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Aurora pushed the thought away, reminding herself that regret was a useless burden—it weighed like an anvil, but never changed anything. The past couldn’t be altered, so dwelling on it only sapped her energy and messed with her focus.
Dismounting Midnight, she stepped onto the sandy beach. The breeze was soothing and refreshing, and just what she needed to ease the pain that still ached from the night before from not having been able to save the village man. She could still feel his blood on her hands, even though she had scrubbed it all off.
Still, it was reckless of Tristan to have returned. She stopped a few feet away, not trusting that she wouldn’t hit him upside the head if she got too close. “You’re stubborn,” she said, startling him.
He staggered to his feet. “Please,” he said, lifting his hands, “don’t electrocute me again. I come in peace.”
She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t electrocute you because I was threatened. I did it to wake you up.”
“Wake me up?” he asked, sounding interested. “Like a jolt? Is that how everyone leaves this realm?”
Everyone but me. “Yes. It’s the only way,” she said.
He must’ve sensed the edge in her voice because his eyes softened. “I’m sorry to keep intruding into your world. I don’t mean to be a nuisance.”
He was a nuisance, but not for the reasons he might’ve been thinking. His presence was a much-needed break from the horrors she often encountered, but regardless of how warm he made her feel, he was still taking his freedom for granted, and that was what bothered her most.
“What brings you back this time?” she asked, turning away from his soft gaze to look at the man still strolling with his son near the shore.
Tristan followed her line of sight with a heavy sigh. “I’m in desperate need of advice,” he confessed. “I thought maybe if I replayed some of the things my father had said to me, I would find some hidden wisdom somewhere.”
“Have you found anything yet?” she asked.
He shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair.
“I wish there was a way I could talk to him,” Tristan said, watching his father. “I have so many questions.”
“You could,” she said. “But he wouldn’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”
Tristan gave her a side glance. “Is there a way around that?”
“Not with memories, no.” She watched his shoulders sag, and in that moment a lonely cloud covered the bright sun above them. Aurora wasn’t surprised that the elements around them reflected his mood. “Illusions might have a bit more to offer, though.”
Tristan perked up, and the sun immediately peeked out from behind the cloud, brightening the sky once more. The corner of Aurora’s lips curved slightly at how transparent he was. It was refreshing not having to decipher riddles for a change.
“What’s the difference?” he asked eagerly. “Between memories and illusions?”
Aurora scanned the woods behind her, as if merely saying the wordillusionaloud would somehow make things materialize. “Memories are familiar. Events that actually happened and are recreated in fine detail. Illusions, on the other hand, are more abstract.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Take that memory, for example.” Aurora pointed at Tristan’s father in the distance. “If you were to engage with him right now, he would have to respond using words he’d spoken in that precise moment. Nothing different, nothing new. But if that were an illusion…” She arched a brow. “He wouldn’t be restricted to any specific conversation because it never actually happened.”
Tristan’s eyes widened with a mixture of excitement and hope. “Then how do I find an illusion?”
“You don’tfindthem. Youcreatethem. But trust me, you don’t want to do that.”
“Why not? If it has the answers I seek, I must find one,” he insisted. “Tell me, what do I need to do?”
Aurora shook her head, her long, blonde braid draped over one shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I may not understand how this world works, but I came to get answers, and if an illusion of my father is what I have to create in order to get what I need, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Do you think you could just create an illusion, invite it for tea, and get all the answers you want?” she snapped, taking a forceful step toward him. “Illusions are manipulative. They have all access to your mind, they know your weakness, and they will not hesitate to prey on them until you lose your sanity.”
Tristan puffed out his chest. “I’m not afraid.”
“You’re not afraid because you’re notaware,” she explained. “Look around you. This serene beach your mind created is a reflection of just how naive you are. There is no rip current in that ocean, no fallen leaves at the edge of those woods, not even ragged edges on the seashells. Everything on the beach is pure, honest, and unguarded.”
