First Shelter

The narrow streets twisted and turned as I followed August through a district even more destitute than the one we had visited before. Dilapidated buildings loomed on either side, their facades crumbling and windows boarded up with rotting planks of wood. The air hung heavy with the stench of poverty and despair, mixing with the acrid smell of burning trash from nearby alleys.

"This area's absolute rock bottom," August muttered, his tone dripping with revulsion as he kicked aside a broken bottle. "Nothing to buy, nowhere to trade, not a scrap to eat, no warmth at all. Just filth and criminals everywhere. The kind of place where even rats struggle to survive."

Right then, as if proving his point, a shabby man with sunken eyes and trembling hands shuffled toward August, extending an open palm to beg. August shoved him aside with practiced ease, his expression hardening into something dangerous. "You probably missed it, but that was an attempted pickpocket. And see those two over by that building?" He gestured toward a decrepit wooden structure where two figures lurked in the shadows, their intentions clear in their predatory stances. "They're working with him. If I'd resisted the first guy, those two would've come at me from behind with blades. Classic three-man hustle."

I listened with wide eyes, amazed at August's street smarts and instant recognition of the danger. My head throbbed with uncertainty as I wondered: Had I been like that too? Did I possess the same knowledge of the city's underbelly, buried somewhere in my fractured memories?

"You and I were like that too, once," August said, glancing at me as if reading my thoughts, his blue eyes reflecting a hint of sadness. "We had to survive, and we did what we had to do. Sometimes I wonder if we were any better than them."

We eventually arrived at a strange structure, or rather, what remained of a wooden house. It was almost entirely burned, the charred remnants barely standing against the grey sky. The blackened beams reminded me of broken bones. Suddenly, I heard the familiar whoosh of fire igniting and turned to see August with a small flame dancing in his palm, casting eerie shadows across his face. He looked directly at me, his gaze intense and searching.

For a moment, I thought he might attack, my muscles tensing instinctively, but then a vivid memory surged to the forefront of my mind like a bolt of lightning. We had lived here as children - January, April, July, September, December, and us. The memory was so clear it almost hurt.

This had been our first home after escaping from Professor's training grounds, a sanctuary we'd carved out of nothing. We had spent countless days here, surviving and defending this place from thugs, sharing what little food we could find, and learning to trust each other despite our harsh upbringing.

I recalled a particular day when August had come to us with a suggestion, his red hair wild and his eyes bright with possibility. "Maybe we should try to unite our fire and wind and create a fire tornado," he had said, his eyes gleaming with excitement, already imagining the destruction we could cause together. "Think about it - your wind, my flames. We'd be unstoppable."

The memory pulled me deeper, and I found myself nodding to August's wild suggestion. My hands moved through familiar motions as wisps of wind gathered around us. The air currents twisted and danced, merging with August's flames. The fire grew, spinning faster and faster, feeding off my wind magic until it became a brilliant vortex of orange and red.

August's face lit up with pure joy. "This is amazing! Let's make it bigger!"

Before I could protest, he poured more mana into the flames. The fire tornado swelled, breaking free from our control. Heat blasted against my face as the inferno latched onto the dry wooden walls of our home. The structure ignited like kindling, flames racing up the sides and devouring everything in their path.

"Run!" I grabbed August's arm and yanked him toward the door. We burst outside, gasping for air as our home collapsed behind us in a shower of burning timber and ash.

The memory released its grip, bringing me back to the present moment. I stared at the burned-out shell of our old house, understanding flooding through me. "You and I burned it..."

August's flame winked out as his lips curved into a knowing smile. "I did. You were controlling your powers just fine. I burned it." He shrugged, but I could see the old guilt lingering in his eyes.

"Everyone thinks other folks were behind burning down our house," August whispered under his breath. Regret flickered across his features, matching the guilt churning in my stomach like a nest of writhing snakes. "Just us two know what actually happened, and you've proven you're definitely yourself. I apologize for questioning that earlier."

He flashed a grin, all teeth and barely contained fire, before striking one of the scorched supports with his boot. It disintegrated under his foot, sending a shower of charred splinters into the ash-covered ground. "I was terrified of everyone's hatred, and you promised to conceal what happened. You succeeded brilliantly, and the following day we were pummeling those criminals - they had it coming, sure, but our motives weren't pure. We both know that."

His penetrating stare bore into me, probing beneath my skin like hot needles. "Still, you kept us safe, held the team together when it could've fractured into a thousand pieces. I'm grateful for that, more than you know. Initially, I questioned your methods, thought we were becoming no better than criminals ourselves. But looking back, I see you were just doing whatever it took to survive, even when it meant getting your hands dirty and your conscience stained."

He faced the ruins again, muscles rigid beneath his clothes, tension radiating from every line of his body. "Then you vanished without a trace. Our approach shifted while our allies stayed constant, but something vital was missing. Now you're back, transformed into someone I barely recognize. That's why I need you to recall how things were, to become your old self again, regardless of what others claim about your past. Our people - everyone - needs that ruthless version of you, the one who could make the hard choices when no one else would."

His statement crushed me with its implications, settling like a lead weight in my chest. This went beyond a torched building or hidden wrongs - it concerned my former identity and possible future self, pieces of a puzzle I couldn't quite fit together. The person in August's description seemed cold and possibly merciless, yet deeply committed to protecting our improvised clan at any cost. The thought both terrified and intrigued me.

"I... I am not sure that this will happen," I said, my voice wavering as the weight of August's words settled upon me. The newly formed memories swirled in my mind, each one a puzzle piece clicking into place, gradually restoring my sense of self. With every recovered fragment, I felt a surge of confidence, a glimmer of the person I once was. But the question remained: would I ever be the same as before?

I met August's gaze, determination burning in my eyes. "I will always try to protect our family. And I won't let you down. Methods and I may change, but we will achieve our victory." I stepped closer to August, extending my hand in a gesture of solidarity. "You and I were always about fighting. I remember that, at least, and I don't think that it will change, but we may need to revise how we are progressing."

A flicker of hope danced in August's eyes as he regarded me, searching for the friend he once knew. I held his gaze steadily, my voice ringing with newfound conviction. "I am sure we will achieve our dreams."

Suddenly, a sharp slap echoed through the air as August's hand collided with mine in a firm handshake. His grip was strong, a testament to the battles we had fought together and the bond we shared. "All I needed to know," he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

In that moment, standing amidst the ashes of our past, I felt a spark of the old camaraderie reigniting between us. The path ahead was uncertain, and the challenges we faced were daunting, but with August by my side and the support of our unconventional family, I knew we could face anything.

"So, let's go to Tusk?" August's voice broke through my contemplation of the ruined house.

"I will come with you, but then I need... to attend another place," he added with an air of mystery.

"Sure, let's go." I didn't press him for details. Some things were better left unquestioned, especially with August.

We turned away from the burned shell of our past home, leaving behind the charred memories and childhood mistakes. The crunch of our boots on the debris-strewn ground marked our departure from a chapter long closed. Those victories and failures belonged to different versions of ourselves - young, desperate kids fighting to survive in a world that showed no mercy.

What mattered now wasn't the ash-covered remnants of our past, but the path ahead. The future demanded our attention, required us to forge ahead with new purpose and direction. The weight of recovered memories settled into place like puzzle pieces, but they didn't define who we would become.

As we navigated the winding streets toward Tusk's tavern, I felt lighter somehow. Understanding my history with August had cleared away some of the fog in my mind. The person I was becoming might be different from who I'd been, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Progress meant change, and change meant growth.