He told himself he did not think about her.
He did not say her name.
He did not return to the market.
He did not look toward the district where visitors from other cities lodged.
He trained.
He fought.
He bled.
But something was wrong.
The void felt farther away.
Or perhaps he felt less willing to fall into it.
The first memory came without permission.
He was walking past the old tannery — long abandoned now — when the smell hit him.
Rot.
Salt.
Wet leather.
And suddenly—
Lantern light flickering against brick.
A younger version of himself sitting on the broken steps, knees pulled to his chest.
Beside him—
Her.
"Elira," he heard himself say.
The name felt strange on his tongue.
In the memory, she was laughing.
"You look like you're planning to rob a king," she told him.
"I'd settle for bread," he replied.
"You already stole bread."
"Then I'll steal better bread."
She had bumped her shoulder against his.
"You're going to get killed one day."
"Not today."
She studied him then, more serious.
"Promise me something," she said.
"What?"
"If you ever get strong enough to leave this place… don't become like them."
"Like who?"
"The ones who step over us."
He had thought about that for a long time.
"I won't," he had said.
The memory fractured.
He was back in the present.
Standing alone.
Breathing harder than he should have been.
The promise felt distant.
Like something made by another person.
Another memory surfaced later that night.
Rain.
Cold and relentless.
They had been fifteen.
He had given her his coat.
"You'll freeze," she said.
"I'm not that cold."
"You're shaking."
"I shake dramatically."
She rolled her eyes and shoved half the coat back over his shoulders so they both wore it awkwardly.
They had walked like that through flooded streets, pretending it was an adventure instead of misery.
At one point she slipped.
He caught her.
She had laughed — breathless, soaked, radiant despite everything.
"See?" she said. "You're good at something."
"What?"
"Catching people before they hit the ground."
The memory lingered longer this time.
Long enough to hurt.
Not sharply.
But dull.
Persistent.
He killed a man two days later.
An enforcer from the dockside gangs.
The fight was quick.
Efficient.
The man fell with a broken neck.
Jullius stood over him, waiting for the usual stillness to settle inside his chest.
It didn't.
Instead—
He remembered rain.
Shared coats.
Broken steps behind the tannery.
He stepped back from the body.
Uncertain.
The absence inside him felt… thinner.
As if something had cracked.
He pressed a hand to his chest.
The second heartbeat was still there.
Slow.
Patient.
But it no longer felt as close to the surface.
More memories came.
Small ones.
Not dramatic.
Not important.
Her teaching him how to read old academy scraps she'd stolen from refuse piles.
Him pretending not to understand just to hear her explain it again.
The way she used to scold him when he fought over nothing.
"You think strength is everything," she had told him once.
"It is."
"No," she'd said. "It's just loud."
They had argued.
He remembered that now.
Remembered losing.
And not minding.
He tried to picture her face the way it had been before she left.
This time—
It came clearer.
Not perfect.
But closer.
Freckles.
Sharp eyes.
The way her brow furrowed when she was thinking too hard.
He inhaled slowly.
Something inside him shifted.
A warmth.
Faint.
Unfamiliar.
The void stirred in response.
Distant.
Observing.
He found himself back at the canal market without deciding to go there.
Lanterns swayed gently in evening wind.
Voices rose and fell in casual rhythm.
Life.
Messy.
Uncontrolled.
He stood still in the crowd.
Watching.
A child ran past him and nearly collided with his leg.
Once, he would have ignored it.
This time—
His hand moved automatically.
Steadying the boy before he fell.
Catching him.
The child blinked up at him.
"Thanks."
And ran off.
Jullius stood frozen.
The memory of rain pressed gently against his mind.
You're good at something.
He exhaled.
The sensation inside his chest deepened slightly.
Not power.
Not hunger.
Something else.
Fragile.
The second heartbeat pulsed once.
Harder.
As if irritated.
The warmth flickered.
But did not vanish.
That night, he did not choose to die.
For the first time in months—
He avoided it.
He lay awake in the dark instead.
Memories rising and falling like distant tides.
Hardship.
Hunger.
Cold.
Yes.
But also—
Shared bread.
Shared laughter.
Shared defiance against a world that wanted them small.
He had once wanted more than strength.
He had wanted out.
For both of them.
He had wanted—
The thought blurred.
Not erased.
Just incomplete.
He turned onto his side.
The city breathed outside his window.
Deep within him, the vast presence remained.
Watching.
Calculating.
The material was fluctuating.
Anomaly detected.
Jullius stared into the dark.
And for the first time since he began to rise—
He felt something dangerously close to regret.
He did not know why.
He did not say her name.
But somewhere beneath the iron and bone and borrowed power—
Something human was trying to remember how to beat.