Ron paced outside the door with his fingers twisted in his blonde locks, fighting off nausea squeezing his chest. A sickening heaviness settled at the pit of his belly, its weight dragging him down. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. No, no, no!

He felt his sister's eyes burn holes in his face but he didn't look up, trapped in the cage of his mind. Thoughts rattled in his skull like fitful monkeys in an aviary, too agitated and noisy to make any sense out of them. He knew he should calm down, but the pounding in his chest riled up panic.

"I can't believe this." Nalia's voice was a sharp growl, dripping with accusation.

Ron continued to pace, hoping to compose himself enough to think. 

"You knew the dangers of performing such a sever yet you went through with it anyway," Nalia stormed. "You knew it could kill her but you tossed away that fact like it was nothing. Like the dangers were but a nuisance for you to get rid of with your power."

Ron closed his eyes as he tried to build a shield that kept out Nalia's raging accusations from his mind. Normally, it was as easy as breathing, but with his own rioting thoughts tearing it down every time the wall was put up, it allowed another's to seep through.

And with reviling thoughts from Nalia as well as spiteful ones from himself, he barely had a leash on his temper, which was steadily growing like dough in a heating pot. He stopped to take deep breaths, leaning against the wall. He could hear Nalia's knuckles clench around the railing of the staircase. 

She stood to her full height and raked a hand through her dirty blond hair. "What are we going to do now? She's lost her memory. Forgotten everything about us; about herself."

Ron clenched his jaw, tightening his hold on the leash as he fought the urge to teleport his little sister to a faraway place where her rage wouldn't claw at him. She had always had a deadly temper that sparked at the tiniest of things, one even their mother had condemned. Now she was exploding.

"Will you get out of your gods-damned mind for just one second!" Nalia seethed. "Zenara is at the mercy of your actions and you're just standing there, wallowing in your own self-pity. Can you at least act as if you care for her?"

"Shut it!" he roared. A rumble echoed his rage, the house rippling with tremors. Everything inside shook, vases crashing to the floor, paintings slapping against the walls. The lamps burst open, pieces of glass raining all around as flames pulsed in sync to his breathing.

Nalia stepped back, nearly falling over the railing. Expressions fled her face as she donned an unfazed mask. However, Ron could taste the panic wafting off her and he bit his tongue to keep the frustrated shout in his throat.

Even after all these years, after sharing a lifetime with her—growing up with her, teaching her, helping her—she still feared him. Even when he had never done anything to threaten her safety. Even when he had never given her reason to think that he would harm her.

He sighed, eyes fixed on the floor as Nalia tried to regain her composure. "Ron..."

The burdened man only shook his head, his shoulders slumping as a deep weariness flooded him. He was aware she knew that he had sensed her unease. And Nalia fathomed how her brother felt when he discerned someone's fear of him. 

Ron understood that Nalia didn't mean to be afraid of him. He knew that she loved him more than anyone, despite their conflicts. 

But it tore his heart to know that nothing would ever change. Everyone would still view him as an unstable beast ready to attack at the slightest provocation. They would always walk on the tips of their toes around him. It had been that way for as long as he could remember, going as far back as his own parents. Even those in the Commune, who were trained Arcane, couldn't hide their fear of him.

He slumped against the wall. He should have accepted it sooner. Maybe he would have grown used to it and moved on. He knew he should have, but hope had snuggled its way into his chest. He should have snuffed it out as soon as it had sparked to life.

There was only one person who peered past his power, past his rage, and saw the true him. The only one who never feared him, whose eyes shone with love every time he sank into her gray eyes. 

And he had just destroyed her life.

His eyes focused on a painting of a woman staring at a sky pooling with stars, sitting on a bed of flowers while leaning on her hands. Her long dark hair was a flag waving in the wind, with artrus leaves stirring around her. The moon bathed the cliffside in silver. The woman's back was to him, but he could feel her awe by how she was poised.

His heart slowed. The hurricane in his mind quelled. Finally, he rebuilt the mental wall and blocked off her apologetic thoughts.

"Ron, I'm sorry—"

"It's fine," he cut in. "It's fine."

Her lip quivered as her blue eyes shone. "No, it's not. I didn't mean to... I..."

"Just stop, Nalia," he sighed. Rubbing his face, he straightened an inch. "I get it. There's no need to apologize. Let's just figure out what to do."

Nalia had more to say, but something pierced the air. A gut-wrenching scream.

At once, Ron dashed into the room.

Zenara was on the bed, sheets rumpled on the ground. Her ebony hair stood in all directions and her gray eyes were wild with fear. Her arms were outstretched, as though keeping a beast at bay. 

"Stop it," she screamed. "Leave me alone!"

He stopped and glanced around the room. No one else was there. But Zenara's terrified gaze whipped all around her, as though cornered by malevolent beings. He furrowed his brow, holding Nalia back from running at her friend. She shot him a questioning stare, but he shook his head.

"No, stop." Zenara pushed herself against the head of the bed, squeezing away from whatever phantom she was witnessing. "Don't come any closer."

The terror around her was tangible, making his heart ache in kind. She screamed once more. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!"

Zenara's body was shaking now. "No—I didn't—Shut up! Stop it! Don't touch me—Get out! Get out, get out, get out!" she shrieked.

Then it suddenly dawned on Ron. Signaling Nalia to stay where she was, he tentatively took a step forward with his hands up in surrender.

"Zenara," he started with a smooth tone. "I need you to calm down."

She gave no indication of having heard him, and with her screams bouncing off the walls, he wasn't surprised. He took another step. "Zenara, listen to me. There's nothing there. Nothing is going to hurt you. You need to calm down."

He talked as he moved to the bed, voice low and soothing. He hesitated before lightly clasping her arm. She shrieked louder and started hitting him, pushing him away. He blocked all the attacks but she managed to land a punch on his face. He hissed as his cheek throbbed.

"I'm not a murder! Leave me alone!" It was as though Zenara was trapped in her own world, seeing horrors that none but she could behold.

Ron sat on the bed and pulled her to him. She struggled and kicked, tears streaking down her face. He cupped her face softly, ignoring the scratching and screaming. "Look at me." She kept at it, hitting and wailing. His voice grew deeper, demanding. "Zenara, look at me."

"No," she moaned. "Go away. Get out of my head."

"Zenara," he hushed. "Look at me."

She closed her eyes and twisted away. "Just go away. Leave me alone." She looked like a child who had finally given in to whatever deathly fate awaited her. Her shoulders shook as heavy rasps came from her mouth. "Go away," she cried.

Ron shook his head. "I'm never leaving you, Zenara. I'm right here. You're safe. Come back to me."

Her energy sapped away and her struggles softened. Zenara slumped into his hold, falling against his chest, panting. "Kill me." Her voice cracked. "I don't deserve to live. Not after what I did."

Ron pressed his chin onto her head as he stroked her hair. "What did you do?"

She whimpered and shook her head. "Don't make me."

He drew her firmly against his chest, his muscled arms easily enveloping her in a cage of safety. "Zenara," he crooned. "What did you do?"

His lover shook, her tears dripping on his shirt. They were cool on his skin but his heart was rupturing with each drop. She sniffled. "They're dead because of me," she said, words muffled by their bodies.

Ronalvo sat straighter. "Who's dead?"

Her head buried against his chest, a tiny bunny seeking warmth. "I can see their bodies, " she croaked. "Elma, Vanse, Kaleb, Rikkar, Janise, Olen... throats slit, chests lacerated, blood dripping..."

Ron squeezed her closer to him. "What did you do?"

Zen gave a little sound from her throat, a cross between a whimper and a cry. "I snuck off. I shouldn't have snuck off. If I had stayed, we would have gotten away. But they couldn't leave without me. They died because of me."

"Why did you sneak off?"

Her hand fisted his shirt, nails latching onto his skin. "To find the truth."

Ron's eyes dilated, attention increasing sevenfold. "What truth?"

She grew still, and he would have thought she had fallen into an exhausted slumber if it weren't for her tightening grip on his garb.

"Zenara, what truth were you looking for?"

She shifted in his hold. "I don't know."

Questions flitted through his mind, all buzzing and seeking attention like bees. Instinctively, he started to breach her mind before hastily retreating. His power had caused this. He couldn't afford to make things worse.

So he sought a different question. "Is that why the King held you captive?"

Zen whimpered, more tears of desperation falling. "Dark nights, cold nights... a lifetime in a hole..." Ron broke at the sound of her vulnerable voice. He could hear the torment she had undergone for years, and his guilt furrowed a hole so deep in his heart that it could never be filled. While they were all living in comfort and security, she was starving and suffering in the King's prison. 

He continued to stroke her back. "Did the King get what he wanted?"

She shook her head and gave a weak chuckle. "I can't give what I don't have."

Zenara's words were almost like riddles. She made them sound pitiful and taunting at the same time. Just how far had her mind been shattered? 

He could hear the gears turning in his head. How was it that she had forgotten them, but remembered such moments of her life, times when she was at her worst? He paused. Took a step back and evaluated everything that happened. 

He thought back to how he and Nalia had found her, screaming at something. Something they couldn't see. A line furrowed between his eyes.

Perhaps, as she had shattered her mind, the darkness that had haunted her in her days in the hole had claimed her. It was a possibility; every Arcanic magic came at a price, and telepathy was cursed with the worst. 

As Telepaths used their power, a sliver of their minds came undone. They called it the Slip. It was hard to see it in youths, but with age, those Arcanes tended to lose their minds to a "darkness", they described it, which tormented them with the ghosts of their atrocious pasts.

If those days had scarred her that much, and with her magic snatched away, it may have opened up a premature gate to the "darkness". And that could ensnare her in her worst memories. It would explain why all she could remember was the darkest points of her life. And maybe, the Slip had personified into demons that haunted her, making her grasp on reality slither away.

But by his deduction, there was a chance at reviving her memories. If—and this was a big if—the Ephiran magic Ron had undone had been broken and her power returned.

He brought himself back from his musings. "Why didn't you have what he was looking for?"

Ron could feel her smile against his chest. "Because I hid it away before he could take it."

"And where did you hide it?"

Zenara gently pushed against him, sitting up. He released her but didn't move away. Her gray eyes met his electric ones. The hope that she somehow remembered them died when he saw the blank look she gave him. He swallowed back the pain, scorching his throat like acid.

She shook her head at the sheets, looking around the room with an inquisitive eye. He could see her evaluating everything, taking in as much as she could. Finally, she stopped back at him.

Zen cocked her head slightly, an unconscious movement. Seconds passed, and he held his breath. Then, he felt someone slowly approach his consciousness ever so lightly. His eyes widened as he realized Zenara was gently asking for an invitation to his mind. 

The sever had worked. Her magic was back. Not as strong as before but it was growing slowly, like a seedling. Relief coursed through him like a drug and he gladly opened himself up to her. Seek what you wish, he told her.

And just like that, she shot through his mind, rummaging through the surface of his perceptions. He felt her reading everything she could, absorbing and learning about him.

Then she retreated back to herself. 

"Ronalvo," she said. He hadn't realized how much he had ached to hear his name roll off her tongue. It sparked a fire inside him but he—reluctantly—pushed it away. For now.

"You know me," she continued, peering up at him. "I must have known you, but I can't remember."

His breath hitched. "What do you know?"

Her beautiful gray eyes drew him in and he felt ensnared in them. A trap he willingly gave himself into. "That I trust you."

So many emotions burst through him at those simple words. They rocked him fiercer than anything he had ever experienced and he fought to steady himself. The euphoria was almost toxic, threatening to burn his heart.

Zenara's left hand lifted at her side, pointing at Naliana.

Her eyes never left him as she said, "I hid it in her."

Heyooo! This chapter just breaks and melts my heart for some reason. At least it wasn't a challenge like the others and I really enjoyed writing it. If you liked this chapter, don't forget to vote, comment and share :)

What do you think of Zenara's condition? What did she hide in Nalia? Do you think she'll regain her memories? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) And is Nalia a bitch or what?

(Most) answers in the next update!