asked, pouting. "Because I did."

Past me, what did you do with her? Argenton kept smiling, trying to come up with something to say.

Danlen came over to pull him away. "And now excuse us, we have First Tier business to take care of."

Argenton raised a brow. "Thought I was demoted?"

"Not anymore." Danlen squeezed his shoulder. "I'll tell Septent. Besides, you deserve it whether you think so or not. You're getting it."

"And he should be captain, right?" the girl said, smiling with a faint blush on her cheeks, "And you'll dance with me again, right?"

"Of course," Argenton said.

"And me?" another girl said, coming up to him and kissing his cheek, "Because you promised, remember?" The first girl glared at her. At there were some looks from the other four girls. Guessing from the situation, he was popular among them all.

Past me, please, not females. He smirked at himself for setting himself up for this. "I'll give everyone a dance after all of this mess with Haunters have been dealt with. We shall have a party, alright?"

"And I'll bring my guitar," he added, making a strumming motion with his fingers, "How about that? But you'll have to be patient and wait here, and be safe, alright?"

All the girls nodded with eager smiles.

"You're worth the wait, Argen!" the first girl said.

A wave of pride swelled in his chest. He gave a wry smile. Of all the places, it would be here that he could feel the worth he always wanted.

"Of course," He grinned, then decided to leave his future self a problem to deal with, "And you are all what makes coming back here so worthwhile. Brightening up the place with your smiles."

"Alright, alright," Danlen put his arm around Argenton's shoulder to lead him away, "enough theatrics."

At last, away from the group of female soldiers, Argenton came out of his act. "That was crazy. Words came without much thought. I think the spell's weakened."

Danlen groaned. "Well, you should hold back on her if you can. That was Amborella Tritchet. Not exactly a friend, but she's always trying to kiss you somehow to try to get your romantic attention ahead of the other girls. She's smitten to your sarcasm, charm, and slight narcissism."

"Narcissism?" Argenton gave a dry laugh, unable to imagine liking himself that much. "Either that's an insult, or you know me better than I ever could."

"Not for long."

"Ye gotta be kiddin'."

"Why's your accent not always out?"

"It's not?" Argenton was never aware that much of how he spoke. No one seemed to care anyway.

"Just now, suddenly you say 'ye' instead of 'you'."

Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Argenton wasn't all that fond of his country accent anyway. It was better if he didn't use it.

"I think it's cute," Danlen said, "And I'm jealous you have one."

"Nothin' good comes of it."

"Sure, sure. You got me smitten the first time we met."

"Shut it."

Why are we talking about accents? He thought, careful to stop thinking with an accent, too. He didn't like to be the country boy. Such dislike came from his past, but all he remembered was that someone made him ashamed about his accent. Someone made fun of it.

"At least you know where you're from," Danlen said in a quiet voice. Argenton pursed his lips because he hadn't told Danlen about his Ryzarian heritage. Most Noierns hated Ryzarians and made fun of their red or orange hair. But most of the hate came from the fact that they were always historically enemies.

What would Danlen think? Argenton furrowed his brows. Why worry about what he'll think?

Danlen's hand brushed against his. Argenton, without thinking, laced his fingers between Danlen's. When Danlen squeezed, he snapped back to reality and tried to pull away but Danlen held on. His heart thumped. His fire pulsed. Heat rose to the surface of his body. The memory of that night returned. Argenton and Danlen lay side by side in bed with laced fingers.

That night was strange because while he was disgusted at himself for not being with a woman as his father always taught was the right way, this way felt right to him. He was meant to be with this man—the only one that made him whole again.

Strange night. Strange day. Argenton slipped his hand out and crossed his arms. Not yet. Not until I remember it all.