Memories Lost to Gold

The sun’s rays beamed over the black luxury limousine, sand stirring up near the wheels as it pursued through the boiling desert. Sounds of music rang through the large car–briskly followed by the buzz of the station changing.

“Damnit, Scorcha!” Victoria snarls, her nails almost breaching the fabric of her gloves as she digs them into the steering wheel. She cocks her head towards her advisor, ignoring the landscape in front of her. “Flip the station one more time and see me change our route as quickly as you change those channels!”

Scorcha had been snickering the whole time Victoria was speaking, raising their hands in mock-surrender once she had finished. “I’ll stop! Forgive me, Your Majesty.” they’d tauntingly beg, their hands clasping together in front of their chest as though to preach for forgiveness. Victoria turns her head back in front of her, not giving Scorcha the joy of a reaction; her death grip on the steering wheel not softening one bit.

Rhian, not even the slightest bit amused by the immature display between his two companions, crosses his arms and stares at the storms of sand attacking the window; his legs crossed in an upright position. Mirror simply lets out a soft chuckle, her gaze lingering on Victoria before she’d gaze out the window as well.

“You wouldn’t want to upset our dear old General though, right, Your Majesty? After all, he’s practically been begging for us to visit his hometown.” Scorcha glances back at Rhian, who had already zoned out with his own thoughts, blocking out others’ voices for the sake of his own voice in his head. Victoria rolls her eyes under her blind mask, her foot pressed so harshly against the pedal of the car that it threatened to snap off the car entirely. 

“This was your idea, imbecile. You’ve insisted on going for weeks now–we’re not even sure if that village of peasants has been wiped out after all these years.” she clicks her tongue, taking a glimpse at Scorcha with intense scorn. “If that village is just dust when we get there, I’m having your tongue cut off for your words. Maybe after that you’ll learn to stop talking back.”

Scorcha huffs, sticking their tongue out for a moment, poking at it a little before putting it back in their mouth. “Oh, but who would give you all the knowledge you’d ever need right at your beck and call? Who would oh so graciously guide you with their erudition?” they’d stick their tongue out again, leaning over the center console and pointing at it as if to irritate Victoria further.

In a swift movement, Victoria removes one of her hands from the wheel and grabs Scorcha’s tongue harshly, gripping it in between her thumb and index finger, her eyes still on the path in front of them. Panicked, Scorcha tries getting her to let go, flailing their arms around a bit, both of their hands eventually landing on her wrists. They’d pull her arm back in an attempt to get her to let go, but that would only stretch their tongue along with it, making them let go as fast as they had grabbed her.

WIth their tongue stuck out so far, they eventually begin to salivate, which digusts Victoria greatly, letting go of Scorcha’s tongue and glancing down at the dripping saliva with repulsion. “Eugh!” she says, shaking some of it off of her hand. “Scorcha, give me a napkin at this instant! This is all your fault!” she demands, holding out her hand, clearly expecting the napkin. 

Scorcha is still recovering from having their tongue pinched incredibly hard by their Queen, but they quickly ignore their pain and open the middle compartment: grabbing a handkerchief and wiping their spit off of her hand. Victoria yanks her hand away from them and back to the wheel, making the car go impossibly fast as her impatience grew tenfold.

“I’m starting to think that town’s become one with the sand, Scorcha. You know what that means?” Victoria says, her tone warning Scorcha for what would happen when they’d get back to the palace. Before she could continue though, Scorcha leans back over the middle compartment to point at a small village that was to their right. “Look! There it is!” they’d practically squeal out loud with excitement, barely able to sit back down with all of the newly found adrenaline running through them–looking more excited than Rhian, despite only him being from that village. 

“Oh, wow.” Victoria mutters in a tone completely monotone, unimpressed by the town. To her, everything that wasn’t her kingdom was just peasant trash.

“Damn, Rhian. I never realized how far you actually walked from here to Opuli. No wonder you looked so rough when the guards let you in.” Scorcha remarks with a smirk, their hands already on the handle of the door, shaking with anticipation as the car comes down to a halt. “You must know your town like the back of your hand, right?” they’d turn their head back to Rhian, sneering. “Or maybe you don’t. After all, it has been quite a while since you showed up all bruised and ugly!”

Rhian doesn’t entertain Scorcha’s remarks, not even tilting his head slightly in their direction to acknowledge them. He exits the car, closing his door and opening Victoria’s at the same time. Victoria leaves the car, not making any means to thank him as she looks upon the old, abandoned village. Mirror and Scorcha followed soon after, their expressions a mix of appalled and a little disappointed; truth was, they had expected Rhian’s village to be a little more presentable than what it actually is. It was to be expected though, the villages above Opuli in the desert were quite poor compared to the kingdom below. 

The four began venturing into the town, Victoria’s face a persistent scowl no matter what she saw, clear repulsion on her face as she attempted to get as little things as possible on her boots and around her body. Mirror would look intrigued, her gentle features going through everything she could see. Scorcha marveled at the bland town, seeing an opportunity to research and inspect everything that had been cultivated and made by the people of this village, who were since then long gone.

Mirror would glance over to Rhian, curious about his reaction about being back where he was raised, despite all of the bad memories this place held for him. Instead of his normally stoic expression showing emotions like remembrance or sadness: he just looked confused.

“Rhian, is something the matter..? Should we leave?” Mirror asks, tilting her head slightly as she’d shift her body a little into Rhian’s direction next to her.

 “No, no, it’s alright. It’s just that, um.” Rhian pauses in front of a reed hut, one that he wasn’t sure if it was the one he was raised in. Despite feeling like he knew this town, like he had as a child–he couldn’t recognize one single thing. Not the hut he was raised in. Not the kids he played with. Not the hut with the kiln where he worked day and night. Not even where he and his siblings hung out whenever their parents were arguing. Nothing. It was as if everything had just been completely wiped.

It could’ve been his brain blocking out everything, a common response to trauma–but even then, someone mentioning it would at least trigger a distant memory, an emotion, something.

But all he got was nothing, his mind blank and carefree about his hometown. Victoria and Scorcha would notice the other two’s stop, walking back over to them. With their hands on their hips, Scorcha stands beside Rhian at the entrance of the hut, looking into the small opening with their upper body leant forward slightly.

“Is this what you were raised in, General?” they ask, looking at him and then the hut again. Rhian shakes his head, his lips pursing together slightly as he ponders how to reply without seeming like he was seeking attention or just flat out lying. 

“No.”

“..At least, I don’t think so.”

Rhian’s tone drops an almost imperceptible amount, getting caught off guard by Scorcha leaning in so close that their nose brushes against the visor of his helmet.

“You don’t think so, General?” 

Scorcha says, their lips curving into a mocking smile as they’d go back to standing up straight, their hands moving to behind the back.

“What do you mean? Surely you would remember the very place you spent at least a quarter of your life in!” Scorcha walks closer to the hut, tracing over the deep engravings in the mud brick material. They look over to the one next to it, seeing that they had different pictures and designs etched into their very design. 

“Hm. If you really can’t remember, can you at least remember if you had a certain pattern or picture on your house? We can find out where you lived through that.” they’d pause, putting a finger on their chin as they’d think deeper into their own words. “Or, plan B, we ransack every house for something that could spark that tiny brain of yours with a memory or two!” 

Victoria stands behind Scorcha, her arms whilst listening to their words, not really paying attention. Mirror on the other hand listened to every word, nodding her head along with either plan.

“How does that sound, hm?” Scorcha asks, turning back to Rhian, his arm holding onto his opposite one, rubbing it as he zoned out a little himself. Annoyed, Scorcha hits their hand against his helmet, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Sounds like a plan.” Rhian murmurs in response, his emotionless tone holding hints of uncertainty and something similar to fear. He grew more and more worried about his memory as they went by every hut, Scorcha pointing at the engravings to see if it was similar to Rhian in any way, but nothing. Nothing sparked a memory, not even the slightest bit of recognition. Victoria and Scorcha were starting to get a little pissed, while Mirror was able to see past that, seeing Rhian’s seemingly non-existent emotion as they wandered around the village.

Circling back to the hut they had started in front of, the Sun’s rays beat into their very bodies, sweating despite being used to the eternal heat. 

“Well.. Now we can do Plan B!” Scorcha says in a more excited tone, though this time, it held more fatigue from going around house to house.

“Wouldn’t it have been smarter to just combine both procedures? Now we have to go all the way around this dirty town again!” Victoria complains, in which Scorcha would shoot their Queen a glare.

“You couldn’t have said that earlier, Your Majesty?” they whisper in an agitated tone.

“Oh. What ever happened to my intelligent and dashing advisor that would’ve combined the two the moment the ideas were pitched in their head?” she mutters back, her tone matching Scorcha’s with equal fervor.

Before either of them could reply, Mirror would speak up, saying that she had found something. Victoria and Scorcha shoot each other an equally piercing glare, then go to the hut Mirror was in. She was with Rhian, with her holding an old, dusty framed image, while he knelt beside one of the old beds, feeling the fabric.

Raising an eyebrow, Scorcha marches over and snatches the picture from her before she could get another word in.

It was a picture of three children, their ages seeming at least a little close. The frame was made with a dark wood, the wood not filed down and instead had smiley faces and stars etched forcefully into the bark. Due to the unfiled wood, Scorcha had unknowingly gotten a splinter or two lodged into their fingers from holding it bare. 

The first child in the photo–presumably the oldest, had long, white hair, similar to Rhian’s long white locs. She looked quite pale compared to the child next to her, whose skin was strikingly similar to Rhian’s, braided in the exact same way his were. No doubt about it, this was their Rhian. The final, much smaller child beside him looked the same as the first, just with shorter hair and softer features.

Scorcha shows the photo to Rhian, who was busy looking around the place for anything he could recognize just a little bit. Looking at the photo, Rhian is able to tell that the people in the photo are his siblings and him, but he’s not able to recognize where or when it was taken. If he had felt happy or not in the photo, or if he or one of his siblings made the frame.

“Well.. at least you recognize something.” they mutter under their breath in an annoyed and snarky tone, giving the photo to him.

“Now we know that this is your house!” they’d immediately switch up, their tone more excited once more as they looked around the place.

“Or not.” Victoria butts in, not looking very interested.

“Why would some random people have Rhian’s picture in their house? That’s just creepy if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

As the two bickered, Rhian would stare at the photograph. He knew they were his siblings, that the person in the middle was him–and yet, he felt like he was just looking at a photo he had found in another persons’ home that wasn’t his own. The photo felt so foreign, yet felt so recognizable at the same time.