For a heartbeat, the silence in the room thickened until it became almost solid, as if the air itself hesitated to move.
Ren's lungs felt shallow. Every inch of him prickled, from the roots of his damp hair down to the arches of his feet. The shadow that had clung to the wall began to bend, slow and deliberate, pulling itself upright like smoke deciding to take human shape.
Light from the single lamp quivered. It wasn't the light that trembled, though...it was him.
He stood frozen while the shadow darkened, condensed, and drew together into the outline of a man.
A tall man.
Armor shimmered beneath a black cloak, faint lines of silver edging the plates like veins of moonlight through obsidian. When his hood fell back, Ren's breath caught. His face... how could a face like that exist outside of dreams? Sharp, symmetrical, but softened by something ancient, like marble weathered by centuries of rain. He looked thirty, maybe older, the kind of age that holds both strength and patience.
But it was the mark on his neck that struck Ren hardest... an identical curve, the same incomplete shape as the birthmark that throbbed on Ren's own skin. The same deep crimson ringed by faint violet light.
It pulsed once, and Ren's heart answered it.
He didn't dare to speak. The stranger's eyes met his, and the world seemed to shrink until only that gaze existed... dark as storm water, faintly gold at the edges, brightened by something that felt like recognition.
The man spoke first, his voice low and even, like a bow drawn across a cello string.
"Ren."
The way he said it... it wasn't just his name; it was a memory given sound.
Ren stepped back, shaking. "How… how do you know my name?"
"I've known it longer than you've been alive." A pause. "Longer than I should."
Ren blinked, the words refusing to settle in his mind. "Who are you?"
The man hesitated, then said simply, "Lián Zhen."
The name carried weight, as though the air bent around it.
Ren repeated it under his breath, tasting it, half-afraid it would vanish if he said it too loud.
He wanted to run.
He wanted to stay.
Lián Zhen took a slow step forward, and the faint sound of metal beneath his cloak broke the silence... the clink of armor that didn't belong in this century. His scent, cold and faintly metallic, brushed against Ren like rain before a storm.
"Why are you here?" Ren asked. His voice cracked.
Lián Zhen didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the night pressed against the glass, all ink and mist. "Because you called me," he said finally.
"I didn't." Ren's hands tightened around the book he was still holding. "I didn't call anyone."
"Not with words." His tone softened. "With memory."
The word memory sparked something in Ren's chest, something small and painful and confusing.
A flash... soft light, the smell of rain on stone, the taste of something warm and unfamiliar. Someone's hand cupping his jaw. A kiss..., passionate and gentle as a promise.
He gasped and stumbled back, gripping the table for balance.
It wasn't possible. That image... it felt real, but from where? When?
Lián Zhen watched him carefully, his expression unreadable.
"You remember," he said quietly.
"I don't," Ren whispered, but even as he denied it, the echo lingered... lips against skin, a whisper too faint to catch. He could almost hear it: Wait for me.
He forced himself to focus, to breathe. "What are you?"
Lián Zhen's lips curved faintly, not a smile, not really... more like the ghost of one. "What you see. And what you've forgotten."
Ren's pulse hammered. "You're not real."
"Does that comfort you?"
The question hit too close. He wanted to scream that yes, of course it did, but the words died in his throat. Everything about this felt real...the cold floor beneath his bare feet, the hum in his veins, the shadow that seemed to breathe.
Outside, the wind rose. Curtains swayed. The faint light from the lamp flickered again, stretching Lián Zhen's figure across the wall like a black flame.
Ren forced himself to stand straighter. "You're the one from that voice," he said, realizing it even as he spoke. "The one who said you'd kill anyone who touched me."
A muscle in Lián Zhen's jaw moved. He didn't deny it. "Yes."
"Why? Why would you..." His throat closed around the rest.
"Because you're mine." The words were calm, too calm, as if they had been carved out of stone.
Ren's heart lurched. "Yours?" He laughed weakly, a sound that barely left his lips. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough." Lián Zhen's eyes softened, briefly, the hardness breaking into something that looked almost like sorrow. "And you will know me again."
Ren shook his head. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." The man looked down at his gloved hands. "But insanity is the only thing that keeps memory alive."
Silence settled between them again, thick with the hum of unspoken things. The mark on Ren's nape flared, a sharp ache that almost drew tears. It pulsed in rhythm with Lián Zhen's, glowing faintly in the dim room.
"Does it hurt?" Lián Zhen asked quietly.
Ren nodded without thinking.
He took a slow step closer. "It always did, didn't it? Even before you knew why."
Ren wanted to move, but his body refused. "What does it mean?"
The man looked at him for a long time. Then, softly, "It means you were never supposed to forget."
Another flash behind Ren's eyes... a hallway lined with torches, his own laughter echoing off stone, Lián Zhen's hand reaching for his. And then the taste of ashes, the sound of steel, a cry swallowed by fire.
He gasped again, falling to his knees. The book slipped from his grip, its pages fluttering open without a key, as if the lock had simply given up resisting. Inside, the same portrait stared back: a prince in silver and black, a crown tilting slightly on his head. The prince's eyes were Ren's eyes. And beside him, painted in dark hues, stood Lián Zhen, his armor gleaming just as it did now.
Ren's stomach twisted. He touched the page with trembling fingers.
"This can't be real…"
Lián Zhen crouched beside him, slow and deliberate, until their faces were level. "Real or not," he said softly, "you feel it, don't you?"
Ren didn't answer. He couldn't.
The air between them was thin as glass. He could see the faint shimmer of light reflecting in Lián Zhen's eyes, could hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing... steady, patient, human.
For a moment, the fear receded, replaced by something far more dangerous: recognition.
He blinked, and the flash came again... this time clearer. A balcony beneath a blood-red moon, his own hands clutching the front of Lián Zhen's cloak, the whisper of breath between them, not quite a kiss, but something heavier. The warmth of a promise.
And then it was gone.
Ren's heart ached with the emptiness it left behind. "Why can't I remember it all?"
"You will," Lián Zhen said quietly. "Memory returns in pieces. It has to, or it breaks the mind."
Ren looked up at him. "And what happens when it all returns?"
The man hesitated. Then he said, "Then the story ends. Or begins again. and if it did, we'll be together again... my prince"
Thunder rolled outside, distant but heavy. A drop of rain struck the windowpane. Another followed.
Ren turned his head toward the sound, and when he looked back, Lián Zhen was gone.
The lamp flickered once, twice, then steadied.
Ren exhaled, realizing only then that he'd been holding his breath. The mark on his neck pulsed once more... soft now, almost tender.
He pressed his palm against it, staring at the open book on the floor. His reflection in the glossy page looked back at him: wide eyes, bruised heart, the ghost of a prince who used to believe in forever.
Outside, the rain fell harder, each drop like the sound of a clock ticking down toward something he didn't yet understand.
END OF THE CHAPTER.