The Extra's Transcension

It began with a smell.

Not fire. Not ash. Not even blood.

Roses.

The scent drifted up from nowhere, thick and cloying, unwelcome in the dawn air. Ember jolted awake, heart racing, lungs tight. Her fingers clutched the hilt of her dagger before she realized she wasn't under attack.

Not physically.

She glanced toward the others. Ash sat cross-legged by the dying campfire, tracing sigils in the dirt with the end of a charred stick. Eila dozed nearby, wrapped in a rough wool blanket, her journal clasped to her chest like a lifeline.

But the roses persisted.

She hadn't smelled roses in years.

Not since…

"Ember."

The voice came from behind her, familiar in a way that made her skin crawl. She spun fast, blade in hand, but no one was there. Just the wind, brushing gently through the trees.

Then again…

"Ember."

She froze.

This time it came from the treeline.

Not a whisper.

A woman's voice.

Warm.

Kind.

Her mother's.

No, she thought. You're dead. You died in the fire.

But there, just between the trunks, stood a flickering silhouette.

Her mother's dress. Her mother's hair.

And her mother's smile.

Not the strained smile she wore when food was running low. Not the trembling one that came the night before everything burned.

This smile was serene. Serene and wrong.

Ember backed up a step.

Her boot struck something.

She looked down.

It was a child's doll, half-burned, missing an eye.

It shouldn't be here.

But it was hers. From her childhood. She hadn't seen it since…

The forest warped.

Suddenly she was no longer at the edge of the village.

She was back home.

Old wooden floors under her feet.

A low fire crackling in the hearth.

Shadows on the walls, dancing like old friends.

And in the kitchen, her mother humming.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Like the fire had never taken her.

Like Ember hadn't killed a man to escape the people who came afterward.

"No," Ember whispered, eyes wide.

But her body wasn't moving.

It was… warm. Safe. Familiar.

Too familiar.

The floor creaked behind her. She turned, too slowly.

A man stood there. Pale eyes. Crooked smile. The one who'd betrayed them.

The one who let the raiders in.

But this time, he looked different.

Softer.

"Ember," he said, gently. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I was scared. We all were."

Her knife was in her hand again. She could see it. Feel the weight.

But her arm wouldn't move.

"Please," he said. "Stay. We can fix it. We can go back."

He held out a hand.

And for one horrifying second…

She wanted to take it.

Because if she did, it would all stop. The pain. The running. The guilt.

She could just stay in this memory that wasn't real.

But then…

A light.

Bright. Sharp. Unyielding.

A flare of gold etched with silver.

A sigil.

Ash.

The illusion cracked.

Not all at once.

But enough.

She felt the tension leave her fingers.

The knife dropped.

She fell to her knees, the world shattering around her in jagged fragments of broken past.

The fire vanished.

The man dissolved into smoke.

The house collapsed into nothing.

And Ember screamed, not in fear, but in fury.

The scent of roses curdled into rot.

The Mindweaver's laughter echoed from everywhere and nowhere, like wind between gravestones.

Ash was kneeling beside her as she came to. His hand on her shoulder. His face unreadable.

"You were caught," he said quietly.

Ember coughed. "How long?"

"Minutes," Eila said, appearing behind him, pale. "But your eyes… they went white."

Ash frowned, his voice lower now. "It didn't just trick you. It pulled you in. Deep."

Ember didn't speak.

She couldn't.

The images still burned behind her eyes.

Her mother.

The man.

The false peace.

It had been so close to feeling real.

Ash helped her sit up, gently but without pity.

He didn't say anything for a while.

Then, "What did it show you?"

She shook her head. "My home. My mother. The man who got her killed."

Ash looked at her. "Did you speak to them?"

"Yes," she admitted. "And I wanted to believe it."

Eila knelt across from them. "It's learning. Adapting to each of us."

Ash nodded grimly. "This is how it fights. Not with teeth. With threads. It unravels us from the inside, one memory at a time."

Ember clenched her jaw. "Then we don't give it space. We don't sleep unwarded again."

Ash hesitated.

Then quietly: "What if it already touched more than we realized?"

Ember looked at him. "What do you mean?"

He looked down at the sigil he'd drawn in the dirt earlier, one Ember hadn't recognized.

"It tried something similar before," he said. "Back when I stepped through the last shard. It offered me versions of myself. Places I could hide. Truths that weren't true."

"And you resisted," Ember said.

"I thought I did," Ash admitted. "But how can I be sure the version of me that resisted wasn't just one it wanted me to believe in?"

Silence.

It was Eila who spoke first.

"We write. We remember. Out loud. Together. Every day. Even if it's small. We anchor each other. That's how we win."

Ash met her gaze. "That may not be enough."

Ember finally stood, wiping dirt from her knees.

"Then we fight smarter."

Ash glanced up at her.

She looked tired.

Frightened.

But resolved.

And beneath that, something else, cracks in a mask he hadn't realized she wore.

Not weakness.

History.

Pain no fire could burn clean.

He nodded.

"We'll hold the line."

And though none of them said it…

They knew.

The Mindweaver wasn't done.

This was only the first ripple in a storm of memories yet to come.

Then again her mind becomes...…

*****

It wasn't the silence of peace — it was the silence of waiting.

The kind of stillness before a match strikes.

And Ember knew she was dreaming.

Or being forced to dream.

The forest melted around her into a canvas of shifting gray, and then, it took form.

The streets were narrow.

The stones slick with rain.

And a bell tolled softly in the distance, muffled as if underwater.

Her old village.

Before it burned.

Before she did.

She stood at the edge of a courtyard where she used to chase her brothers. The clay pots along the stone walls were filled with lavender. Not roses, like before. This was a real memory.

"Em?"

A small voice called out behind her.

She turned.

And there she was, herself. No older than seven. Barefoot, clutching a stick like a sword. Smudges on her cheeks. Eyes too bright for the world she lived in.

"You're late," the child said. "Ma's gonna be mad."

Ember stepped forward slowly. "You shouldn't be here."

The child frowned. "Why not? It's home. It's ours."

A shadow passed across the sun.

And Ember felt the warmth bleed out of the memory.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know how to protect us."

The child blinked. "What are you talking about?"

But Ember was already walking.

The village shifted with every step. Homes became hazy and indistinct, like paper left in rain. Faces blurred. But the feelings stayed sharp, the smell of baking bread, the soft murmur of gossip, the ache in her legs from carrying water.

And then…

She saw him.

Tall. Charismatic. Wrapped in robes that shimmered unnaturally. The outsider who came when the crops failed. Who offered solutions.

And asked little in return.

At first.

Her father had believed in him.

Many had.

Even Ember had, she was thirteen, angry, and desperate to feel strong.

The man gave her words. Ancient ones. Sigils to draw. Fire that danced for her fingertips.

He made her feel seen.

And so she defended him when others grew wary.

She said, "He's teaching us."

She said, "He wants to help."

She didn't see the cages until it was too late.

Didn't hear the screams.

Didn't know the symbols were binding spells, not protection charms.

Until the doors were locked.

Until people vanished.

Until her mother went quiet and never smiled again.

The memory skipped forward.

Ashes fell from the sky.

Her hands were burned. Her arms covered in blood, not her own.

She was running.

Running with her little brother's hand in hers.

He stumbled.

She stopped.

Turned.

And the man was there, behind them.

That same smile.

"You have power," he'd said, gently. "Come with me, Ember. Leave this place. I'll make you more than just a scared girl."

Her brother coughed.

The smoke was thick.

Her heart shattered.

And she made a choice.

One she'd never speak of again.

She turned.

And with a scream that came from somewhere below her soul…

She set the whole damn world on fire.

Flames burst from her palms, raw and unformed, destroying everything, even what she loved.

Especially what she loved.

Her brother.

Gone.

The man?

He vanished into smoke, laughing.

She thought he was dead.

But he wasn't.

The Mindweaver had been there the whole time.

Not in body. But in voice. In whispers. Feeding off desperation.

"Your pain makes such good kindling," it cooed from the dark now.

Ember collapsed to her knees.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and fast.

"Why show me this?" she growled. "Why now?"

"Because you buried it," the Mindweaver purred. "And you can't kill what you won't face. You think you've healed. But you've just forgotten."

The memory twisted again.

She was standing in a mirror now, staring at her adult self.

Scars on her neck.

A look in her eyes she didn't recognize.

"Is this who you are now?" the Mindweaver asked. "A killer pretending to be a protector? You burned your home. You doomed your blood. And now you let this boy follow you around like he matters?"

Ash.

He appeared behind her in the mirror.

Looking at her, not with fear.

But with understanding.

She turned away. "He's not yours to use against me."

"Oh," the Mindweaver laughed, echoing. "But he's perfect. So bright. So certain. You're drawn to that warmth like a moth. But what happens when he sees the real you?"

The scene changed again.

Ash, wounded. Back turned. Walking away.

"You'll lose him," the Mindweaver hissed. "Like you lost them all. And when you do… you'll burn again."

Ember screamed.

And with that scream, the dream cracked.

Gold light lanced through the scene, a sigil flaring in the real world, anchoring her.

Ash's voice.

"Come back, Ember. You're stronger than this. You're not alone anymore."

She took a breath.

And then another.

And when she opened her eyes, she was back.

Ash was holding her shoulders. Face pale. Voice trembling.

"You were gone for too long."

She blinked. "How long?"

"An hour," Eila whispered. "You started… speaking in tongues. Then crying. Then you stopped breathing."

Ash didn't let go. Not right away.

Neither did she.

"I saw everything," she said. "Everything I wanted to forget."

"Then it can't hold it against you anymore," he said.

She didn't believe that.

Not yet.

But the fire inside her didn't feel as wild now.

It felt... honed.

And for the first time, she didn't flinch from it.

She met Ash's eyes. "If I fall again, kill me."

He shook his head. "No."

"Promise me."

"I won't," he said. "Because I'll catch you."

She looked away, but something broke in her chest at those words.

Not in a painful way.

In a necessary one.

The Mindweaver had tried to make her hate herself.

But instead, it had shown her how far she'd come.

And that might be the first step to winning.

Even if the scars still bled sometimes.

*****

A/N: If you guys experiencing a similar situation or scenes or moments happening two times. Its intentional... It will reveal...