Page 34 of Never Quite Gone

None of us could know how it would end. None of us could see the threads of destiny already beginning to weave their tragic pattern. For now, there was only this: hands steady with sacred purpose, hearts beating in ancient rhythm, and a bond between souls that felt older than time itself.

The battle horns sounded again, calling us back to our eternalwork. Alexandros raised his sword, sunlight blazing along its length like divine fire. Valerius gathered his medicines, his prayers already beginning. And I... I stood between them, herbs staining my fingers, feeling the weight of both martial and divine power flowing through our united purpose.

Together, we descended the temple steps to meet whatever fate awaited. Together, we would face the day's battles, heal its wounds, honor its sacrifices. Together, we were more than just warrior, healer, and priest – we were something ancient and powerful, something that even death itself would struggle to break.

My hands shook as I fumbled for the bedside lamp, each breath too loud in the quiet darkness. The clock's LED display read 3:17 AM, its red numbers harsh against the softer glow of city lights through my window.

I needed water. Needed to wash away the lingering taste of copper and dust that felt too real to be just a dream. My feet carried me toward the kitchen on autopilot while my mind remained half-caught in ancient Greece.

Which is why it took several heartbeats to register that the kitchen light was already on. That someone sat at my counter like they belonged there, like this was any normal night instead of an impossible moment that threatened everything I thought I knew about reality.

Alex looked perfectly at ease in my kitchen at 3 AM, two steaming cups of tea placed precisely on the granite counter before him. His suit was as impeccable as always, though the jacket draped over one of my chairs spoke of a casualness that felt strangely intimate. The scene should have been alarming – a man in my apartment in the middle of the night – but instead it felt... familiar. Like something we'd done a thousand times before.

“You remember the battle now,” he said quietly, pushing one of the cups toward the empty seat beside him. Not a question. Not even really a statement. Just simple acknowledgment of truth we both knew.

My hands gripped the doorframe as reality seemed to tilt sideways. I should call security. Should demand explanations. Should feel threatened by this invasion of my space. Instead, I found myself noticing how the kitchen light caught his eyes, turning them the exact shade of the Aegean in my dream. No, not dream. Memory.

“How did you get in?” The words came automatically, but we both knew that wasn't the real question. Not even close.

Alex's smile held warmth and ancient knowing as he replied, “The same way I always have.”

The words should have sounded like nonsense. Like the ravings of a madman. Like something that would send me running for my phone to call the police. Instead, they resonated with the truth of that battlefield still fresh in my mind – of other nights, other conversations, other times when he had simply... appeared when needed.

My feet carried me forward without conscious decision. Muscle memory from a thousand other midnight conversations led me to the seat beside him, my body remembering what my mind was only beginning to understand. The tea was perfect – honey and lemon, exactly how I took it. Exactly how I'd taken it in the temple after long nights of healing.

“Tell me,” I said finally, my hands wrapping around the warm cup that anchored me to now while my mind reached for then. “Tell me why I remember things that couldn't possibly have happened. Tell me why you're here. Tell me... everything.”

“Everything is a lot to cover at 3 AM,” he said gently. The familiar cadence of his voice sent echoes through my soul – of battlefield commands, of whispered endearments, of promises that spanned centuries. “But I can tell you what you're ready to hear.”

I studied him over the rim of my cup, letting myself really look for the first time. The distinguished grey at his temples that had been there in every life. The way he held himself – casual but alert, like a warrior who never fully relaxed. The ancient knowingin eyes that had watched me die and find him again through countless lifetimes.

“The battle,” I started, then stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “It wasn't just a dream, was it?”

“No.” He sipped his own tea – chamomile with honey, the same blend he'd favored in Greece. “It was memory. One of many starting to surface.”

“But that's impossible.” The protest sounded weak even to my own ears. “People don't just remember past lives. They don't dream about ancient battles and wake up knowing how to use medicines that haven't existed for centuries.”

“Don't they?” His smile held gentle challenge. “Tell me, what herbs would you use for a wound that's showing signs of infection? Not modern antibiotics – the old ways. The temple medicines.”

“Thyme and garlic to cleanse,” I answered without hesitation. “Yarrow to slow bleeding. Honey as a base to hold it all together. But I shouldn't know that. I've never studied ancient medicine. I've never?—”

“You've never needed to study it,” he finished softly. “Because you already know. Your hands remember, even if your mind doesn't. Just like they remembered how to modify those architectural plans without training. Just like they shake sometimes for no reason you can explain.”

I stared at my hands wrapped around the teacup, seeing them stained with ancient herbs instead of modern surgical soap. “The temple,” I whispered. “It was real? All of it?”

“All of it.” His hand moved as if to cover mine, then stopped just short. Always giving me choice. Always letting me set the pace. “The healing, the battles, the sacred springs. Valerius teaching you the old ways. The soldiers you saved. The nights we...”

He trailed off as I tensed slightly. Not ready for that part yet. Not ready to acknowledge the way my heart recognized his voice, the way my soul knew his touch even across centuries.

“Why now?” I asked instead. “Why are these memories surfacing after all this time?”

“Because it's time,” he said simply. “Because some patterns need to be broken, some cycles need to end. Because Vale is remembering too, though he doesn't understand what he's remembering yet.”

The name sent a chill down my spine. “Vale? What does he have to do with any of this?”

Alex's expression darkened slightly. “Everything. And nothing. He's as bound to this cycle as we are, though his role has changed through lifetimes. In Greece, he was your mentor. Your friend. Until...”

“Until what?”

---