Post by rhys alexander greyback on Dec 14, 2021 2:57:40 GMT -7
Dead visions in your name
Dead fingers in my veins
June 1, 2026
Irritable couldn’t possibly begin to describe how Rhys felt. The past few weeks had brought a flurry of fear and emotions, and despite the result of everything, he couldn’t quite shake that anxious feeling. Fortunately, his family was safe, Hogwarts was a pile of rubble now, and the papers went on and on about the Ministry and what could have been done. But who saw it coming, really? Hindsight was always so vivid and clear—free memories available to evaluate in one’s mind as easily as one might put them in a Pensieve for safekeeping. Unfortunately, one doesn’t always choose what memories are stuck around in their mind. Rhys’ own mind was filled with many things he wanted to forget or at least not keep in the forefront of his mind.
A glimpse of whatever nightmare he’d had the night before or perhaps thinking about the pain in Vasilia’s face that day and in the days after. Remembering how full his class of Cursebreakers used to be, and now the ranks were thinning. The pain in Maria’s eyes when she shared her own memories of Elias and that day. Rhys took a deep breath and let it out of his nose. It was hot, though nowhere near the same as the beaming sun in Egypt. But since Jasper had left their ranks, Rhys found himself more and more in the Mediterranean where it had once been Jasper’s domain. While Rhys knew his history and had traveled here plenty of times, he was nowhere near the Hellenistic scholar that his friend was.
Plus he had a trainee with him, almost a year under his belt, but the confidence of someone with ten. And he Never. Stopped. Talking. Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose as the trainee, an upstart by the name of Kirk rambled memorized passages about Greek Mythology. Rhys knew they were memorized because he’d studied the same reference book during his own training. ”…NINE muses. Can you imagine a guy just going around having random children like that?” Rhys turned and gave him an annoyed look. While Zeus’ reputation was well known, Rhys did happen to know what it was like to be the child of a man who went around with a similar reputation for women though none of the rest. Kirk cleared his throat, realizing what he’d just said out loud as he opened his mouth to speak again before Rhys stopped him. ”The temple isn’t very big, however, it's not above ground anymore.”
Rhys grabbed his bag, wondering if it was too late to send this trainee with someone else and deal with a very pregnant and cranky Maria instead. It wasn’t often that one needed to go below the surface in Greece. The Catacombs of Milos were millennia old, though not as old as this temple. Kirk started up again, and as if he could read Rhys’ mind, went on about the Catacombs. ’…I think they were definitely muggles that made them. They were supposedly used as Christian cemeteries. I bet that I could easily map them. I’ve been told I’m doing the best out of my training class.” Kirk spoke proudly with his chest puffed out slightly. Rhys kept looking forward but raised an eyebrow because he knew that to be not the actual facts. Kirk wasn’t the worst, but he certainly wasn’t the best. ”Right.” Rhys responded with a flat tone.
The goal today was a set of tablets. While this temple was dedicated to the Ancient Greek Goddess Mnemosyne, it also featured the nine muses—her children by Zeus. And the Muse Clio was was associated with them, though Rhys wondered if they would walk in and find where a scroll had been or perhaps something related to music. The information he had researched told him that this area was a target for grave robbers and people looking for a quick Galleon. And the goblins would not be pleased if they came back empty-handed. But more importantly, Rhys was wary of whatever traps and curses they would run into. ”…and then I landed a blasting jinx on a moving statue of Horus! It would have fallen on him otherwise.” It was actually a statue of Seth, but Rhys wasn’t about to encourage this discussion Kirk was having with himself. ”A blasting curse will cause a cave-in, so watch it.” Rhys warned him with a harsh tone this time.
Kirk didn’t seem amused, but Rhys didn’t actually care. They carefully made their way down the side of a steep hill. There was a small cave entrance they could utilize on this end. Jasper had some old maps of the area, and Rhys had also reached out to other Cursebreakers. He’d done his due diligence as anything cave-like posed a threat on its own. After some time of Kirk rambling on to himself, some narrow passageways, and a handful of bats making the trainee squeal, they finally found the entrance. Rhys stopped to inspect the doorway. ”Lumos.” He spoke so they could see better. ”What do you check for at a spot like this?” Rhys quizzed the trainee. ”Erm—runes and symbols. They could be traps.” Rhys nodded, it was correct, but there was always something more than that. ”If it’s not a trap, it could help indicate what can be up ahead.” Rhys only saw letters from the Greek alphabet rather than runes—he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not yet.
Tentatively he took a step in, the floor felt solid, and there was no effects or noise in the aftermath. Only the sound of his lone footstep in the dark temple. Kirk pulled out his wand to cast light and followed Rhys into the narrow entryway. For once, he was quiet, and Rhys was grateful as it gave him time to think. ”Kind of small, isn’t it?” Rhys shook his head as he scoped the walls and the floor all at the same time. ”Were you expecting the Parthenon?” Kirk shut up quickly again. Their work was not glamourous all the time. For the next hour or two, they pushed through slowly. Inspecting around corners and suspicious-looking places on the floor. Rhys had to grab Kirk by the back of his shirt twice to save him from vertically falling pillars that retracted, much like a piston. Vasilia had once tried to show Rhys how her motorbike worked, but he’d ended up frustrated at his lack of understanding but also it reminded him of her dear best friend, who Rhys despised. But the pillars reminded him of the pistons in the engine.
It was light in terms of traps and cursed objects. Rhys wondered if someone had been here before them or maybe whatever was here wasn’t all that important. Finally, they made it to the end of the temple, where the floor was a narrow path surrounded by water on both sides. Rhys found it fitting. ”Why is there water here? That doesn’t make sense. None of the Muses have anything to do with water.” Rhys turned around, arms crossed. ”Reading one book on Greek mythology doesn’t make you an expert.” Kirk opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, wisely. ”Mnemosyne was also the name of a river in the Underworld. The counterpart of Lethe.” Remberence and forgetfulness. The water here was relevant but Rhys didn’t know why. Looking past the water that was even with the floor he saw what looked like stone tablets at the end but he paused. It felt too easy, what was he missing.
Before he could think, Kirk brushed past him and began to walk toward them. ”Wait—“ And there it was, the water rose and was no longer calmly existing next to the walkway. Rhys cast Protego, but a splash of water hit Kirk right in the face. Pulling him back by his shirt, the water settled, and Kirk sat on the ground, looking confounded. ”Lesson number one, nothing is that easy. Why would yo—why are you looking at me like that?” Kirk blinked at him a few times. ”Rhys? Where are we? Why are we here?” Rhys looked at him incredulously. His face was still wet, but no more than a handful of water had hit him. Still it was apparent there was something to that water that somehow affected his memory now. With a sigh, Rhys shook his head. ”We’re leaving in a little bit. Will you just sit here?” Kirk nodded and stared at the walls around him.
Standing, Rhys looked at the goal in sight. It would be safer to leave, but he’d give it another hour before giving up on this one. It wasn’t even the most complex job he’d ever had. He couldn’t back down. Eventually, Rhys found a crawlspace that took him up and around a few corners until he dropped into the last room. Kirk was still fascinated by the ceiling and not going anywhere. However, before taking another step, he cast his usual spells to reveal obvious traps and jinxes. It got past some basic things, but then he looked at the tablets. They looked ordinary and old. The Greek written on them wasn’t something that Rhys could translate quickly. Slowly he took a step toward them, his hand almost touching the first tablet, and that was the last thing he remembered.
June 10, 2026
Rhys tried to remember what happened after. The facts were that he made it out with one tablet, the other smashed, but Rhys and the trainee had gotten out somehow. The assumption that the other tablet was destroyed was mainly based on Rhys getting knocked pretty good on the side of the head and his shoulder, and small pieces of stone had embedded into his skin. But, otherwise, they were both fine. Kirk had regained his memory shortly after that. The cursed water hadn’t hit him fully. Rhys assumed he’d gotten hit as well, but those missing pieces had yet to return. Sitting on his bed, he stopped trying to force it again, his head was beginning to hurt, and he drank from the glass of whiskey next to his bed. Every day since that job, nine days, he’d tried to force his brain to cough up the memories, but it just left him in pain.
Of course, Maria had rolled her eyes at the thought that Rhys had been clumsy enough to let himself get hit in the head with a stone tablet, that hint of amusement in her smirk. Vasilia worried, of course, but it wasn’t even close to the worse injury he’d ever had, and he didn’t really want to tell Dahlia, knowing she'd probably just laugh at him. Rhys finished off his glass with a sigh and placed it on the nightstand, knocking down a stack of papers and things in the process. ”Shit…” One day, he’d clean this place up, but the item that had fallen on top was a photograph. It was an old one, but it stopped him in his tracks. Rhys swallowed and bent down to pick it up, sitting on the edge of his bed. Truthfully, he’d forgotten about this one. It was a picture of his mother and himself. Rhys’ mother was beaming happily, her long curly hair bouncing on her shoulders as she looked down at her son. Rhys figured he must have been about four in this photo.
He’d forgotten about this photo. But how? Pictures of her were so far and few in his collection, and he’d forgotten this one. Her image was different than what he usually pictured—she was happy, unlike the horror of what he pictured in his nightmares. Rhys looked happy, or at least as happy as a four-year-old could be at the simplest things. With that, he tried to remember what that must have felt like, his blue eyes focusing intently on the photograph. It was better than trying to remember what happened at that job, but his brain didn’t seem to have any memories from two decades ago. But he wanted to remember. And then Rhys looked up, he felt a breeze on his face, and the photograph fell out of his hand.
Just like the vivid dreams he’d had during the very early Aware Wolf phases, Rhys looked around and saw a strange mix of the scenery in the photograph and his bedroom. Standing, he turned because he heard his name. That voice, he knew that voice. A chill went up to his spine, and goosebumps covered his arms, and the outline of a figure came toward him. Rhys could make out her face, her eyes, and that smile as she came closer, though the rest of her body didn’t seem quite there. The closer he got, the more he caught a scent. Yes, he remembered that. His mother had this perfume she wore. He could smell it now. She called his name again, and once Rhys’ heart started beating again, he reached out with a desperate gasp, but his hand didn’t touch anything. ”M—mum?” For the last time, she called his name and turned ”No—wait.” And this overwhelming weight felt like it had been dropped on Rhys head and shoulders, and he fell to his knees, closing his eyes as a pain entered his head.
When he opened his eyes, he was back in his bedroom, the photograph on the floor nearby. What had just happened? Rhys inhaled and exhaled, shuddering breathes, he felt clammy, and his head hurt. His body felt like it had been hit by the Hogwarts train, and he just stared at the photograph. It was like he had been there again. His mother’s voice, her perfume, her face. All of it. Because he was suddenly so tired, he could hardly hold back the emotions that had been dug up from the depths, but he didn’t understand what had just happened or why he’d seen those moments from the past. Rhys didn’t understand what had just happened at all.
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