Aether is it?

It began with a dream.

But it felt like more than that.

The night both Ava and Noctis crossed the 25% Synchronization threshold, they were overwhelmed by the same visceral experience—memories not their own, flooding in as if pulled from a well buried deep inside their bones. The sensations, thoughts, and emotions were too vivid to be fiction.

It wasn't a dream. It was a return.

To a life they had no memory of choosing.

To names that were theirs, yet not: Vale Lumire and Lyra Albert.

Vale Lumire: The Count's Third SonVale was born into the noble House of Lumire, a lineage known for its precision in wielding Vein Aether—a subdiscipline of aether that specialized in augmenting the body's reflexes, nerve control, and fine-motion technique. Though not as flashy as elemental mastery, it was feared among dueling circles for its brutal efficiency.

He was the third and youngest son of Count Vireon Lumire, a stern and calculated man who viewed children as extensions of legacy rather than as people.

Vale's two older brothers—Victor and Damien—were polished reflections of noble virtue: elegant, obedient, and deeply devoted to the Lumire name. Vale, however, was different.

He questioned too much. Laughed too easily. Spoke out of turn and practiced with both hands instead of mastering just one style like tradition demanded. Where his brothers trained under tutors in pristine halls, Vale spent nights in the stables, sparring with mercenary guards who taught him to fight dirty.

His Aether affinity was rare even among his family—a flickering instability, veering between bursts of enhancement and sudden collapse. But he pushed through with stubbornness and a fierce desire to define himself beyond bloodlines and expectations.

He wanted to be someone, not play someone.

He was fifteen when he met her.

Lyra Albert: Daughter of Scandal and SteelLady Lyra Albert was the second child and eldest daughter of Viscount Roland Albert, a noble family known less for military prestige and more for its connections in Aethercrest's historical and diplomatic circles.

Her mother had died when Lyra was young, and her younger brother—an heir too sickly to train—remained largely out of public view. Lyra, then, was groomed to be the strong one. The symbol of pride. The blade to defend her family's name when words failed.

She took to swordplay with a hunger her tutors found unnerving. Her aether manifested in rare, unpredictable pulses—Phase Aether, later coined Shadowshift, a unique variant that allowed momentary intangibility and step-blinks mid-swing. Dangerous. Wild. Brilliant.

Despite her skill, she bore the weight of whispers: that her mother was of common birth. That Lyra's temper came from peasant blood. That she wasn't really noble, no matter how precise her blade.

She internalized it. Sharpened herself against it. Chose silence over softness. Pride over vulnerability.

Until she met him.

When They MetThey were fifteen, attending a summer martial showcase at the estate of Duke Alstrand—a neutral ground where young nobles demonstrated their abilities before academy selection.

It was supposed to be a harmless series of exhibitions. But nobles are rarely content with showmanship. It quickly devolved into a series of high-stakes duels, and Lyra—never one to back down—found herself outnumbered by two heirs from rival houses who didn't like being shown up by "a viscount's bastard daughter."

Before either could draw aether to strike, Vale Lumire cut in—not with grace or formality, but with a flat boot to the first boy's chest, knocking him to the ground.

"You really want to tag-team someone who just blinked behind your shoulder with a sword?"

The second noble backed off.

Lyra didn't thank him. She glared.

"You think I needed help?"

Vale shrugged. "No. I think I needed to kick someone."

An Engagement of Politics and SilenceMonths after the showcase, both families received a formal proposal of engagement.

It was orchestrated in secret—Viscount Albert seeking stronger ties with House Lumire to preserve his weakened political influence; Count Lumire viewing the arrangement as a chance to 'temper' his youngest with a stronger companion.

Neither Lyra nor Vale had been consulted.

When the news was delivered, Lyra said nothing. She trained harder that week, slicing six practice swords in half.

Vale laughed bitterly and muttered, "Figures."

But they didn't reject it.

Somewhere in the storm of family demands and unspoken expectations, something fragile began to grow. They started training together. At first with tension—silent sparring, angry footwork, sharp words. But over time, frustration gave way to rhythm.

They began to understand each other.

Vale saw through Lyra's perfectionism to the exhaustion underneath. The pain of having to be strong all the time.

Lyra saw Vale's recklessness wasn't rebellion—but a longing for someone to see him, not the family name sewn on his back.

Their bond wasn't romantic, not at first. It was forged in survival. Mutual frustration. Late-night conversations in hidden training halls. Shared glances after duels. Their engagement, while still public on paper, became something real in private.

Not a prison. A choice.

A partnership.

Before AethercrestWhen Aethercrest Academy extended its selection letters, both were invited. Top-tier candidates from noble families. Strong individual aether affinity. Records of talent and tactical edge.

But instead of traveling together like most engaged pairs, they arrived separately. Their families had insisted.

And something strange happened upon arrival.

They forgot.

Or rather, something erased the past.

Their bond.

Their names.

Their very selves.

Until now.

Back in the PresentAva and Noctis sat in silence the next morning, both pale and wide-eyed. They hadn't even told each other yet—they simply knew. The dreams had mirrored each other exactly.

He looked at her. She met his eyes.

"…We were engaged," she said softly.

He rubbed his temple. "I was the third son of a count. Vale Lumire. You were Lyra Albert."

Her lips tightened. "And we met at the Alstrand showcase. You kicked a noble for me."

"And you nearly stabbed me the next day," he muttered.

She smiled faintly. "You deserved it."

They sat with it for a while.

The weight. The strangeness. The realization that something more than memory was waking up in them.

Not just skills. Not just aether.

But identity.

Connection.

And maybe—somewhere under all the confusion—fate.