A Misty Memory Novels & Stories

Then he looked at his Dad “D-dad.” “Thank God you remember me.” “Kuya. What about me?” This time it was Gravity “Gravity.” He called “W-What happened to me? why is that, why do I remember so little. I can't remember everything?” I cried, he can’t remember. He can only remember little “Kuya do you remember her?” Gravity pointed me to his brother “Answer me!” “Don’t shout Grav..” I said “I-I don't I’m sorry... who are you?” He looked at me

she turned back to the table picked up the file and headed to the door. "You talk about second chance but Fidelia couldn't get that second chance" his voice shook as he said this Jess halted as she heard that statement. That name brought back some memories for her also. "Who's Fidelia?" She turned sharply "Nevermind" He wasn't ready to go down into details right now Jess left his cubicle without saying another word.Some people are more hard to crack than nuts.

But the harder I concentrated, the more the image seemed to slip, edges softening, details blurring, as if some part of my own mind was actively working against me the moment I tried to look at it directly. That should have told me something on its own. It took until nearly dawn for it to actually register. I closed my eyes and tried to walk myself back through the night Silvermist burned, the way Mogra had taught me to walk through any memory I needed to examine cleanly, start at the edges, work inward, don't let emotion distort the sequence of events. I'd done this exercise a hundred times over the years, whenever grief threatened to overwhelm the discipline she'd spent years building into

The boundary between memory and reality seemed increasingly fragile, threatening to snap at any moment. Determined to find answers, Lyra immersed herself in researching Nyxterra. In Elysium, where secrets and memories were traded like currency, Nyxterra was known only as a legend—an obscure tale whispered among Memory Seekers and Brokers. It was said to be the graveyard of forgotten memories, a place where the mind’s darkest corners merged with the physical world. Yet, despite its ominous reputation, concrete knowledge about Nyxterra was scarce. Official records mentioned it only in passing, and the few who claimed to know about it refused to speak openly.

It was faint now, dulled and muted, like ink faded by time. She tried to remember the exact feel of it—the sting of his bite, the warmth of his lips after, the way his arms had crushed her close as if he would never let her go. But memory slipped like sand through her fingers. The fog laughed at her, pulling her back into its embrace. But she was determined to get a hold of the evasive memory. She didn't like the confused state of her mind. She wanted to know the truth. Wanted to be sure what she was hearing was the truth.

“But you might have to.” “No,” I whisper. “Not yet.” A crack splits the floor between us. We both jolt back as a thin ribbon of black mist slips through the crack, weaving between our feet like a serpent. “What is that?” Elyra breathes. The mist coils upward. Shapes form inside it, faint, flickering figures. A man bleeding from the throat. A woman clawing at invisible walls. A wolf howling in agony. They are echoes, memories of past players.

As the vehicle turned down a long drive, I stared out the window trying to process what I had seen in Misty’s mind. She looked to be in her late twenties now, to those memories must have been about eight to ten years ago. What atrocities had she suffered in the time since?

asked Chris asking a few questions. Instantly Lilyana remembered what she had done. The last time she went to meet Charles and the two of them had a long chat, but after that Lilyana no longer remembered what she had done. Lilyana chose to shake her head. "I don't know, I only remember meeting Charles." Chris frowned. "What do you mean by as I only remember?"

She shouldn't remember anything now. "Thank you for your help, Dex. Now I just need fairy dust from the queen of the fairies and then we can turn everything into the crystal we need for Ash. You don't know how much this mess to me." She smiled at me as she held the vile up at me. Inside the vile was the light blue mist that emits while we sing. It's that mist that buries itself deep into the mind. It keeps the song going even after it's done being sung. It seems the memory is staying tucked away for now.

"A worthy trade. Approach." She touches our foreheads with fingers that feel like cool water, and I feel something shift inside my mind. The memory doesn't disappear entirely—I still know it happened. But the emotional weight, the defining significance, fades like mist in sunlight. I blink, disoriented, and the Mist Queen steps back.