~~Narration~~
The past has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect. The smallest thing- the way someone moves their hair, a certian scent, an innocuous phrase- can bring forth a rush of memory and emotion, both good and bad.
~~~
Thëodine sat at the small desk in his bedroom, a leather-bound book open before him. He had given up on reading it some time earlier- words on parchment were hardly enough to clear his mind of what had happened.
He had been shot.
He nearly died.
He should've died.
As those words played in his head, he was suddenly taken back home. Not in Regalia, but to his true home. The home he couldn't return to. The small buildings around him were awash with flame, the shouts and cries of the Skinwalker's pack- his family- echoing through the crackle of the fire, before being cut short by the sting of a Darkwald's blade.
He hadn't felt these memories this strong in some time. It was nearly two decades ago, but tonight it felt fresh in the Cielothar's mind. The attack in the Nook had brought him back there. A lone Darkwald entering, and firing her Puretek into his chest without so much as a word. It was as though the past had literally caught up to him, and aimed to reunite him with his family.
He put a hand to his chest instinctively; no mark had been left, and the physical pain had long since departed, but the numbness that followed lingered. He let out a deep sigh, as he closed his forgotten book and made his way to his bed.
Thoughts of home awaited him in his sleep.
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