THE NEW MEMORY DEN
One year passed. Then two. Then five.
The Memory Den was no longer a cave in the Deep Warrens. It was a sprawling complex, built into the rock beneath the city, with halls and rooms and gardens lit by bioluminescent fungi. People came from all over Erebus Mons — not to buy memories, but to share them. To tell stories. To grieve together. To remember.
Remy stood at the entrance, watching the crowd flow through the doors. She was older now — thirty-three, with lines around her eyes and gray streaking her dark hair. Her hands no longer shook when she thought about the past.
Juno stood beside her, their shoulders touching.
“You’ve built something beautiful,” Juno said.
“We’ve built something beautiful. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Juno smiled. It was a tired smile, but a real one.
“What’s on the schedule today?”
“A family from the Spire. They want to donate their grandmother’s memories. She was one of the first settlers. Her memories go back to before the domes.”
“Before the domes? That’s rare.”
“Rarer than you think. Most of the early settlers’ memories were consumed by the Devourer. These survived because the grandmother hid them. In a box. Under her bed.”
Juno laughed. “All that technology, and she hid her memories in a box under her bed.”
“Old habits.”
They walked inside.
The central hall was full. Hundreds of people sat on cushions, listening to a woman speak. She was old — older than Remy’s mother would have been — with white hair and a voice like honey.
“I remember the first dome going up,” the woman said. “I was seven years old. My father held me on his shoulders so I could see. The glass was so clear I thought it was air. And then they turned on the sun. The artificial sun. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
The crowd listened in silence.
Remy sat in the back, watching.
The woman spoke for an hour. About the first crops grown in Martian soil. About the first child born under the dome. About the first time she saw the stars through the glass and realized she would never walk on another world.
When she finished, the crowd applauded.
Remy walked to the front.
“Thank you,” she said. “Your memories will be preserved here. For your grandchildren. For their grandchildren. For as long as the Den stands.”
The woman took Remy’s hands.
“You’re the Memory Thief,” she said.
“I was.”
“You’re still. But now you steal from death instead of the living.”
Remy didn’t know how to respond.
The woman smiled. “That’s a good thing.”
She walked away.
THE FIRST FESTIVAL
The Festival of Peace was held on the anniversary of the Devourer’s destruction.
The entire city gathered in the central plaza — the Spire and the Deep Warrens, the rich and the poor, the old and the young. They danced to music played on instruments that had been salvaged from the ruins. They ate food grown in the hydroponic gardens. They drank water that had been rationed for generations but was now flowing freely.
Remy stood on the steps of the old government building, watching.
Cassian was beside her. He was older now, too, his hair fully gray, his face lined with regret. But his eyes were clear. The Warden’s gold was gone.
“She would have loved this,” he said.
“Who?”
“Your mother. She always dreamed of a day when people didn’t have to be afraid.”
Remy looked at the crowd. At the children laughing. At the parents holding hands. At the old people dancing.
“She would have been proud of you.”
Cassian shook his head. “I don’t deserve her pride.”
“None of us deserve anything. That’s not how love works.”
He was silent.
Then he said, “I’m leaving.”
Remy turned to him. “What?”
“The sleepers asked me to come back. To help them heal. The Warden left scars in my mind. They think they can help.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. Years, maybe. Decades.”
Remy’s throat tightened.
“Dad.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I need to do this. For myself. For your mother. For you.”
She hugged him.
He held her.
When they pulled apart, his eyes were wet.
“I’ll come back,” he said.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He walked away.
Remy watched him go.
Then she turned back to the festival.
The dancing continued.
The music played.
The people laughed.
And for a moment — just a moment — everything was okay.