Of course, the boy doesn't hear me. He can't even see me. I'm merely a passenger in a memory that isn't my own.

But someone else does hear me.

"Yes?"

The voice comes from behind me, but Maddox—the actual Maddox that pulled me into his subconscious, is already at my side when my head turns.

I blink at him, turn back to the boy for a moment, gawking, then bring my gaze back to Maddox, "You're real?" I ask. He nods, his expression impassive. "How? I... You weren't here the last time you showed me a memory," I note with uncertainty.

He shrugs. "Didn't think I needed to be here before, but this... Well, you will likely have questions, I'm sure," he murmurs. His arm brushes against mine, making my skin tingle as he approaches the younger version of himself. "As you already know, this was me when I was a boy. This is the memory I was trapped in after you left the dimension."

Dry grass crunches beneath my boots as I join his side. My eyes fixate on the little boy as he takes deep, uneven breaths, trying desperately to compose himself. "Why was he—er, you crying?" I ask.

Maddox looks at me from the corner of his eye. "I had just found out Cyrus's dad was leaving my mother, er more like she kicked him out actually. But anyway, Nicholas and my mother had been arguing constantly the last few months, and things were finally coming to a head. I was never fond of Nicholas, but I didn't want to lose Cyrus," he explains curtly.

I swallow, watching the little boy with renewed pity. "Why were you alone? Where's your mom? Was Cyrus already gone?" I question.

Maddox turns to look me in the eye, but his usual warmth is not present. There's an emptiness in him that I've never seen before. "No, Cyrus said he was going to tell his father he wanted to stay with my mom and me, but we both knew he was never going to agree to that. And my mother was back at the house. She knew I was upset, but I told her I wanted to be alone." 

A dark look graces his features, followed by a grimace, and then he closes his eyes. 

Watered by guilt, a pit grows in my stomach. "We don't have to be here Maddox..."

He offers a weak smile, opening his eyes. "No, I'm alright, Love. I don't mind it, and besides, it's better if you know." Better if I know? Why does he say it like it's so crucial?

My next words are lost before I can utter them. The little blonde boy suddenly turns away from the gentle stream and looks up at the orange sky, distracting me. Upon observing the retreating sunset, he bolts off quickly, stomping clumsily through the swaying field of marigolds.

Maddox and I chase after him. Well, I chase after the boy. Maddox warily trails behind.

After several minutes of scuttering through the tall grass, the little boy briefly stops running and freezes in place. His brown eyes widen, and his mouth is slack. Curious, I follow his gaze to find an enormous dark cloud of smoke barreling through the burnt orange sky.

The familiar burn of impure air makes my eyes water and dries me out from the inside out. 

Bewildered, I turn to Maddox, who is still several feet behind me. Unsurprised, he blinks wordlessly at me, eyes drained of emotion.

My head whips back around when I hear the tiny footsteps of the boy take off again. But instead of running away from the looming threat off in the distance, he runs directly in the smoke's direction. I take off after him and hear Maddox behind me, finally picking up his feet to keep up.

The boy leads us through a wild tangle of trees, and I don't let him leave my sight. The child coughs and wheezes as he charges through the smoke coating the woods, determined and frantic to approach the danger.

I try to stay glued to his heels, but this is challenged when a sudden blaze of fire cuts off my path, separating me from Maddox's younger self. The fire narrowly misses the boy, but the real Maddox and I are stuck behind the growing wall of heat, choking on thick smoke clouds. I squint, sighing in frustration as the boy travels further and further out of my line of sight.

I look around for a way around the fire, but another stack of flames abruptly bursts across the dried grass and sprints up a nearby tree, emanating more heat and violence.

I stumble back, intimidated by the heat waves rolling off of the orange breaths of defiance, but Maddox's hands grip my shoulders from behind, pushing me forward. I nearly scream as I'm pushed directly into the flames.

I catch myself but not before being kissed by fire. The harsh blazes dance up my legs and arms, but instead of being met with fiery pain and death, the flames turn into gentle embers that blow right off of me and into the wind. Despite the heat of the summer and the forest fire, I remain unburnt as more flames cut through me.

"It's a memory, Love. You can't be hurt here, I promise," Maddox says softly.

My heart hammers in my chest as I try to recover from my initial panic, but he suddenly tugs my arm before I can collect myself, taking us deeper into the woods. 

The Moon has revealed herself by the time we catch up to the little boy. The stars twinkle brightly in the night sky when we finally escape the soon-to-be torched forest.

"Mom!" the boy screams, his voice heavy with fear. He crawls beneath a frail wooden fence, then jumps back up onto his feet to enter a small village that has also been set ablaze.

Maddox releases my hand, and we both leap over the wooden fence with ease to chase after the boy. Tiny bits of gravel patter beneath my feet as we follow him down a familiar dirt road. I begin to slow down once the sight before me sinks in.

Almost every building and house is completely engulfed in flames. The air is painted black with smoke that I can hardly bear to inhale anymore. The people of the village are scarce, but a few citizens can be heard screaming and panicking off in the distance, likely looking for their loved ones as their town goes up in flames. 

Worriedly, I listen more closely, and to my horror, it sounds like a lot of the screaming is coming from villagers who have been trapped beneath the fire and rubble, helpless and suffering as the flames intensify. 

My attention is pulled elsewhere when a person, a man, collapses in the middle of the road, hugging himself as a pained scream rips through his throat. His skin is covered in blisters and bloody welts. Fire jumps up the length of his pants leg, and he soon collapses to his death. Fear keeps his still open eyes wide as he heaves his last breath.

Once the initial shock passes, I quickly realize this is the dead man I woke up next to when I returned to the second dimension. 

I want to look away from the mayhem, the terror, but my eyes are glued in place. This memory may not be my own, but it will surely be burned into my brain going forward.

Maddox is at my side now, a weary look on his face. I turn to him but I jump when what looks like an old restaurant down the street explodes, sending more orange waves of destruction across the small town. More screams can be heard as the flames continue to spread and cling to the trees and buildings, destroying every board, every brick, every memory—every piece of Maddox's childhood home.

"Mom! Mom, please! I can save you!" the boy cries, nearly toppling over when a vicious flame whips past him. "Where are you?" he pleads hopelessly.

With a heavy heart, I trail after the boy, watching helplessly as he continues to call out for his mother. My lungs burn, and the smoke is making everything all but visible, but I ignore the discomfort. I know it isn't real. I can't be hurt in a memory—not physically anyway.

My chest constricts as young Maddox bounds up the stairs of the front porch to the same home where his older self and I are currently taking refuge from the weather.

With the door blocked, the crying boy can't enter. Instead, like in the dream from before, he bangs on one of the windows. "Mom! Are you in there? Say something, please! Mom!" he shrieks.

"Move, kid!" a gray-haired man yells from behind me. Two buckets occupy his hands, water sloshing over the edges as the old man hobbles down the road. He zips right through me, making me feel like nothing more than meaningless vapor. "Quickly now!" he orders.

Young Maddox moves out of the way, jumping off of the porch but staying close enough to watch as the old man hauls the buckets up the stairs. 

Maddox follows me until we're standing next to the small, sobbing boy, watching as the old man douses the flames with water.

Thanks to the stranger, the fire is snuffed out, but the home has sustained significant damage, and more fire dances inside the window of the home, signaling that the chaos is far from over.

More villagers blow past us, buckets and bowls of water in hand as they all scatter to save their town. I look back to see where they're coming from and beyond the smoke and fire is a cobblestone well, nestled between two trees. Men and women surround the structure, waiting. 

A man pulls the rope, quickly and roughly, bringing up a water-filled bucket from the well to fill an expectant villager's container and send them on their way.

This process repeats and more villagers rush down the curved road, putting out as many fires as they can and attempting to rescue those who can still be saved.

The old man on the porch motions for Maddox to stay back before using the fabric of his clothes to twist open the doorknob. The knob must still be pretty hot because the man winces, letting out a hiss of pain as he wrenches the door open

Smoke and the smell of burnt flesh pour through the front door. The old man and young Maddox cough it down into their lungs. I cover my mouth with my tunic and close my eyes for a moment when my eyes continue to sting.

Cautiously, the little boy ascends the porch steps again as the man enters his home. 

I glance over at Maddox and he frowns, averting his eyes.

Just as Maddox's younger self is about to wander into the home, the old man rushes out, hacking loudly. He grabs and pushes the boy out of the way and down the stairs.

The boy jerks away from him, turning back to the house. "What happened? Is she in there?"

The old man coughs violently, covering his mouth with his hand. When he gathers himself, all he manages to choke out is four words. "Don't go in there."

"What? What are you talking about?" the boy exclaims. "Mom! Mom!"

The man shoves him back once more. "She's gone, kid! Do yourself a favor and listen to me! Don't go in there!" he reiterates. The little boy shakes his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. He says something to the man, but I can't understand what it is because of how hard he is crying. "Just wait by the fence over there until it's safe!" the man finally yells, retreating off in the direction of the well with his now empty buckets.

Ignoring the old man, the young boy hesitates only a second before rushing into his home, calling out for his mom.

I barely put one foot on the first step before Maddox grabs my arm. I step back, confused by his resistance. "Why?" I ask when he shakes his head.

"You'll see," is all he says.

Chaos continues to ensue around us as more fires spread and more are put out, but that all begins to blur, the distant cries for help muffling as the young boy finally exits the home, towing a woman's lifeless body down the stairs. 

Oh, no... I was hoping my assumptions were false. His mother's fate is just what I didn't want it to be.

"Mom," he rasps out. He groans in frustration as he uses all of the strength his body has to get her down the stairs and onto the dirt road. She lands on her back with a thud, head rolling to the side, eyes closed. "M-Mom," he whimpers, wiping tears from his cheeks after releasing her blistered arms from his grip.

Even with eyes closed and her face lightly scarred by fire, her features are notably ethereal. With no warmth left in her heart, her beauty is what I'd expect to see from that of a fallen angel—gutwrenching, but hauntingly sublime.

Her son gently tucks her arms down to her sides and readjusts her bangs, careful of the black welts that mar her torso and face, then shakes her shoulder. He croaks out for her again, not ready to believe that she is dead. 

Even I'm holding out hope that she will open her eyes... somehow, but she never does. 

My eyes burn with unshed tears and when I look over to see Maddox's reaction, I'm met with the back of his blonde waves, curled slightly at the ends. He isn't looking at all. His back is to me and the sight before us.

I can't say I blame him. I never should have asked how the dream ends.

I turn back to the little boy. His shoulders shake with silent sobs, and he buries his face in the blonde curls on his mother's shoulder. A hand digs into her arm and his other hand slams against the dirt in aggravation. 

The boy, who can't be too much older than Juniper, wails hopelessly into the ground, making my heart drop. His grief is nearly palpable. 

Slowly, he collapses onto his side, sliding himself away from his mother's burnt corpse and into the fetal position, turning his back to her.

The old man who put out the fire in an attempt to save his mother is limping down the road again, buckets refilled with water in hand. He passes the boy and his mother but stops and looks back briefly. Reluctantly, he takes a step toward the sobbing child, eyes filled with regret, but ultimately decides against whatever he is considering and scurries off, ducking his head.

I stoop down by the boy, wishing I could bring him some sort of comfort. But I can't. What's done is done in this memory, and I can't change anything. I can't do anything except watch the boy drown himself in his tears as the fear in his amber-flecked eyes only intensifies. 

"Maddox!" Turning my head, I spot another little boy with the same accent as Maddox. He hustles down the dirt road, making a beeline for the grief-stricken boy on the ground. He's covered in soot and the messy brown mop on his head bounces hair in and out of his eyes with every step. "Maddox!" he cries desperately.

The boy in front of me pushes his face out of the dirt but remains sitting. He rubs the wetness from his eyes, still sniffling.

I turn to Maddox, who still isn't giving much attention to what's happening around us. I hesitate before tapping his shoulder. He turns to me but his empty eyes don't fully meet mine. "Is that Cyrus?" I ask. My voice is barely above a whisper.

He swallows. "Yes," he says hoarsely.

Little Cyrus approaches, falling to the ground beside his brother. "Maddox, you and me—we have to go! Now! H-He's coming to get me!" he exclaims, voice shaking.

Young Maddox blinks, eyelashes slick with tears. "I can't leave her," he states quietly.

Cyrus turns to look in the same direction as his older brother and when he does, his eyes widen. "O-Oh," he breathes with a tremble. He turns back to his brother, a pained look on his face. "Maddox, I'm so sor—"

"I'm not playing around, boy! Get over here right now!" a gruff, demanding voice booms.

My head whips in the direction of yet another stranger. Staggering down the road with clenched fists is a man with shaggy hair and dull, dark eyes. They match the boy's eyes—Cyrus's eyes. 

Only this man's sharp gaze is darker, meaner. 

"And that's his father. That's Nicholas." Maddox says solemnly, turning to look down at his kid self and brother. His appearance is still one of dispassion. 

As Cyrus's father hones in on the two boys huddled beside their lifeless mother, I feel an unwelcome pressure in my chest. The weight crushes my spirits and makes me forget to breathe for a long moment. Something about this man feels... soulless.

Young Cyrus looks over his shoulder and panics. He then jumps to his feet and tries to pull Maddox's younger self up with him, but the little blonde boy doesn't budge. His head remains bowed downwards with trauma. "Maddox, please we have to go! He's coming! Please!" he pleads, tugging earnestly at his brother's sleeve.

"Cyrus!" the man shouts, his face red with unchecked anger. He spits vicious swears as he closes in on the boys, adding to his son's fearfulness. 

The smell of vodka suddenly assaults my nostrils, and I know the scent is coming from Nicholas.

Cyrus finally gets his brother up on his feet, but he barely takes two steps forward before the bitter man roughly yanks him away from Maddox by the back of his tunic.

The dark-eyed boy yelps in response, batting fruitlessly at his father in an attempt to free himself. "Stop, stop! I don't want to go with you!" he whines.

Anger boils in my diaphragm, and I feel my jaw clench. I hate not being able to interfere. And by the looks of it, Maddox, who is old enough to do something now feels the same way. His mouth and eyes have curved themselves into a deep scowl.

"Let him go!" young Maddox begs, reaching for his younger brother. The man pulls harder on Cyrus's tunic, causing his eyes to bulge and his throat to choke. "You're hurting him! Stop it!"

Nicholas releases him abruptly, and Cyrus hits the ground with a grunt. For a moment, I think Nicholas may have a conscience after all, but I quickly realize that he has only ceased his cruelty because he is frozen, staring down at his deceased lover with a heavy heart.

He rubs a withered hand through his unkempt hair and holds back a sob. 

Cyrus scrambles to his feet and backs up until he is next to his brother. His petrified gaze stays glued to his father. Both boys watch as Nicholas drops to his knees in despair.

He strokes his thumb against the woman's delicate jaw, fingers twitching. "Aurora..." He says something else after that, but his words slur and I can't decode them. He dips his head, allowing his eyes to close. My throat closes at the sight.

Young Maddox, who is still processing his mother's demise, blinks down at the man, watching as the grief begins to stream down his stepfather's sunken face. While Cyrus's sharp face twists between what looks like guilt and fear.

Apart from the popping of fire and falling debris, it is mostly quiet. A few townsfolk can be heard off in the distance, somewhere beyond the nauseating smoke clouds clambering to save their homes. 

But this tragedy drowns out everything else. 

Two young boys, with arms interlocked, stand outside of their burning, hollow home and watch as their father mourns their mother. I can't imagine going through something this horrific.

Instead of continuing to watch a young version of Maddox, silently wishing I could help, I now find myself turning to the real one beside me. His head is turned away from everything again— away from me and the painful memory taking place in front of him.

Somehow, I think this is the first time I've truly looked at Maddox and saw who he is.

He's no longer a boy, but his fear, his pain, and the lost look in his intricately beautiful eyes are ever-present, rattling me to my core. Not sure what to say or how to console such a loss as this, I offer him the only thing I can. A simple comfort, and the only thing that makes sense after traversing so much darkness together...

My hand.

Tired, amber eyes slowly drift over to me, holding my gaze. With a light tremble, his fingers soon lace themselves around my own in response, and something between us thaws.

I don't look away for a long minute until a child's voice finally tears me away. "No! No!" Cyrus screams. "I want to stay with Maddox and Aurora!"

My head twists forward. Nicholas is on his feet again, dragging Cyrus by the arm and away from Maddox's younger self.

"She's gone, boy! Now, come on! We should've never come here to begin with," Nicholas growls. His tone is authoritative, but his voice is still thick with loss. He doesn't want to believe that Aurora is gone either, despite the falling out he and her were going through.

Cyrus kicks at his father's legs. "Let me go! This is your fault! You ruined everything, like always! She's dead and it's your fault—"

I flinch when Nicholas suddenly whips the back of his hand across Cyrus's little face, sending him spinning straight into the ground. The boy is already no more than skin and bones, clearly lacking proper nourishment, so hitting him that hard was more than uncalled for.

The fragile boy's cries muffle against the dirt, and my heart aches when Maddox tries to help him up, only to be met with the same angry hand of abuse. 

Nicholas digs his nails into Cyrus's arm and forcefully drags him away, gracelessly storming off in the direction he came from. Little Maddox stumbles forward, blood gushing from his nose. He tries to chase after his stepfather and brother but trips over his mother's arm.

Face covered in blood, soot, and now dirt, the little blonde boy looks up from the ground, glancing over at his mother's lifelessness. Tears stream down his face again as he turns back to look at Cyrus who is still eager to fight his way back to him.

"Maddox!" Cyrus cries, trying and failing to escape from his father's vice-like grip. "Dad, w-we can't leave him! He's my best friend! My friend, he's my brother, p-please!" he weeps. His words a almost completely incoherent now.

Nicholas tsks, rambling more drunken nonsense that I can't understand. His intoxication nearly topples him over, but he catches himself and exclaims, "R-Rubbish! That boy isn't mine," he sneers, sounding disgusted by the thought. "Now, stop crying before I give you something to cry about."

"Please don't leave me." The little boy... Maddox, speaks so softly that even I barely hear him. A sob wracks through his body, and he pushes his face into the ground. "Please." Whatever else he tries to say breaks off into deep, mournful sobs.

Cyrus's screams can be heard for several more minutes, but the blonde boy never gets up to chase after his little brother. Instead, his body seems to be paralyzed as he stares numbly at his mother's closed eyes, finally devoid of hope.

My fingers tighten around Maddox's. I don't know if it's my body reacting to the heartache or just the smoke, but my eyes won't stop stinging. 

I look over to the man connected to my hand, and just as I zero in on the amber flecks in his eyes, the burning village melts away, blending into the very flames that consume it.

The fire, the death, the trauma... the entire memory is gone in a smooth flicker.

It's dark for a moment, and then, as if waking up from an unwelcome nightmare, my eyes pop open and my body jolts forward. 

Intense, brown-amber eyes bore into mine, making me think that I'm still lost. My head is spinning. I take slow, even breaths, desperate to calm my racing heart.

The smooth crackle of a fireplace catches my attention, but smoke mixed with the pleasant smell of rain is what soon pulls my mind back to where it should be. My eyelids flutter in awe as everything catches up to me.

Inside a tattered home, where the little boy in the dream found his mother dead, Maddox and I sit beside the fireplace, his hand still pressed against my cheek as we study each other with newfound curiosity.