Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s always been something missing in your mind. A huge gap. A hole that refuses to be filled. You can’t remember anything before the day you woke up on that beach.

You only remember bits and pieces of that day. You were alone. That much was certain. You woke up slowly, as most people do, still groggy from sleep.

The sun beat down on you, not a pleasant warmth like you were hoping for. Sand dug into your bare skin. The breeze brought in the scent of salt, but it felt wrong somehow.

Something was missing.

You sat up, staring out at the horizon. At what, you do not know. Waves crashed against the Shore, just barely reaching where you’re sitting.

Something was missing.

You dug through the sand. Picking a handful and letting it fall through your fingers. Somehow it doesn’t feel right to you. The texture, the shade, it’s all wrong.

Something was missing.

You turn your thoughts inward, searching every corridor of your mind, but there’s nothing there. You expected to remember what plans you had for that day.
Your family. Your culture. Your language.

YOUR OWN BLINDING NAME!!!!!

But nothing came.

Nothing would ever come.

It has been at least a year since you moved to Corbeaux from Bambouche. You had hoped moving further north would help clear your mind, bring you closer to the answers you seek. But you just feel as lost as ever.

It’s like you’re adrift in a sea of faces. All smiling and happy. And yet you… you always feel like something is missing. Something important has been ripped from your brain.
Don’t get yourself wrong, you’ll always be grateful to them. Picking up a stranger with no home, no history to speak of. It was always just you, rescued with only the clothes on your back.

You just wish that you could find that missing piece.
Maybe that’s what drives you today as you climb this mountain trail. An instinctual need to find the highest peak. It’s the perfect place to stargaze.

It’s one of the few things that gives you solace.

There’s a cliff you like to stand on and watch the ocean. The path winds along the edge of the coastline. A mile below, waves crash against the small beach. You barely hear it from up here.

The wind whips around you, bringing in a pleasant warmth from the last rays of the sun. Your hair flutters in the wind. It’s always been fairly long, right now even with it tied up it reaches down to the small of your back.

Somewhere ahead of you, a lighthouse stands tall over the cliff. Its light spills out over the ocean, guiding ships to safety.

The paved path grows more coarse as you walk. Gravel crunches underfoot with each step. Soon it gives way to the rock of the cliff. As you step closer to the edge, you take in the view of the ocean and the city just below you.

Corbeaux isn’t one of the biggest cities in Vaugarde— far from it. Jouvente far outclasses it. However, it is definitely one of the more lively coastal towns in the country.
It’s nestled just beyond the cliffside. The land slopes down gradually towards the beach.

There’s always a slew of people coming from other nearby countries. The piers are always busy with incoming travelers or fishermen heading out to sea.

For now, you just close your eyes and enjoy the peaceful moment. The sun is shining as it sinks lower in the sky, giving the city a pleasant warmth to end the day with. A gentle breeze brings a tinge of salt in the air. Seagulls caw somewhere above you.

Perfect as always.

You drink in the sight, a small, fond smile growing on your face. The way the sun’s rays illuminate the city, bathing it in the glow of ethereal shades as it sets. You pull out your sketch pad and begin to draw the city.
As the sun sinks below the horizon, the sky changes to various shades. Growing dark, darker, and darker yet, until the entire sky is engulfed in the inky lightless abyss of night. One by one, the stars blip into existence, creating a tapestry of lights upon the sky.

Even if you aren’t the best artist, you want to capture the scene. There’s always something nice about creating a snapshot in time. One moment frozen in time just for yourself.

Your memory isn’t the best, and it definitely hasn’t been since you woke up on that beach so long ago. These small snapshots you create help in some small ways. A small proof that this moment existed.

The sounds of nature ring out into the night. The crickets begin to chirp, cicadas call out. Even an owl hoots somewhere from a tree behind you. But the night also brings a chill in the air. You tug your shawl closer to yourself, letting its warmth reinvigorate you.
It’s getting too dark to see, so you put your art supplies away.

Setting your backpack to the side, you lay down on the blanket you brought and stare up into the sky. Millions of stars dot the sky. You always love staring at them, but you're the only one that appreciates their beauty. There is something relaxing about it.

Something… familiar… nostalgic even…

You remember lying on a beach of lightless sand with someone.

Their face… their name… it’s gone… it’s lost to time.

This person’s voice is pleasant, melodic. Even if you can’t recognize her face, there’s a smile in her voice. It’s warm. The words are lost on you. Time has eroded the meaning.

They point to the sky. Naming something. Stars in the sky.

There’s supposed to be patterns in the sky. You forgot the word. Your eyes scan the stars, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t recognize any. You’ve thought about making your own, but something about that doesn’t sit right with you

Waves crash onto the shore, bringing in the scent of salt and sugar. The wind carries the ghost of a wish out to sea. 

There’s a chill in the air as fall makes way for winter. There’s a faint frost covering the grass that lines the edge of the beach.

Mountains cut the sky above you, splitting the moon in half.

Those mountains are past the horizon. Somewhere to the north. Just out of view.

You blink, head pounding. Whatever thought you had slips through your mind like lightless sand.

….. lightless sand…. 

You try to push through the pounding in your mind. It’s there, right on the tip of your tongue.

Something streaks through the sky, catching your attention. A shooting star? It falls somewhere towards the north, disappearing behind the sea. 

No, behind something else.

You jump up to your feet. 

The fog obscures its features, but it’s there. Right on the horizon. Like a mirage. A Fata Morgana tricking your eyes.

There’s an island. 

(Credit to Artilite)

The sight is immaculate. Mountains rise above the sea, covered in trees and warm rocks. A beach stretches wide with sand so lightless it mirrors the night sky. There’s houses dotting the cliffside.

A town full of smiling faces. Someone you remember.

You reach out. The name is on your lips, just at the tip of your tongue. But it slips from your mind every time you try to whisper it. 

You barely blink and you feel it…

It’s… slipping…

Away….

What? 

Your hand is still outstretched, yearning for that phantom touch. But what were you reaching for? It lowers slowly. A sigh exhales from your lips. Something streaks down your face, you rub it with your hands to find… It's wet.

Tears? Why were you crying? 

Your head is pounding. Your vision swims. A migraine crawls along the base of your skull.

As much as you hate to do it, you’ll have to cut this stargazing night off. You pick up your backpack and begin to walk back to town. 

Your eyes glance back towards the ocean, but you no longer see anything on the horizon.

You aren’t sure when you made it home. Stars, you aren’t even sure what time it is now. Your brain is swimming in your head.

The room is sparsely decorated, save for a few… what he calls photos, hanging from the wall. You aren’t sure what that word means, just that it’s one of his experiments from the house. There’s a couple with you in them. 

A table sits in front of you, a bowl of candy at its center for visitors. To your side there’s a nightstand. A crafted lamp shines bright. Normally you love it, but right now the harsh light only makes your headache worse. 

The light is too bright, so you squeeze your eyes shut.

“This reminds me of when Emmie would come here hungover.” Your roommate’s voice drifts in from the kitchen. “She’d have the worst headaches and would just…”

You groan. “I wish I was hungover…. It’d be more fun.”

Your roommate, Jocelyn, steps into the room. Something is thrust into your hands. It’s a glass and something small and round, most likely medicine. You take the pills and sip at the water. There’s a tinge of sweetness in it, maybe a tonic. It helps at least.

There’s a clicking sound from the lamp nearby. “The lights are off.”

You open your eyes, and stare at the ceiling for a moment. Your vision is still swimming. There’s a blind spot on the left side of your vision. You close your eyes again.

“Just leave me here to suffer for my crime.”

There’s a playful swat on your shoulder, you can’t help but chuckle.

“Just be glad I got medicine after last time.”

You blink. “Last time?” You sit up. Your head pounds more, but you ignore it.

“You seriously don’t remember…” they mutter. A long-standing sigh rings out. 

“Heh, reliable Aldric, with his reliable memory,” you say poking at your head to emphasize your point.

They sigh again. But it ends with a chuckle. 

There is a brief moment of silence as you wait for the tonic and medication to kick in.

“I think I saw something this time.”

“You think you saw something last time, too.” Owlish dark eyes bore into your soul from under his glasses.

“I mean it this time.” You hug your knees, trying not to squirm under that gaze. “There was something to the north, but…” You sigh. “It feels like it just slipped out of my mind.”

“Just like with…” he mutters. 

You glance back at Jocelyn. They’re grabbing a book from the shelf, most likely to distract themselves.

“With who?” 

He flinches when you say that. “Nothing… ” They sit on the chair nearby. There’s a tense silence in the room as Jocelyn’s words hang in the air. 

There was something going on that day on the beach. The people who took you in were talking about something similar. But something’s off when you try to remember. 

You turn to Jocelyn for grounding reassurance, but…

He’s staring at the book, not even giving you a passing glance. Not a single page has been turned. You want to drop the subject, but there has to be something important there.

“What did you see out there?” He asks. His voice is low, eyes calculating. 

“There was an island… I think I saw it but… it’s like it just vanished.”

His expression falls. Eyes now gloomy. He swallows hard. 

“It did… one day it just vanished from memory and just took… every secret with it. I lost…”

He goes quiet for a moment. Eyes dart as if searching for something. He snaps the book shut and tosses it to the side. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It feels like it does…”

There’s more words somewhere on the tip of your tongue, but you let them linger. The thought briefly pops into your mind again. Lying on the beach, pointing out the stars with someone you’ve known all your life. But you still don’t remember the face, the name. 

Is it the same for him? But why would Jocelyn forget? His memory is far better than your own. You glance back at him. 

His expression changes so fast you almost aren’t sure that it was there. Their eyes are blank, his eyebrows furrow. He twists his head from side to side, eyes darting, like he doesn’t recognize what room he’s in.

“What?” His voice lowers genuine confusion seeping in. It’s just like when… 

When you forget.

Jocelyn hugs his arms tight, a usual sign that he’s scared or anxious about something. “What were we talking about?”

Dread gnaws at your stomach. Is this what it’s like? In the past you’ve forgotten what you were talking about in the middle of sentences. You’d always just laugh off, but now this…

This just feels wrong.

“An island to the north… “

He scrunches his face, genuinely confused again. “There… there’s never been an island to the north.”

(Credit to snow)

Your heart nearly skips a beat. But he said… no… no… 

You need to figure this out on your own. You lay your head back down. It’s still pounding. 

Throughout the day nurses would come and go. They’d ask you questions.

You understand some Vaugardian. Not a lot— just enough to get by. You answered their questions as best you could, but between your swimming brain and your lack of knowledge, you aren’t sure what you’ve told them.

Sun sickness, they might have called it. Sounds about right, you have a sunburn from hell. And your throat feels like you swallowed sandpaper.

They might have asked you about a shipwreck. If there were other survivors. You don’t remember being on a boat. Maybe they said something else about another survivor found on a lifeboat in a nearby town, but they had run away.

You find yourself resting in bed now. The owner of this house -you don’t remember their name- is talking to their partner. Some of the conversation is clear to you.

Something about an island. Not being able to see it or remember the name.

You can relate.

Chapter Text

The House of Change towers above Corbeaux, like a castle overlooking the town. Houses like this one form the backbone of the Change religion. Hundreds walk through its hall seeking ways to better themselves.

This is probably the best place to find any information. Houses usually take in donations from people who have gone through change. Maybe they don’t want reminders of their old life or they don’t have any attachment to who they used to be; either way, it gets donated to be given to the needy. Or diaries are given to the library where anyone can read them.

Trying to find out your missing past from someone who threw away their own. You laugh at the irony of the situation.

The halls of the House twist and stretch into a maze of rooms and corridors. You’ve gotten lost in here more times than you care to admit. A few wrong turns and you find some housemaidens. They’re more than happy to lead you in the right direction.

Eventually you find the door to the library and it’s locked tight with an open phrase lock. A sign reads “On break, will open soon.” There’s a question above the lock, and you sigh as you read it.

“Cursing of Chateau Castle #34.” The door unlocks. You silently curse Emmie and Jocelyn for getting you in the series as you enter.

The sound of humming fills the room. Emmie stocks the books on the shelves, not noticing your presence yet. Her back is towards you, so all you can see is her hair. It’s so fluffy and soft, loosely held in place by a headband. It’s mostly dark, but the ends are still dyed lightless from her last attempt at a change.

You casually walk up behind her.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

“Eep!” She nearly jumps out of her skin. “You scared me!“

It takes her a second to realize who she’s talking to. When she does she almost topples you over when she hugs you. “Oh it has been way too long! How are you? How’s Lyn doing!?”

You squirm in her grasp, but she has a tight grip on you. A few seconds in and you give up the fight. “It’s only been a week.”

“Still!” She lets you go. “You need to come over here more often.”

“I’ll try.” You stick your tongue out.

”Anyways, why are you here?”

“Well, I needed to look something up and I was hoping to find a newspaper or anything like that.”

Emmie leads you towards the section you need. You thank her, and she heads back off to sort the shelves. Her shawl glitters on her housemaiden uniform as she bounces between the shelves in record speed. Where she gets that energy you will never understand.

The thought of donating your old journals you have written doesn’t sit right with you. You don’t like the thought of people reading your old thoughts about who you used to be, but you still silently thank the Universe that others don’t have the same problem.

You pick up a random diary and sit at the table.

It’s small in your hands. There’s a drawing on the cover of a family and a small dog. “Keep out!” is written on the front. The lock is cut.

You flip through a few pages at random. It’s mostly teenage drama. Mad at parents for wanting to clean a room, mad at brother for stealing snacks, wanting to date.

None of it interests you. You’re about to close it, but the first few lines close to the end catch your eye.

It’s strange that no one can remember the island anymore. Dad says that no one can even say its name anymore. Weird I hope ______ is ok.

There’s a name written but it’s scratched out like it’s been erased aggressively; even the page is torn.

You barely make out a few letters, but it slips from your mind. Your hands shake as you turn the page.

Why can’t I remember their name?

Why can’t I remember their face?

It doesn’t make any sense. I want them back. Give them back.

Give them back. Who were they?

The writing is messy and scrawled. Desperate words bleed through the page. Your heart cries out for whoever this person is. You turn to the next page and…

I don’t know why I wrote that on the last page. It’s weird, whenever I try to think about who I was writing about I just get the weirdest headache. I think I’m going to throw this diary away. It’s doing weird things to my head.

Good bye diary. You were good…

You stare at the page for the longest time.

It isn’t just you being forgetful.

Whatever this is, it’s affecting more people than you ever could imagine. You could ask around the town, but you suspect all the results would be the same.

You read over a few more diaries, but only one other mentions the island. Someone talks about how they get a headache anytime that they say its name and how they will trick their friends into saying it.

The results weren’t good. You think about the headache you received last night from merely glancing at the island. So headaches are linked to it? That’s something to consider.

For now you get back up and head back to the bookshelf to put the book back. You scan the other books. Maybe there’s an old atlas or sea chart. Anything that would contain a drawing or anything that proves that it was there.

A book of atlases catches your attention. The spine is old worn leather. You pull it out. Something this ancient has to have the maps you’re searching for. Unfortunately, the thing is a little too ancient. The moment you open it, several of the pages fall out.

Of course, just your luck. You sit on the floor and begin to pick through the pages. There’s a wide variety of maps. The cities of Vaugarde, the surrounding countries, even some depicting the trade routes.

One stands out though. It’s an overhead view of the entire country of Vaugarde. But at the top, towards the north. There’s another landmass. An island you don’t recognize.

The phantom island.

“And what do we have here?” Emmie is standing over you, arms crossed. Her eyes squint accusingly, but a smile betrays the serious expression.

“I swear I’m innocent.” You say, holding your hands in mock surrender.

She sits in front of you, sorting through the pile. “Seriously though, it’s fine. Someone else might have broken it and shoved it back in. Happens all the time… unfortunately.” She mutters something under her breath. “It can be repaired.”

You help gather up the pages. Reluctantly, you hand over the map with the island. It’s fine… you can always sketch it out later.

You’re about to stand, but something catches your eyes. From this angle you see that there’s an object shoved in between the shelves. All you can make out is a faint glint. “Well, looks like someone might have left us some coins to help with the repairs.”

“Lucky us.” Emmie says with a laugh.

You reach in, pulling out not coins unfortunately but a dark book. You give it a once over.

The cover is… blurry, like looking through fog. The words dance and shimmer, but if you squint long enough, the word Craft appears along the spine. A small ache is creeping up the back of your head.

At the top there’s a symbol, a darkless four pointed object. It reminds you of a star. Something about it feels familiar.

Oh! Your shawl. The same lightless symbol is sewn into it. With your free hand, you reach behind and run a hand over the center of your back. You can’t feel it, but you know it’s there. It’s the only connection you have to…

“Another one of those headache books? I thought we got them all.”

Whatever thought you had slips from your mind.

“Headache book?”

She nods, pointing at the book you’re holding. “There’s been a few of these books popping up all over Vaugarde. People think they’re cursed. Some sort of craft makes them all blurry, and if you try to read them…”

She smacks the top of her head. “Boom! Headache.”

Yet another item connected to headaches.

”Can I keep it?”

“No, they need to be confiscated.” She holds out a hand. “I’ll take it.”

What? No, no you can’t let her have this. It could be a big lead. “Why can’t I keep it?”

Her eyes narrow. “Aldric… those books are a health hazard. I can’t in good conscience let you keep it.”

But you need this. “Let me worry about the headache. Besides, I think it’s connected to me.” You point towards the symbol on the book. She examines.

“It looks like…” she mutters. Her eyes dart between you and the book. Her shoulders slump slightly. “It’ll just be you looking at it, right? No one else?”

You nod. Can’t let anyone else see this. No one else needs to get a headache besides you.

“Then I’ll let you keep it for now. But you have to bring it back here eventually.”

“Thank you.”

She sticks a tongue out. “Just don’t come crying to me when you get the worst headache of your life.”

You pocket the book as she walks off. A quick glance over the rest of the atlases reveals that none of the rest are as old as the previous one. Somewhere deep in your heart, you feel as though none of them will have any info on that island.

That was a bust, but there’s one more thing you need to check.

Nearby the newspapers sit in stacks sorted by years. The exact date you need escapes your mind, but you know it must have been late summer or early autumn.

You grab several from the year you woke up on the beach and sit at the table. Curiosity however hovers in the back of your mind. Before you check any of the newspapers, you pull out the so-called headache book. Just like the cover, the words on the page dance and shimmer. A pain crawls up the back of your head. You slam the book shut.

“I tried to warn you~” Emmie’s voice calls from her desk. You grumble. When the headache subsides, you pocket the book again and begin to look through the newspapers.

The first few didn’t lead anywhere important, just several slow news weeks. But there, the one from mid-September has a drawing of a beach.

Shipwreck suspected.

Several victims were found washed up on the beaches of multiple towns along Vaugarde’s Northern coast, such as Bambouche and Corbeaux. No debris found beyond an abandoned lifeboat.

Your eyes scan on the page, looking for information that will help you.

Some found speaking an unknown language. Headaches have been reported from rescue parties.

You remember…

When you woke up that day.

Someone had found you crying on the beach. You were desperate. Frantic. You grabbed their shoulders and begged them. Words that are fuzzy in your mind now. They recoiled in pain at your voice.

But the more you circle the conversation the clearer the words become in your mind.

You asked them…

“Where is my family?”

Tears threaten to spill out. You bury your face in your hands, biting your lip so hard it bleeds. Anything to keep yourself from breaking down in the middle of a library.

You stood in front of a boat. A merchant vessel set for Vaugarde. You wanted to trade some wares on the coast.

Routine as usual.

For some reason _____ didn’t want you to go. They claimed the Universe was telling them not to let you go.

But the call of adventure was too great, wasn’t it?

It’s there. You know it’s there. A boat. A face. A name. Who were they to you?

You were on the island. You had a family, didn’t you?

It’s the small things that come to mind first. What books did they read by the fire? What snacks would you share with them?

What was their name?

The library feels so far away. They’re gone. You know they’re gone. You should have been there, but you left them.

How could you just leave them behind?

The memory slips through your fingers like sand. Like a pleasant dream as you wake. You grasp it as hard as you can. You don’t want to forget again.

But the more you grab, the more it slips away. Your head is pounding from the effort.

But at least something remains. You’re from the island.

It’s a start.

The room is quieter than it was before. No humming or shuffling of papers. It’s blurry, like you’re far away from everything. You breathe a moment, grounding yourself back into the room.

It comes into focus and… oh…

(Credit to Snow)

Emmie sits in front of you, her hands cupping your face. She leans in close towards you, eyes focusing intently on you. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

She rubs small soothing circles into your skin. Her fingers are warm and comforting. It helps ground you back into reality again.

She gasps, seeming to realize you’ve snapped out of your stupor. “S-sorry, I just thought-“ she pulls her hands away taking away the warmth and comfort they brought.

But you need this.

You grab her wrists and hold them tight. In a moment of panic she tries to pull away, but there’s something in your expression. She understands. Her fingers lace into your own, hands holding yours with a gentle touch.

The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, save for the ticking of a clock nearby.

“Are you ok?” She asks, finally breaking the silence between you.

You smile a small sad smile. “I’m fine.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re crying.”

You hadn’t even noticed. With a sigh, you gently rub your eyes with your shoulder. “I… I think I was remembering something. But, I lost it.”

It takes everything you have not to break down again. “It’s gone… it’s always gone. I can’t hold on to anything.”

There’s a gentle squeeze against your hand. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.”

“There was one thing… but…” you stare at a spot on the table.

The room feels suffocating now. The information still weighs heavily on your shoulders. The headaches. The fact that no one can remember the island. The fact that you might be from the island. The fact that you abandoned everyone. It all swirls inside you, threatening to tear you to pieces. Your heart pounds.

“I need to get some air.” You move to get up, but she has a vice grip on your arm.

Her eyes glance up at the clock. “My break’s almost over, but if you need me too, I can walk you home.” She offers a warm smile.

As much as you need the company, you really don’t want it. “I just… need to be alone right now.”

“I…” she lets go of your arm. “I understand.”

You stand and head for the door. Tears pinprick in the corner of your eyes.

“Aldric…” You turn back towards her. She bites her lip. “Just promise me you’ll at least talk to Lyn, or anyone. Ok? It doesn’t have to be now… just… promise me you will. ”

You offer a reassuring smile. “I will.”

That smile falters the moment you leave the library. The room spins around you. Your chest is tight, it hurts to breathe.

The housemaidens wave as you walk past, but you barely pay them any mind. Any words melt into the background of indistinguishable chatter.

There’s a numbness that washes over you. A static that pierces every inch of your body.

The moment you’re outside. The moment you’re alone, your knees buckle sending you to the floor. You kneel down, burying your face in your hands. Your body racks with sobs.

There’s a hole in your heart. A black hole that threatens to swallow you whole. It’s stolen everything from you.

Your name. Your culture. Your family.

It’s all gone. All forgotten.

Chapter Text

Your room is quiet. You prefer it that way. The desk is a mess of various balled up pieces of paper. Each a failed attempt. Your eyes are burning. There’s a small, throbbing pain crawling up the back of your head.

You glare at the source of your discomfort, the so-called ‘the headache book’. It lives up to the name. You’ve read it every night since Emmie gave it to you, but it refuses to give up its secrets.

The words dance and shimmer. They swim across the pages, making it hard to concentrate on what they say. Maybe every so often a word becomes clear. You write down whenever this happens, but…

It’s all nonsense.

Meaningless words on a page. None of it helps you.

You stare at the cover longer, daring it to spill its secrets. The words still dance, but you can’t read them anymore. You hesitate a moment, before opening the book again. Another headache hits you with full force. You slam the book closed and rub your eyes. It takes a moment, but the headache subsides.

You step away from your desk and pace around the room.

You have an answer. The island was erased from everyone’s memories. But what good does that answer do? There’s no context. No closure.

Only more questions.

This is about your home. Where you grew up. Where your family lives. Are they still alive?

Who were you on the island? Your roots are lost. They’ll be lost forever. Sure, you’ve built up a new life, a new personality. But, deep down, is that you?

Will you ever be you again? You will never go back to how it was after this. There will always be yearning. Even when the memories slip your heart burns with a desire to remember.

Can you be certain of anything if you don’t remember how you learned it? There’s small things. A love for the stars. Your drawing skills. Those were always muscle memory.

No one taught you those things; you instinctively knew what to do.

Your eyes drift upwards. Above your desk is a small cork board. Various sketches adorn it. Each one a location you’ve visited. Each one a memory.

Memories make up the core of a person. They’re proof that something was there. That something had happened.

If a huge chunk of your memory has been stripped from you, torn away without your knowledge. And if a huge chunk is related to the island…

If no one remembers it, did it truly exist?

Do you truly exist?

You glance towards the sketch you drew the night you saw the island.

It was there. It existed. You should be the proof.

You sit back at your desk and pull out your art supplies. The memory is hazy in the back of your mind, but it doesn’t need to be perfect.

Pen meets paper as you sketch out the memory of the old sea map. The outline of the coast of Vaugarde is easy to draw.

But the island…

No matter how many times you sketch it, it’s wrong. Too big, not big enough, too lumpy. It won’t stick in your mind. The more you try to remember what it looks like, the fuzzier it gets. Your desk grows messier with each failed attempt.

You settle on a design. It’s not perfect, but it will work. Your eyes scan over it, tears pinpricking in the corners.

Home.

It’s gone, you keep trying to tell yourself. But each time your heart aches. It yearns. It calls out to remember their faces, if only for a single moment. You bury your face in your hands.

No one else should have to feel this way. Lost, confused, forgotten.

Light shines through the window heralding the morning. You rub your eyes. Yet another sleepless night. Maybe you need a break.

There’s a mug of coffee on the table. You hold it in your hands, letting the warmth seep into your skin to soothe your frayed nerves.

No matter how hard you try to forget again, the thought of the island still lingers in the back of your mind. It’s a side effect of your attempts to remember. Anytime your mind drifts towards it for too long, it slips through your fingers once more.

So you let it twirl in the back of your mind, which lets you remember small things at least. You still don’t recognize any faces. But it’s a start.

“You know that’s for drinking, right?” Jocelyn teases after a few minutes. You snort out a small laugh, before taking a sip.

“Sorry, there’s a lot on my mind right now.” Would he even remember the island right now?

“You’ve been holed up in your room for a few days.” He props his head up on his arm. “I’d say that’s more than just a few things.”

“Heh… yeah… It’s just…. I think I finally found a lead on my past. Things have been coming back.”

He perks up. “Oh, that’s wonderful.” He smiles warmly, reaching out a hand. You hesitate a moment before taking it.

“Yeah… it’s great…” you smile, but it’s forced. Anything to hide the tempest swelling in your heart. Jocelyn tilts their head.

“You don’t sound happy about that.” He holds your hand closer, giving it a gentle pat.

A question sticks to the tip of your tongue. You want to ask him what he knows about the forgotten country, but… will he remember this time?

“It’s… complicated.” You bite your lip to keep more words slipping out.

Jocelyn looks away. “Oh...”

A tense silence fills the air. The mug has cooled off by now, its warmth no longer comforts you. Jocelyn takes it as a cue. He gets up and reaches for your mug. Fingers brush against your knuckles before he pats you on the shoulder.

He pours more coffee into your mug as well as his own. “Tell me… did you discover something awful about yourself? Or about where you came from?”

“What?”

“Sorry.” He slides the mug back towards you before taking a seat again. You put your hands around it. The warmth seeps into your skin once more. “Just, thought that maybe… you discovered something that you didn’t like about yourself.”

”Oh? Now, why would you worry about that?” You stick your tongue out. “Were you planning on kicking me out if I did?” You tease with a playful smile.

Their face grows darker. “No, no of course not. You’d have to change into something really awful to get rid of me.” They offer a small smile.

You smile back, but on the inside your heart aches.

Change huh? You’ve been doing a lot of that lately.

With all the change, you barely feel like a person anymore. The cold static creeps along your spine once more. The thought lingers in the back of your mind. No matter how much you try to ignore it.

You’re not a person. Not anymore. No, you’re like an empty house. A beautiful facade, warm and inviting. But inside… there’s nothing. Not even furniture.

This change was forced upon you against your will. You were forced to adapt. To rewrite your entire existence right down to the atoms.

You run a finger along the rim of the mug. “Change is destruction.”

Jocelyn blinks as you say this. “Yeah. For something to change, something needs to be destroyed.” They adjust their glasses.

“New life cannot exist where the old is…. Uh…” he rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe Emmie could explain it better than I can…”

Your hand tightens around your mug. “So tell me. What if it wasn’t a person that was destroyed? What if it was an entire country?”

The air grows more tense between the two of you. Jocelyn fidgets in his chair. “I… I don’t know. Aldric I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes dart, seeking answers. Like the night before.

“This whole thing is not just a me thing anymore.” You clasp your hands under your chin and lean in closer. “The whole country has forgotten my home’s existence.”

Jocelyn stares at you slack-jawed. “What? But that’s impossible.”

“As impossible as forgetting colors existed? Did you ever figure that one out?”

Jocelyn chews on his lip for a minute. “No… no, I didn’t.”

“Then isn’t it possible that a country could be forgotten also? No one can remember the island north of Vaugarde.”

He flinches. “No, they can’t.”

You slump in your seat. “If change is destruction, then what does that mean for them?”

“My home. My family?” You lean forward, rubbing your temples. “Did they have to die for me to change?”

“They might not have…”

“It doesn’t matter!” You snap, far more harsh than you intended. “They’re gone. They’re all gone.”

“I abandoned them.” You grip your mug tight. Eyes squeeze shut. Tears threaten to spill. “Why was I spared?”

Everything breaks again. The tears flow and they won’t stop. You cover an eye, letting them flow for the time being.

There’s a hand on your back. You didn’t hear him get up. You lean close, like he’s your only lifeline.

“What happened to you was awful. No one should have to go through the pain of forgetting everything they know.”

He holds out a small handkerchief which you take. “I don’t know why you were spared from the same fate.”

You wipe your eyes as he sits by your side.

They put a hand on your shoulder and you lean in their direction.

“As for the change, well…” he stares into his coffee, maybe the answers are in there. You never know.

“Yes, it’s true that change is destruction. But what happened to the island… is nothing short of a tragedy.”

There’s a tone in their voice. Sadness, disappointment, anger. It swirls together as they speak. He takes his glasses and rubs his eyes.

“But, that isn’t true change… at least it shouldn’t be. True change is personal. It’s a decision you make on your own.”

You hold out the handkerchief towards him, which he graciously accepts. He dabs his eyes dry.

“So, what if it’s forced upon you…. Like with me?”

Jocelyn hugs his arms and leans against the table. His eyes drift downwards. “I know I can never feel the same way you do about this. Change is terrifying when it’s forced upon you.”

He puts glasses back on and holds his hands in front of himself.

You hold a hand out to him. Your fingers barely brush against his knuckles. Whatever happened to him— most likely involving the island as well— it’s same as you. Maybe he understands the loss. The pain.

The emptiness that threatens to consume both of you.

The faintest ghost of a smile graces his face. “But it’s also taught that change is temporary. It hurts deep now, but the pain will fade in time.”

He swallows hard. “It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t mourn them. But don’t let the pain fester within you.”

”You have to let it go to allow that change to take place.”

You pull your hand away.

Your fist clenches tight. So, what is he suggesting? To let this pain go? Forget the island existed again?

No, he doesn’t understand at all.

What if it was Vaugarde that vanished? Wouldn’t he be doing the same thing? Would he be able to let it go?

Change already took away your home. What else will it take away from you?

Jocelyn tenses as glances your way. “Sorry, I’m no good at this. Emmie would have done a better job at explaining this.”

Silence still hangs in the air, low and cold. You don’t want to dwell on your problems any longer. Instead, you turn your attention back to Jocelyn.

Even if he doesn’t understand, there was still pain in his voice. Something is there. Something tangible.

Maybe it can help you figure out how the island vanished.

“What about you? Did you lose anyone when the island vanished?”

He flinches again when you ask. “I… I did…”

”It wasn’t exactly when the island vanished…. But sometime after… my….” There's a haunted look in his eyes. He stares off into the distance, hugging his arms.

“Joce?”

They jump. “What?”

Dread gnaws at your stomach. “You ok?”

Confusion clouds his eyes as he glances around the room. “Y… yeah. Uh… sorry, what were we talking about again?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. Bile churns as you swallow hard.

“Oh… nothing important...” You force a smile. “In fact I was about to leave... I'm going to see if I can find some for the day...”

His gaze is uncertain. Eyebrows scrunch tight in concentration. “That sounds good, I have a class to teach today so…”

His face melts into a mask of concern. “Are you sure you’re ok? You look like you’re about to cry.” He reaches out a hand.

You pull away. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” Before he protests, you rush towards the door. You don’t need his pity.

You need air.