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Memoirs 368 - Reflections of pasts and futures
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 21:32:39 +0000 UTCThe reflections materialised all around them, their mere presence enough to set Scarlett’s party on edge. The memory of their last clash with the Cabal’s group was still fresh. That time, the space had been filled with dozens of reflections, to the point where it was impossible to count.
Now, there were even more.
Golden light bathed the entire chamber, wrapping them in the glow of an army of radiant phantoms. Each reflection sharpened with unsettling detail, as if clawing its way into reality completely.
Then, voices began to echo from every direction.
“Someone once told me you don’t talk to friends about your indigestion. ‘How are you’ is a greeting, not a question.”
Scarlett turned to her left. A reflection stood there — long curled hair, an instrument slung across one shoulder.
“My people are gone. What does it matter where my life ends? I’ll just take revenge first.”
Another voice rose to her right. A youth stood with wind coiling around his arms, ethereal claws flickering from clenched fists.
“I spent my whole life behind those gilded walls. I thought they kept me safe. When I finally left, I feared I’d made the worst mistake of my life. But… I’m glad I didn’t.”
Scarlett spotted another reflection wielding a slender rapier — a young woman with hair cut to her neck in a rough bob.
“What’s going on?” Allyssa whispered. One hand gripped a vial from her bandolier, the other held her hand crossbow. Her gaze flicked cautiously across the golden figures. “They didn’t talk last time.”
Scarlett’s brow furrowed as the apparitions solidified further.
“My oath is sworn. Whatever dangers lie ahead, I will follow you. Speak the word.”
A knight clad in armour stepped forward, an azure sword blazing in hand. Threads of cerulean light wove through the golden hues of her cape.
“I abandoned life long ago. Abandoned humanity. All for knowledge. I thought it a price worth paying. Too late did I realise nothing is worth that cost.”
A tall, gangly sage emerged, thick robes swallowing his frame, keen eyes gleaming beneath the hood.
“Can’t say life ever bothered treating me with much respect, so never really saw a reason to return the favour. But you…you’re different, huh? Barely. I used to think faith was just a joke for fools. Blazes be damned if I don’t have some now.”
A roguish man with an unkempt beard grinned as he flipped knives between his fingers.
“Nobles are leeches. Royalty, worse. They called me mad, evil — shoved my face into the dirt. But they stopped calling me anything once I left their faces in the same dirt. Curious, isn’t it?”
A hulking giant, more blades than cloth strapped across his body, sharpened a long scythe.
“…”
Another figure stayed silent. They wore pristine armour of marble-white glinting through the gold, helmet shaped like a bird of prey. Wordless menace radiated from them, speaking louder than their silence.
“I don’t care about victory. I care about the moment their hope dies.”
A man hovered above the ground, robes layered with scorched runes. Smoke curled around his feet, one hand gripping a staff of blackened bone, the other clutching a tome bound in chains.
“Why does blood curdle? Why does it cry out? Because it remembers. The blood is due, and it waits. So tell me — what is your blood owed for?”
A black-haired woman loomed tall, veins glowing crimson beneath her skin, jagged trails of red pulsing outwards in unnatural patterns.
These voices rippled through the chamber, and dozens more followed.
Scarlett’s party drew closer together, eyes locked on the figures around them.
She studied them. Listened.
These were the game’s companions. Rosa. Fynn. Princess Regina. Briana Smythe. Ovethatake. Gaven Ridley. Nareth. Lithén. Kireth Mal. Scaive.
All ten of them were here, surrounding them. Far from indistinct illusions, they looked real enough that Scarlett suspected she could touch and feel actual skin.
And if one of them were to unleash a skill like [Crimson Requiem]…
It could be worse than last time.
Her gaze focused on a reflection of Rosa. Those of the bard each wore different clothes and gear.
“Why do I smile all the time?” the reflection asked. “Well, that’s an easy one. If I keep smiling, I don’t have to worry about tomorrow. Or the day after. As long as I keep smiling. I’m sure of it.”
It was Rosa’s voice. Rosa’s words. Scarlett even remembered hearing that line in her first playthrough.
Just like many of the others now echoing.
Beside her, Rosa and Fynn both wore tight frowns. Understandably so. Even in the best of circumstances, this would have been unsettling.
The question was why it was happening.
Scarlett still didn’t know. Why were these snapshots of the game manifesting here, like this? What was the method—and the meaning—behind them?
The party lingered at the chamber’s edge, waiting. Expecting an attack that never came. The reflections kept speaking, lost in their fractured dialogues.
Finally, Scarlett decided to step forward. Then another step. And another, until she stood before a Rosa who wasn’t speaking, but playing. The woman sat on an invisible chair, klert cradled in her arms, softly humming a tune that was light, almost cheerful — almost. To Scarlett, she could tell there was something buried beneath. A despondency, veiled under the smile of the song.
She studied the reflection’s face. Beneath the golden shimmer, every detail was Rosa’s. The curled locks, the freckles, the faint violet in her eyes. And behind her merry expression, something aching.
The real Rosa stepped up beside her.
Together, they listened.
“…I’ve never heard this song before,” Rosa said quietly.
Scarlett glanced at her. “Perhaps you have yet to compose it.”
She could vaguely recall hearing it in the game, once.
Rosa shook her head. “No. I don’t think I ever will. A touch too melancholic for my taste, you know?”
“…I see.”
Rosa gave her a faint smile, then turned her gaze across the chamber. “Since nothing’s exploded yet, can we assume this place is safe-ish for now?”
“I cannot say,” Scarlett replied. “But it is best to assume otherwise.”
Her eyes shifted to Fynn, who stood before a reflection of Scaive, examining it closely. If one ignored the glowing veins beneath her skin, she might have looked like an ordinary young woman — except for the fierce intensity in her gaze.
“This is the one that attacked us before,” he said.
“That does appear to be the case,” Arnaud murmured, keeping close watch on all the reflections near them.
“What is she?” Fynn asked, his nostrils flaring as he tested the air.
Arnaud glanced at Scarlett.
“…It is not simple to explain,” Scarlett said. “And not here.”
She turned toward the far end of the chamber, scanning for any exit. But there was nothing. Only the way they’d come. High above, the runes glowed, and around them, the reflections of game companions moved in scattered loops across the room, repeating memories, scenes, and words.
What was this place? She doubted it was simple.
Her eyes came back to the entrance, considering it, then she turned and walked deeper inside.
“Sure that’s a good idea, Scarlett?” Kat called, hurrying to her side along with Rosa. “You were bleeding out of your nose a minute ago. Maybe don’t charge into the weird chamber just yet?”
“I share your concern,” Scarlett said. “And I will proceed with care. However…I need answers.”
If this truly was the final chamber, then it had to hold something. There had to be some purpose behind this space. And if Ustrum had reached this place, and this was where he had lost himself, it couldn’t have been without reason.
The others followed. Together, they resumed formation, advancing cautiously towards the heart of the chamber.
The reflections drifted all around them, flickering in and out. Yet none attacked.
Not yet.
Then, amid the sea of gold, Scarlett thought she caught a flash of silver.
She halted. Between a dancing Rosa, a meditating Fynn, and a skulking Gaven, she glimpsed something out of place.
Unlike the richly detailed companions, this one was vague. Unformed. Silver instead of gold.
The others slowed, following her gaze.
“…Scarlett—” Rosa began.
But Scarlett was already moving.
She passed the dancing Rosa, circled around Fynn, skirted Gaven, and wove past a newly appeared Lithén whose gaze seemed to cut the air itself. A few more figures flickered at the edges of her vision.
Then she stopped.
Before her stood the silver apparition. It was a hazy outline of two people—one tall, the other smaller—but that was about all she could make out. The smaller’s shoulders trembled, as if crying. The taller one rested a hand on them.
“…Why aren’t you crying?” came a soft, broken voice. It was faint, distorted, like it had travelled through static and been muffled by distance.
Scarlett’s brow knit. Something about it tugged at her memory.
“What are you looking at?” Rosa asked, stepping up beside her.
Scarlett turned. “…You do not see that?”
“See wha—?”
Rosa’s eyes widened. As did the others’. Fynn and Arnaud tensed as if sensing immediate danger.
Scarlett looked back.
Then froze. A chill ran down her spine.
The silver figures were gone.
In their place stood a girl.
Not a phantom. Not a golden illusion. A real girl. Flesh and blood — or something close to it.
But that wasn’t what shook Scarlett.
The girl wore a heavy grey cloak, hood low, face obscured save for the pale and nearly colourless line of her mouth and jaw. From the shadows of her hood, two glowing golden eyes crept through the gloom.
Everything but the eyes was exactly as Scarlett remembered. But how could that possibly—?
Had they already failed?
Wind twisted around Fynn as claws shimmered into being at his hands.
Scarlett raised her own hand sharply. “Wait. Do not act.”
The girl looked around Allyssa’s or Shin’s age. But her gaze…it felt almost empty. Heavy with something unspoken, but seeming devoid of intent.
This wasn’t the real thing. It was something else, wearing the same appearance. Was it similar to the reflections?
Scarlett took a careful step forward. “What are you?”
There was no answer. The girl didn’t even look at her.
Then, in an instant, she was gone.
In her place stood Scarlett.
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed.
It was her exact likeness — how she might appear on an ordinary day. The dark-red hair, clad in a deep maroon dress, with a cool, composed expression. Everything matched except, again, the eyes. Those were still glowing gold.
“That’s…creepy,” Kat muttered.
“Please tell me we’re not fighting you again,” Allyssa spoke under her breath.
Scarlett examined the doppelganger closely. On second thought, it wasn’t even an exact likeness. Not quite. The differences were subtle, but present. Slightly softer features. A hint of youthful sharpness in the cheeks. This version looked a few years younger than her current self.
Without warning, it shifted.
Now Fynn stood there — taller, older, broader, and stubble along his jaw.
The real Fynn growled.
The figure transformed again, this time into Rosa. But a Rosa whose eyes were completely black, laced with threads of crimson and ichor beneath the skin. A powerful, agonising aura radiated off her like heat from a forge.
Rosa stiffened.
Again, the figure changed.
And again.
An older Allyssa, a deep scar running across one eye. Then a younger Kat, grinning brightly mid-spell. Shin in full armour, helmet down, silent and still. Arnaud, missing an arm but standing firm, jaw tight.
Faces Scarlett knew, warped or preserved in fragments of age, emotion, or moment. People she’d spoken to, fought beside, or simply remembered.
Each transformation was seamless. As if they had always been looking at that version.
Her mouth tightened when the figure became a young Arlene, hair untouched by grey, face cold with anger.
Then came Vail.
Kat gasped, and Scarlett felt unease coil in her chest. Arnaud’s brow darkened.
It was like standing before the actual Vail herself.
And finally, the shape shifted into someone Scarlett wasn’t quite sure whether she’d been expecting or not.
Another girl. No older than ten, maybe less. She wore a simple lavender tunic under a black, sleeveless cloak that fell unevenly around the knees. Her dark purple hair hung in soft, uneven strands just past her shoulders, and a large pair of circular glasses magnified wide, curious eyes that glowed a powerful gold. Her face looked innocent, but there was an unsettling stillness to it — like she was listening to something only she could hear.
A young Yamina Ward.
And unlike before, the figure did not change again.
Comments
Boris
This chapter's start is duplicated The reflections materialised all around them, their presence enough to set Scarlett’s party on edge. The memory of their last encounter with The reflections materialised all around them, their presence enough to set Scarlett’s party on edge
Hussar L
Creepy!
