Areal Devyn decided, with complete certainty, that sticking around was a terrible idea.
Unfortunately, the woman standing three feet away—arms crossed, foot tapping, eyes sharp enough to peel paint—clearly had other plans.
They stood in the alley in silence, surrounded by unconscious attackers and broken brick dust. Somewhere far away, a siren wailed. Somewhere closer, a rat scurried over a dropped dagger.
Areal shifted his weight.
"So," he said cautiously, "I'm thinking we go our separate ways, pretend this never happened, and I never sprint into mysterious women ever again."
She stared at him.
The kind of stare that suggested she was deciding whether knocking him unconscious would simplify her life.
"No," she said.
"…No?"
"No."
"That's not really a full explanation."
"I don't owe you one."
"Fair," Areal admitted. "But I would like one."
She stepped closer. Areal resisted the urge to step back—barely.
"Those men weren't random," she said. "And they weren't after me."
Areal frowned. "What makes you so sure?"
"They didn't look at me once until I hit them."
"Okay, rude but accurate."
She pointed at his chest.
"They were tracking you."
Areal stared at her finger, then at her face. "That's impossible. I don't have enemies. I don't even have friends who would commit to stalking."
She didn't laugh.
That worried him.
She crouched beside one of the attackers and yanked the man's sleeve up, exposing a glowing symbol burned into his forearm. It pulsed faintly, like embers struggling to stay alive.
Areal swallowed.
"Yeah… that's not a gym tattoo."
"No," she said. "It's a soul-mark."
He blinked. "A what."
She looked up sharply. "You don't know?"
"I don't know anything," he snapped. "I work retail. My biggest concern yesterday was whether my manager would notice I was ten minutes late."
Her jaw tightened.
"That makes this worse."
"Oh good," Areal said. "I was worried we'd run out of things to panic about."
She stood and dusted off her hands.
"People with soul-marks don't hunt random nobodies," she said. "They hunt reincarnated assets."
Areal stared.
"…You're messing with me."
"I don't joke."
"That's tragic, honestly."
She ignored him.
"If they found you," she continued, "it means someone has identified your soul-signature."
Areal felt cold.
"My… what?"
Before she could answer, the air shifted.
Not visibly. Not loudly.
Just enough.
The faint warmth from earlier—the unwanted glow—flickered between them again.
Both of them stiffened.
"Don't," she warned.
"I didn't do anything!"
"Your existence counts."
The light flared brighter.
A sharp, invisible pressure slammed into Areal's skull.
Suddenly—
He wasn't in the alley anymore.
He stood on a battlefield soaked in rain and blood. Lightning tore the sky open. Soldiers screamed. Banners burned.
And there she was.
Different armor. Different scars.
The same eyes.
She was pointing a blade at his throat.
Hate burned in her expression—raw, absolute, ancient.
"You should have stayed dead," she snarled.
Areal gasped—
—and staggered back into the alley, crashing into a dumpster.
He retched dryly, chest heaving.
"Okay," he choked. "Okay. Nope. Nope. We're done. Whatever this is, I want a refund."
She didn't look much better. One hand braced against the wall, breath uneven, knuckles white.
"That wasn't a dream," she said quietly.
"I KNOW."
"That was a memory."
Areal dragged a hand down his face.
"Cool. Love that for us."
She rounded on him.
"This is your fault."
"HOW is this my fault?!"
"Because you're the variable," she snapped. "I've lived this life quietly. No flashes. No bleed-throughs. No idiots crashing into me."
"Wow. I risk my life and still get insulted."
She took a sharp breath, visibly forcing herself to calm down.
"The bond is destabilizing," she said. "Which means it's active."
Areal frowned. "Bond. That thing again. You keep saying it like I should know what it is."
"You shouldn't," she said. "Which is the problem."
She glanced down the alley, then back at him.
"Come with me."
Areal laughed. A short, humorless sound.
"No."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"No," he repeated. "You've insulted me, assaulted three people, blamed me for reality malfunctioning, and now you want me to follow you somewhere?"
"Yes."
"Hard pass."
She stared at him like he'd just spoken an alien language.
"You don't understand," she said slowly. "If you stay here, more hunters will come."
"Then I'll call the police."
"They won't help."
"I'll scream."
"They'll kill you."
"I'll hide."
"They'll find you."
Areal folded his arms.
"You're doing a terrible job selling this."
Her patience snapped.
She grabbed his shirt, yanked him close, eyes blazing.
"You don't get it," she hissed. "You and I have killed each other across multiple lifetimes. Empires burned because we couldn't coexist. Entire wars started because one of us refused to back down."
Areal's heart hammered.
"And now," she continued, "we're tied together by something neither of us asked for. So yes—you're coming with me, because if you don't, you'll be dead before sunset."
Silence.
Areal searched her face.
Not for kindness.
Not for reassurance.
For lies.
He didn't find any.
"…Fine," he muttered. "But if this ends with a cult ritual, I'm haunting you."
She released him.
"Good," she said flatly. "You'll be familiar with haunting."
They moved fast.
Out of the alley. Through side streets. Across a crowded marketplace where Areal struggled to keep up as she navigated with military precision.
"Do you ever slow down?" he panted.
"No."
"Do you ever explain things?"
"No."
"Do you ever—"
She stopped abruptly.
Areal nearly slammed into her again.
She lifted a hand.
"Quiet."
They stood at the edge of a plaza. People passed by laughing, shopping, living completely normal lives.
In the center of the square stood a stone fountain.
Carved into its base was a familiar symbol.
The same one burned into the attackers' arms.
The same one Areal now felt itching under his skin.
Her voice dropped.
"They're marking territory."
Areal swallowed.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," she said grimly, "that someone remembers us."
His stomach sank.
"Someone… from before?"
She nodded once.
"And if they remember," she added, eyes dark, "they won't stop until one of us is dead."
Areal stared at the fountain, at the innocent people walking past it, completely unaware they were standing on a reincarnated battleground.
"…We really don't like each other, do we?"
She didn't hesitate.
"No."
"Great," Areal muttered. "Because apparently destiny has a sick sense of humor."
The bond pulsed again—faint, irritated, undeniable.
She turned away.
"Come on," she said. "We don't have much time."
Areal followed, dread settling deep in his chest.
Whatever they had been to each other before—
Enemies. Killers. Rivals.
That history wasn't finished with them yet.
And it was waking up fast.