The sun filtered through the tall glass windows of the institute's east wing, casting slanted beams across the polished stone floor. Elara sat in the corner of the research library, her fingers gliding over aged parchment and modern medical manuals alike. Her mind wasn't on the words.
It hadn't been since that morning.
Since him.
The boy with the flame pin.
His voice — low and distant — still echoed in her mind.
> "Because I'm not here by coincidence, Elara."
How could he know her name?
How could he carry that look in his eyes — that sadness, that hope — if they were strangers?
She pressed her fingertips to her temple, trying to focus, trying to breathe. But something deep within her, something ancient and wounded, was stirring.
Footsteps echoed softly between the shelves.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
He moved without hurry, like someone who never feared silence.
He stopped beside her table.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said quietly, his voice like velvet over stone.
"You're not," she lied.
"You left quickly after class."
"I had nothing more to say."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Sometimes silence says enough."
She didn't answer.
He looked down at the open textbook in front of her — a page on rare neurological syndromes caused by alchemical toxins.
"You're preparing ahead of schedule."
"I don't like surprises."
He smirked faintly. "I used to say that too."
She glanced up at him. "Used to?"
He blinked slowly, then turned away. "Forget it."
He didn't leave, though. He sat across from her, flipping open a notebook and clicking a pen. For a few minutes, they worked in tandem — not speaking, not looking at each other, yet aware of every movement the other made.
He was too close.
Too familiar.
And it was driving her mad.
Just as she was about to excuse herself, a sharp chime rang through the institute's loudspeakers.
> "Attention all medical trainees. A live case simulation will begin in the west diagnostics hall in twenty minutes. Attendance is mandatory for all first-year candidates. Teams will be randomly assigned. Failure to participate will result in academic penalty."
Elara stood quickly, gathering her books.
"Looks like we're being thrown into the fire," she muttered.
He followed her. "Some of us were born in it."
She glanced sideways at him. That flame pin on his chest — it wasn't decorative. It was a symbol of something. Something elite.
---
The west diagnostics hall looked more like an operating theater than a classroom. Bright lights, simulation beds, emergency tools — everything was designed to recreate the pressure of real medical crises.
A screen displayed the randomly assigned teams.
Elara scanned for her name.
And froze.
> Team 7: Elara Lin | ???
The rest of the group stared at the board with confusion.
Someone whispered, "Who's the mystery partner?"
A low voice answered from behind her.
> "That would be me."
She turned slowly to find him standing at her shoulder, glancing at the screen without surprise.
Elara stiffened. "This isn't random."
"No," he agreed. "It's fate."
She rolled her eyes. "Or manipulation."
He smiled. "Why not both?"
Before she could retort, Professor Ren entered, followed by a team of senior evaluators.
"Each team will be assigned a simulated patient exhibiting complex symptoms. Your goal is to diagnose and stabilize them within thirty minutes using all available tools. You'll be observed. Judged. Graded."
He looked directly at Elara.
"And some of you will be remembered."
The simulators were activated. Holographic patients appeared on the beds, their symptoms rendered in terrifying detail. Sweating, convulsions, erratic vitals.
Elara and her unwanted partner approached their assigned case: a teenage boy with glassy eyes, shallow breathing, and skin mottled with violet marks.
Poison.
Maybe alchemical.
Maybe fatal.
Without a word, Elara grabbed gloves and activated the diagnostic interface. He was already scanning the patient's nervous system.
"Central nervous responses are slowing," he said, calm as always.
"Look at the discoloration. It's following a vascular pattern," she noted. "This isn't a standard toxin."
"Could be a variant of viper root combined with duskshade extract. That would explain the neurotoxicity."
She glanced at him, surprised. "You've studied forbidden flora?"
"I've lived with worse."
His hands moved quickly, efficiently — no hesitation. He didn't second-guess her theories, nor did he waste time proving he was right. He just… worked with her. Like they'd done it a thousand times before.
Time melted.
When they administered the stabilizer and the patient's vitals leveled, an automated voice declared:
> "Team 7: Success. Time: 23 minutes."
Other students were still scrambling. One team triggered cardiac failure. Another misdiagnosed a fungal reaction.
Elara and her partner stood in silence, breathing heavily as the lights dimmed.
Professor Ren passed by, his eyes lingering on them both.
He didn't say a word.
But he made a note.
---
Later that night, Elara sat alone on the rooftop garden — her escape from the constant eyes and questions below. The city lights stretched out like a galaxy.
She heard footsteps again.
And again, she knew it was him.
He sat beside her on the bench without asking.
"I didn't thank you earlier," she said. "You saved the simulation."
"You would've figured it out on your own."
"I'm not used to working with people."
"I know."
She looked at him, the night breeze catching strands of her hair.
"I need to ask… why do you know me?"
His gaze turned soft — almost mournful.
"I promised I'd find you," he said.
She frowned. "When?"
"In a time you've forgotten. In a place that no longer exists."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, she asked, "What's your name?"
He hesitated.
Then said, "Auren."
Her breath caught.
Auren.
It wasn't a name she remembered — but it felt like one she should.
He stood to leave, offering her a small folded paper before walking away.
She unfolded it slowly.
Inside was a pressed snowdrop — delicate, white.
And a single line written in gold ink:
> "Even in death, I remembered you."
Elara stared at the flower in her hand.
Her heart, long numb, gave a single tremble.