Classical

When Dreams Remember
Elira had always felt the quiet pull of something forgotten. It began in dreams. At first, fragments—soft music on the wind, a boy’s laugh echoing in a golden field, the scent of rain on stone. But soon, the dreams grew vivid. A world she had never known yet somehow mourned. A boy with storm-grey eyes who called her by a name she didn’t remember. Then came the attic. After her grandmother’s passing, Elira returned to the house she hadn’t entered since she was ten. Dust blanketed every surface, time frozen in shadowed corners. While sorting through the remnants of a life, she found it—a silver locket, its face etched with symbols unfamiliar, yet oddly comforting. As her fingers closed around it, a warmth pulsed through her chest. The attic swirled and fell away. She stood in a vast field of gold, the sky above streaked with violet clouds. Wind danced through tall grass, whispering words in a forgotten tongue. And there, as he always was, stood the boy. Kaelen. "You’ve returned," he said softly, as if the years hadn't passed. "But… you don’t remember me." She stepped back. “Who are you?” His eyes dimmed with hurt. “You were mine. And I was yours. Before time broke us apart.” Each night, the dreams continued, and with them, Kaelen waited. Gentle. Patient. Tragic. He never pushed her to remember. He only told her stories—of a war that had shattered the world, of a Keeper who held the knowledge to stop it, and of the choice she made to forget, to protect that knowledge from those who would twist it. "You sealed your memories to save lives," he told her. "But memory is like the tide. It returns." In the waking world, Elira turned to old books, crumbling ruins, and half-whispered myths. She met Callen, a reclusive historian who recognized the language on the locket: Valean, lost in the Cataclysm War centuries ago. “It shouldn’t be possible,” Callen said. “But this locket—it’s ancient. And so are you, in a way.” With Callen’s help, Elira uncovered evidence of the Valeans—of their culture, their fall, and the Keeper who vanished with the knowledge that could reshape the world. It all led to one truth: the dreams were not dreams. They were memories. Hers. One night, in that twilight world, Elira finally asked, “Kaelen… who was I?” His answer was quiet. “The Keeper of Truth. The one who chose love… and then chose duty.” Elira felt it then—a weight deep inside her, like a door unlocking. Memories flooded in. The temple. The locket. Her choice to seal it all away. And Kaelen, begging her not to leave him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I left you alone.” Kaelen shook his head. “You saved me. You saved everyone. But the war is returning. And this time, you don’t have to face it alone.” They found the temple days later, hidden beneath a forgotten mountain. Glyphs lit up when Elira approached, the locket glowing in her hand. Within the sealed chamber, a silver-bound book lay on a pedestal. The moment she touched it, the past returned in full: the war, the betrayal, the knowledge that could create or destroy entire nations. But also—Kaelen’s hand in hers, the promise they made, the love they shared. Tears fell freely. She turned to Callen. “We could seal it away again. Let it fade.” Callen studied her. “But it’s waking. The world is stirring. And you… you remember.” Elira closed the book. “This time, I choose both. Love and truth. Memory and action. I won’t forget again.” Kaelen’s voice echoed in her mind, steady and sure: “You’re not alone.” Elira stood at the threshold of past and future, locket in hand, heart wide open. The Keeper had returned
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By AB Cabout a year ago in Fiction
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