Chapter 121. Facing the past

(Third Person POV)Later that evening in Elvarion Fortress, after a long, heated session of breeding with some of the elf girls, Asher didn’t head to his quarters for rest. No—his body may have been exhausted, but his mind was burning to learn a thing or two from Elariel, so he followed her to her room.

He wasn’t done for the night. Not until he got what he wanted.

He needed to learn mnemomancy. And when Asher needed something, he didn’t stop until the world bent to give it to him.

The Matriarch was reluctant—visibly so. She knew how dangerous the craft was, how easily it could consume even the strongest minds. But persuasion wasn’t just about words. With Asher, it was in the way he looked at her, the way his energy demanded her attention, the way his presence lingered like a hot breath on the skin.

Eventually, she gave in.

The door shut behind them with a quiet click.

Elariel laid back on her silk sheets, still completely naked. Her long, pale legs crossed lazily, one knee draped over the other, her curves glowing under the faint light of the candle in the room.

Asher sat at the edge of her bed, unbothered by the distraction in front of him. He was used to it by now.

"You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?" she muttered with a sigh, running her fingers slowly through her long hair.

"I’m just fascinated," he said. "The books say mnemomancy isn’t just about peering into memories. It’s deeper. I could speak without words... reach into someone’s mind with telepathy... Maybe even reshape what’s real. That kind of power—I want to understand it."



Elariel’s lips curled into a smile. "Do you even know what memories are, boy?"

He tilted his head. "Aren’t they just... thoughts? Like some kind of mental recordings?"

"Wrong," she snapped, her voice suddenly firmer. "Memories are more than flickers of thought. They’re the scars the world leaves on your soul, and the fingerprints you leave on it in return. Every choice, every moment, every heartbeat... it all etches itself into the weave of reality. That’s memory. Not something you have. Something you leave behind."

He raised a brow, smirking. "Not to sound rude, but that sounds kind of poetic and... confusing. I still have my memories. Haven’t left them anywhere."

She chuckled bitterly. "That.... that is why l say humans can’t study mnemomancy. Your way of thinking is far too basic. You don’t see beyond what’s in your line of vision."

She rolled onto her side, her milk jugs brushing against his arm as she whispered, "The world is covered in memory-strings that are tangled across every object, place, and body. Once you awaken the eye of the mind, you see them. Hear them. Feel them. The laughter, the screams, the sobs.. all of it. And if you’re not strong enough, they’ll drive you insane."

Asher leaned in slightly, captivated. "So... they’re just left behind? Like... ghosts?"

"Strings," she whispered again, this time in her ear, her breath tickling his skin. "They’re never gone. You could find a centuries-old string left behind on a sword... or a bedframe. If you’re powerful enough, you could relive it. And there are millions, no, trillions, of them. Since the beginning of time."

Asher exhaled. "That’s... overwhelming."

Elariel nodded slowly. "And that’s not even the hardest part. To truly master it, you must face your own memories. The darkest ones. The ones that broke you. If you can’t conquer yourself, you’ll never survive mnemomancy."

He blinked. "My own memories? What do you mean—"

Before he could finish the sentence, she placed a finger on his lips—and began chanting in spirit language. In a flash, Asher’s vision drained of color. The world turned grayscale.

And then, he was somewhere else.

A church. His old world.

And standing at the altar... was himself. In a crisp white suit, holding hands with—

"Melissa..." he whispered, his chest tightening.


She looked radiant. Happy.

"Do you, Melissa, take Alex to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?" The pastor asked her, and in front of everyone present. In front of the whole freaking church, she said yes with a smile that used to melt his heart.



Asher remembered every second like it was yesterday. But just as he watched his old self lean in to kiss her, the vision shifted—violently.

Now he stood in his old bedroom. Melissa... was on the bed.

But not alone.

She moaned loudly, her legs locking the garden boy inside of her. Her fingers clawed into the sheets, her cries of pleasure slicing through Asher like knives as the garden boy fucked her mercilessly.

Asher screamed. Lunged at them. But his hands passed through like mist.

A memory. Just a cursed, haunting memory.

He dropped to his knees, and began crying, his tears blurring his vision. Then, the room began to shake violently, flickering in black and white, like the memory itself was rejecting him.

Then he felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

He turned. Elariel stood beside him, glowing faintly. Smiling.

"It’s a memory, Asher! Conquer it! Don’t let it consume you!"

But Melissa’s voice roared louder as their sex slapping sounds intensified. "He couldn’t even satisfy me!" she laughed. "Pathetic little man with a pathetic little dick!!"

That could’ve shattered him. But not this time. Instead, he began to laugh.

Softly at first. Then louder. Deeper. A manic laugh, one born from the edge of madness and the spark of rebirth.

"To hell with this memory," he muttered. "To hell with Melissa."

He closed his eyes and focused—not on the past—but on the present. On Sharon. Anna. Rin. Rose. Tama. Four Eyes. All the women and friends in his new life who actually cared.

Their faces pulled him back.

The memory shattered. The strings unraveled.

He opened his eyes—and he was back in Elvarion. In Elariel’s bed.



The Matriarch turned to him, cupping his cheeks warmly. "Welcome back, boy."

Asher gasped, sweat clinging to his skin. "Did I... do it? Did I conquer it?"

She nodded. "Stronger than I thought. Most humans break. You didn’t."

His eyes gleamed. "So you’ll teach me more?"

Elariel sighed, laying back flat with her back on the bed. "As much as I hate to admit it... you’ve got potential. I’ll teach you a few basics. If tomorrow, you breed my girls like you mean it. It’ll be your fourth day. Six should remain. Plenty of time for lessons."

Asher grinned. "Then I’ll make them scream till the sun rises."

Elariel slipped beneath the covers. "Good. Now go. Close the door behind you."

Asher stepped out, feeling lighter and freer.

He hadn’t realized how much his past still haunted him. But now... he had faced it. Faced her. And won.

Some memories aren’t meant to be buried. They’re meant to be beaten.

Although he would’ve loved punishing her in real life. That bitch doesn’t deserve any forgiveness!

TBC