It had been a village once. Bandits had come long ago and had plundered it, slaughtered or carried off the living, and left behind a husk of a town that could only haunt itself.

Curiosity quickened his steps. He walked across the short, grass-clad soil, letting the unfamiliar memories pull him along, turning his head to take in each small sign that insisted this place had mattered before it died.

Soon, he reached a space that resembled a small village square. At its center stood a battered well of old stone.

He approached and leaned in, scanning the rim, and saw a broken wooden bucket set to one side. Inside the bucket lay two peculiar plants.

At first glance, with long, turnip-like bodies, a frill of long green leaves, and trailing roots, they looked like ordinary vegetables. But Adyr knew better; recognition sharpened his focus.

"Hello." He bent closer, smiling as he addressed the two small bodies curled together inside the bucket. The words were enough to stir them. They opened their eyes, fear bright and glassy.

The fear didn’t last. With one quick, fluid motion, they sprang from the bucket. Still holding hands, they ran, making for any direction that led away from the man whose intent they could not read.

Their limbs were thin, root-like strands, and it showed in their speed. They moved so painfully slowly that a small, involuntary laugh slipped from Adyr, caught between pity and curiosity.

"I almost feel bad," he murmured, watching them stumble and fall onto the grassy soil. They rose, tried again, but distance refused them.

Speed had never been the Mindrakes

’ strength. Survival demanded something else from them, and they had it—a peculiar resourcefulness, a set of unique traits the world often overlooked until it mattered.

They fell, got up quickly, and paused just long enough to look at each other. Sorrow flickered in their tiny eyes—a quiet, shared understanding—then choice clicked into place.

One began to run again. The other stayed.

The one who stayed lifted its thin root-arms high, every fiber set with intent. Its small eyes fixed on Adyr, unwavering, as if it had already accepted what price it would pay to buy even a few breaths of escape time for its partner, just enough, if fate allowed, for the other to get away.

Adyr didn’t just see the determination of the Spark; he felt it sink into his bones, a weight that pressed against the deepest corners of his mind.

For a fleeting moment, a question cut through the haze. If he had once carried such resolve, before losing everything, could he have changed his fate? Could anything have been different?

He didn’t know the answer, but that uncertainty didn’t stop him from appreciating the small Spark’s tenacity, its will to live and grow despite its frail form.

The Mindrakes’ innate ability was super regeneration. Even if one died or was destroyed, it could be reborn from the other’s body within days. As long as one escaped, the two shared a limitless future, a promise of rebirth written into their existence.

It was life itself that had sculpted them this way, shaping their evolution through endless cycles of struggle, giving them the power to endure and adapt in a world crawling with predators.

Watching them, Adyr’s thoughts shifted. He remembered the moment not long ago when he had realized he didn’t want to kill Thalira, Brakhtar, or even the other Practitioners. Back then, the realization had been faint, a whisper buried beneath instinct, but now he could hear it clearly.

He was living in an unknown world, and survival alone wasn’t enough. No, if he wanted to thrive, he needed others, even if that meant controlling them, guiding them, manipulating them when necessary.

He wasn’t the same serial killer who once murdered for pleasure, feeding a hunger that had no end. This new life demanded something different of him. He had goals now, larger and colder, and to reach them he would have to reshape not just his surroundings but also his own mind.

When the understanding took hold, the memory dissolved and, once again, the scene changed before his eyes

The first thing that hit him was pressure, thick and suffocating, crushing against his chest until every breath felt like pulling air through stone. Then came the cold, seeping through skin and muscle until it claimed his entire body, freezing him to the marrow.

This must be the memory of the White Shroud, he thought silently. He couldn’t move or speak, only force his eyelids open to see where he was.

He was high in the sky, suspended amid roaring winds that felt sharp enough to tear his body apart. The air itself was death, thin, wild, and merciless. No solid creature should have been able to exist here, and yet Adyr was, feeling every shred of the atmosphere that could so easily kill him.

He knew instinctively that this memory wouldn’t end until he understood it. So he forced his eyes open wider, even as the violent gusts swelled his eyelids like fragile membranes ready to burst. The pressure pushed against his eyeballs until it felt as though they would rip free from their sockets, but he endured, staring through the pain.

And then he saw it.

Amid the chaos of the storm, a small cloud drifted alone, swaying in the deadly wind. But unlike the others, it did not yield. It held its ground, unmoved, anchored deep in the heart of the gale as if defying the storm itself.

At first, Adyr thought it was just another fragment of vapor, content to let the winds dictate its course. But this one was different.

It did not drift; it resisted. The air howled around it, yet it stood steady, an unshaken core amid destruction.

Then, as though it had eyes of its own, the cloud turned toward him. It began to move, sliding against the current with unnatural ease, cutting through the gales as if the storm’s strength meant nothing. It approached him slowly and gracefully, like a curious creature fascinated by the impossible.

Adyr could feel the Spark’s essence before it reached him, an overwhelming sense of freedom, of boundless movement. It feared nothing in this deadly air. It flowed where it wished, unrestrained, its path untouched by the violent currents that tore the sky apart.

As the feelings flooded in, Adyr grew used to the wind; his body eased, the sharp gusts could no longer cut him, and the cold air was no longer enough to freeze his will.

He began to feel his body turning into something flexible yet durable, like a strong wall, solid enough for him to endure the storm.

Above all, a sense of unimaginable freedom rushed through every cell. His eyes opened wide, and he stretched his arms to each side, no longer resisting the deadly currents but swallowing every bit of hardship as if the currents themselves were giving him life.

"Life of a cloud. How fascinating." He felt himself become a cloud at once, letting all the frustrations he had carried be borne away by the harsh winds passing around him.

And then his vision changed again, leaving all the memories behind.