I was unsure if that person wearing a short cloak is the attacker, until she turns around: scarlet eyes, short hair, short cloak. But it was when she enters a gun and machinery workshop that I finally confirm she is that attacker: a sign in the outside says this is Irwarch’s Workshop. I knock in after she enters, heading for the counter while keeping an eye on the revenant, who is talking to the shopowner, a strong, bearded man,
“Got anything, Vîna?”
“No, Master Irwarch. That…”
“Oh, it seems that we have a guest. A foreigner! What do you need here? We provide the best guns and daily machinery.”
I hand out the broken monster core, a stone with a twisted green taint,
“Do you accept this?”
“Ah, this proves the one that defeats the monster to be an able hunter! Only masters in magecraft could handle this material, and no one in this Gleinyl deserves that name, me included. But I could accept it if you would like to sell them at the price of mediocre monster cores.”
“In the name of Night-mist I could finally have them sold. Here’s the rest of them. By the way,” I turn to the revenant, “tell me any time if you need fresh blood.”
“Only revenants need blood. I don’t need it.”
“But you are a revenant, aren’t you?”
“Seriously? I don’t know what you are talking about.”
I peek at Irwarch, who supports himself with his arm, frowning, more than worried.
“No need to fear. I am an Agent of Aenosîlidh, the Night-mist, not a city guard nor a Gleir believer. And I just happen to come here to sell some monster cores and their parts. But since I find you, I am really curious about the reason why you attacked me late in the morning. You are not a robber nor a thief, so what is the thing you expect to find on me?”
“What attack? By the way, who are you?”
Imperfect lying techniques.
“Moreânna. You?”
The revenant takes a deep breath,
“Sorry that I lied… Really sorry. I am Vînett, call me Vîna if you like. I… I want to check something… check if something is true.”
“Huh?”
“A piece of memory. I would like to know if it is yours. I tried some… techniques on you to have a peek of your memory, but it doesn’t work.”
“Spiritual sync, isn’t it? But I am more curious about the piece of memory you talk about.”
“It is… well, it is hard to describe. I would show you tomorrow if you wish. Come here tomorrow evening if you wish.”
“I have no reason to deny that.”

The next evening, after Leorria returns with another day’s failed attempts, I head for Irwarch’s workshop to have a look of that memory piece. Vînett keeps her promise and takes me to the attic: a tiny, dimly-lit lair for this young revenant. Contrary to the Ariênia stereotype, she keeps a minimalist lifestyle, and the only not-so-minimalist item in the attic is a compact but complex machine, an analyzer, on which operating platform there lies a tiny crystal shard, deep blue. Gazing at it, I feel the trace of the Mirkflames in it.
“This is what I have to show you.”
Vînett asks me to place my hand on a lever. I follow. She activates the analyzer, power starts to flowing into the crystal, before the white stream of power is tarnished by that dark blue and is fed onto my fingers. On that moment, instead of an energy, I touch a vision, which I look into and see something different.
I see myself in the Lýrintta Academy of the Arcane - let’s call her Moreânna, although I swear I have never worn such armour - she walked through the delicate garden between towers and halls of the academy, walked past the great archives, and headed into the office of a master of spiritual arts, a revenant, Isara Ariênia. It seems Isara had not even finished her second version of the Bloodwell then: last time I met her, she was working on the sixteenth version.

“Wait, did I even exist back then? Isara had finished this version at least twenty decades ago.”
“Isara knows you?” Vînett asks.
“She is a friend of mine, as well as most of the sages in House Ariênia.”

That Moreânna knocked open the door (with a scary-looking giant scythe on her back). Isara peeked, before she hurried up and said,
“What is the situation? Is she alright?”
“Not a bit alright. Even if the Hatredborne are chasen away, the curse seems to further develop.”
“Is it sympathetic influence?” Isara asked.
“No. I prevented her from all sympathetic influence, but the curse still grows, like a disease.”
“Like a disease? Then all she needs is power. Her deprived power. Do you know where any of her artifacts has gone?”
“One of them go to the south and is kept in the hands of the heirs of a soldier in the defense. It is an artifact back from the War of Divinity, and it was initially designed against… me. But I will fetch it if necessary.”
“It is necessary.”

The memory shard ends here.
“Is that… you?”
“Definitely. Who else could use the power of Mirkflames? But in my memory there is no piece related to this one.”
“Did you lost your memory?”
“I don’t think so, for my memory is complete. I could remember anything since I was born in the Shrine of Aenosîlidh if given the correct stimulus.”
“So that is not you?”
“I feel that is me myself, although I am not sure. Why don’t you ask Isara? She can’t lose her memory, and she once said I was not created by Aenosîlidh, and I erased my memory. But… from a logical point of view that can’t happen.”
Vînett rises, and from the cupboard she grasps a tiny tube of scarlet liquid.
“May I ask one more question?”
“You could ask three more.”
“Is Lýrintta a place friendly to revenants?”
“It is the best city for revenants outside halls if you don’t head for Rustlake District.”
The attic falls into silence again. The only sound that sways the candlelight is my breath. At the corner of the attic there is a large luggage, open, half-full. Besides there lies a compact Bloodwell, a device that could turn monster cores and parts into revenant drink.
“I would consider your suggestion.”