A Phantom Memory

Áskell shivered as the cold wind struck against his back. Part of his mind told him to scoot closer to the fire but the other told him on some level he deserved this, that he was still alive, for better or worse. He felt a mass of guilt sitting in his stomach like a heavy stone and wondered if there was something he could've done to prevent his father and his brother from passing. His memory was so close but so intangible, like the blanket of mist that coated the ground. He could see some scenes, hear snippets of others, and yet it all felt like a long ago dream that he was trying to put back together. Part of him even wondered if he wanted to. So much of what had returned to him was painful.

"Askell?"

His head jolted up at the familiarity of the voice and as he stared at the wolf before him the name suddenly struck him. "Jigsaw!" He stared in shock at the present yet seemingly intangible form of his brother. Like the other was made of mist. Was Áskell dreaming even now?

"Please don't cry."

"Jigsaw… Jigsaw… what happened? How did we end up like this?"