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Atlas stepped closer to the boys, looking back at me and then at the children again. “This isn’t a memory. I don’t remember this.”
Past swooped forward, an unearthly smile on a face that wasn’t hers. “No one said I had to use your memories.”
With a tick in his jaw, Atlas turned back.
“What if it were you? What if your father said you couldn’t come home? Would you want to be stuck up here all by yourself?” Bastian asked.
“My father would never turn me out.”
“Why didn’t you raise your hand?” Atlas ran his fingers through his hair, dropping to a knee before the boys. His voice softened as if the child he’d once been had spoken, instead of the towering man.
“You could have raised your hand and gone home,” Bastian said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I don’t want to leave Atty by himself. I don’t want to miss Solstice, but I wouldn’t want him to be alone.”
“That’s the spirit,” the young king said, clapping the boy on his back. “It’ll be fun. We’ll make it fun.”
Again, the world shifted. Daytime with Torryn overlooking all the boys, minus Atlas.
“He’ll be done soon. He bathes faster than all of you. Tie your knots. Quickly,” young Torryn said.
The children chattered, rushing through the final knots on whatever craft they were making. A small white wolf emerged from the tree line, holding a towel clenched between his teeth. I gasped. Even as a pup, he was stunning. Hair nearly fading into the banks of snow surrounding him. Regal and mischievous. I stumbled forward, enraptured by the beauty of the little beast. Atlas rose, eyes locked on his former self. Excitement grew on the faces of the little ones as they packed in tight, hiding what they’d been working on behind their backs.
“Off to dress now, Atty. Be quick about it. We’ve got chores, and you’re falling behind.”
The wolf sprinted into a tent and emerged a dressed boy in just a few minutes. His shift-mates had wrapped their project in brown paper, and I couldn’t help my smile as I watched grown-Atlas’ face looking down at all the children that must have had such a special impact on his life.
“We made you something,” Bastian said, stepping away from the group.
“It’s a blanket,” another shouted, too excited to hold in the surprise for a second longer.
“Why?” that innocent little voice asked.
“Because when we go home, we will all have a Solstice gift waiting. And just because your dad’s a prick, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve one, too.”
The rest of the kids snickered, but Torryn cleared his throat. “Your highness?”
Bastian turned, swiping black hair from his face. “What? I didn’t lie, did I?”
“Watch his eyes,” Atlas whispered from beside me, jutting his chin toward Torryn. “There, did you see it?”
I should have told him I could feel the pride. I didn’t need to see it, but I didn’t bother. Instead, I shared a smile with the broken soul and left it.
As the vision melted, Atlas turned to Past. “Okay, this isn’t so bad. For a punishment.”
I held my breath as she crept across the space, staring at him with preternatural stillness. “This was not your lesson, boy. This was only the starting point of your loneliness.”
4
Breathing became a chore as I watched Atlas’ face turn from annoyed acceptance to utter disbelief when a log cabin appeared around us. The round wooden planks forming the walls held no dust, and the floors covered in faded rugs were spotless. A calming sense of someone’s warm home settled over me, nestled within the careful folds of the blanket hanging over a rocking chair and the smell of freshly baked bread. Atlas spun, running for the door, but his hands passed through the knob. I wished that escape for him more than he did, I thought. But there would be no ending to this. Not until Past had taught her lesson.
“I can’t be here,” he murmured. “This… Not here.”
The door slammed open, flying through him as if he were a wraith, and a younger version of him stepped into the small cabin. “Mother? I’m home.”
“Back here, Atty,” a sweet voice called. “Stomp the snow from those boots before you traipse it through my house.”
“I remember this day, too,” Atlas said, studying the pelt of a bear that his teenage form had dropped onto the table near the door. “Don’t do it.” He stormed across the room, stopping in front of younger Atlas. “He won’t feel pride. Walk away.”
