Mathew felt a peculiar weightlessness as his spirit left his body. The world around him blurred, then reformed into a quiet farmstead bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. The air smelled of hay and woodsmoke, and a faint breeze carried the sound of children's laughter.
Ahead of him stood a modest wooden house with a slanted roof and peeling paint. Two boys played nearby, one around seven years old, the other about eleven. They chased each other, their joy infectious. The younger boy shrieked with laughter as the older one teased him, pretending to grab his scarf but never quite succeeding.
Mathew lingered in the shadow of a tree, unsure if they could see him or if he was merely an observer. He tried calling out to them, but no sound left his lips. He was a ghost in this memory—a witness to Alden's past.
A sudden *crack* pierced the air. Mathew turned toward the house just as the front window shattered. Flames erupted, consuming the building with unnatural speed.
The boys froze, their laughter replaced by terrified cries. The older one grabbed his brother's hand, pulling him away from the blaze.
From the doorway, a man and woman stumbled out, their bodies silhouetted by the fire. Smoke curled around them as they collapsed to the ground, only feet from safety.
"Get up!" the older boy screamed, his voice cracking. He let go of his brother and ran toward the fallen figures, but the heat drove him back.
Mathew watched, his chest tightening. *So this is how Alden lost his parents.* He had heard the story before—a tragic gas explosion—but witnessing it was far more visceral. The memory lingered just long enough for Mathew to feel the full weight of the tragedy before dissolving into shadows.
---
The scene shifted, and Mathew found himself in a dim alley. Rain slicked the cobblestones underfoot, and two teenage boys huddled against a wall. One was Alden, older now, his lanky frame tense with fear. The other was a boy Mathew didn't recognize—a younger brother, perhaps?
Three older teens loomed over them, their faces cruel in the flickering light of a nearby streetlamp. One of them barked a command. "Hand it over. Now."
"We don't have anything," Alden said, his voice trembling.
"You think I care?" The leader sneered and shoved Alden against the wall. The younger boy tried to intervene, but a sharp backhand sent him sprawling.
Mathew flinched, wanting to intervene but powerless. He could only watch as the thugs rained blows on the boys. Alden curled protectively around his brother, taking the brunt of the beating.
When the assailants finally left, laughing as they disappeared into the night, Alden struggled to his knees. He turned to his brother, shaking him gently. "Wake up. Please, wake up."
The boy didn't move.
"Alden…" Mathew whispered, his heart breaking. He wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that he had done all he could. But Alden's face twisted with grief and guilt as he clutched his brother's lifeless body.
Mathew turned away, unable to watch any longer.
---
The memory dissolved, replaced by the grand facade of a stately mansion. Mathew recognized it immediately—his family's estate, but years younger, the stone unweathered by time.
Alden stood at the gate, staring up at the building with a mix of awe and hesitation. Behind him, an older man with a kind face placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, lad," the man said gently. "You're one of us now."
Alden followed, his steps hesitant but determined.
Inside, the memories unfolded in quick succession. Mathew saw Alden growing up alongside his father, their bond deepening with each passing year. They weren't just servant and master; they were brothers.
But even amid the warmth of these moments, Mathew felt a cold, creeping loneliness. He was watching a life he had never been part of, a connection he would never fully understand.
---
The estate transformed into a grand ballroom, filled with laughter and music. Mathew's father stood at the altar, beaming as his bride walked down the aisle. Alden was there, standing proudly beside him.
Time moved forward. Mathew watched his parents welcome their first child—a girl.
"A sister?" Mathew whispered, his heart pounding. He had never known. Why had no one told him?
The little girl grew before his eyes, her bright laughter filling the household. But her presence was fleeting.
At a carnival, Mathew saw her clutching a balloon as Alden watched over her. In a moment of distraction, she vanished into the crowd. The balloon floated upward, a mocking reminder of her absence.
Alden searched desperately, calling her name until his voice was hoarse. But she was gone.
Mathew's parents were kind, assuring Alden it wasn't his fault, but he withdrew into himself. Mathew felt the weight of Alden's guilt like a physical force.
---
The memories grew hazier, as if shrouded in fog. Mathew pushed forward, the resistance almost unbearable. But he refused to stop.
Finally, the fog parted, revealing a dimly lit living room. Mathew's father sat on the couch, holding his mother as she wept.
"She's gone," his mother whispered, her voice hollow. "I can't do this anymore."
Mathew's father tried to comfort her, but the grief was too deep. From that day on, the household changed. His mother retreated into her room, and his father buried himself in work.
One evening, a knock at the door interrupted the suffocating silence.
A man and woman stood on the threshold, cloaked in shadows. Their presence was otherworldly—beautiful and haunting.
The man spoke first. "We seek refuge. Please, we have nowhere else to go."
Mathew's father hesitated, but his kindness won out. He invited them in.
As they stepped into the light, Mathew saw their true nature. The man's features were impossibly perfect, his black hair falling in waves. The woman's beauty was ethereal, her eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"We are hunted," the man explained. "For what we've done."
"What have you done?" Mathew's father asked cautiously.
"We fell in love," the man said simply.
The woman stepped forward, cradling a baby. "He is why they hunt us. Our son."
Mathew's breath caught.
"I am an angel," the man said, his voice steady. "And she is a demon. Our union is forbidden, and our child… he is an abomination in the eyes of both The Silver City and Hell."
The angel drew a glowing blade and approached the baby. With a swift motion, he severed the tiny wings on the child's back. No blood spilled, but the sight was still horrifying.
"We entrust him to you," the angel said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Raise him as your own. Keep him safe."
The demon approached Alden, who stood frozen in the corner. She placed a hand on his forehead and whispered a few words. A soft glow enveloped him, and his expression turned blank.
"She erased his memories," Mathew murmured.
The scene faded, leaving Mathew in an empty void. His mind raced with the truth he had uncovered. He was no ordinary man. His blood carried the legacy of both Heaven and Hell.
Then, faintly, he heard a voice. It was soft, sweet, and unmistakably maternal.
"You're there, aren't you, my son? If so, find me where the ground is uneven and where tranquility is often given. I await your arrival."
Before Mathew could respond, he was thrust out of Alden's mind, the force of it like a tidal wave.
---
He gasped as he woke, his chest heaving. His skin was slick with sweat, and every muscle in his body ached.
"You're back," Isabel said softly, her hand steadying his shoulder.
Mathew nodded weakly, his thoughts too scattered to form words.
"What did you see?" Udo asked, his voice filled with curiosity and concern.
Mathew looked at him, then at Isabel, his eyes haunted. "Everything," he said quietly, his eyes darting towards the still unconscious Alden, "will he be alright?"
"He'll wake soon, but he'll need rest." Isabel assured, looking sideways at Alden.
Mathew nodded, his thoughts a tangled mess. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was starting to understand who he was—but the answers had only brought more questions.
Mathew lay back, closing his eyes. The truth was overwhelming, but one thought rang clear in his mind. He had to find her—the voice in the memory, his mother.