I separated from Luke with a gasp, chills racing through my soul. That hadn't been my memory. I'd never held a sword before, not without fate itself twisting to take it from me. And yet I could still feel the soldiers' blood giving weight to a blade I'd never touched, and slicking gauntlets I'd never worn.
Luke...I stared at the tangled, faded soul surrounding me. Was that how Luke remembered us meeting? Had he come all that way just for a glimpse?
I shuddered at the memory of the anger and pain. He was steeped in it, so much so I couldn't believe it didn't suffocate him. Or maybe it did. How else could you live when you couldn't even see someone without wanting to tear their life out with your bare hands? How could anyone person carry so much hurt, darkness, and hatred?
