Chapter 378: Colorless

Third-person POV

Electra’s mind would not settle. Different thoughts circled her mind one after the other, overlapping until none of them felt solid enough to hold, and every answer her grandfather had given her seemed to create new gaps instead of filling the old ones.

The balance between her human and phoenix halves, the fractured sigil, and Seraphina’s life being tied to her own. It was too much to carry all at once, and she quickly understood that if she kept digging through every detail, she would only sink deeper into confusion. There were too many moving parts, too many things she did not remember, and too many consequences tied to memories she did not possess.

So she forced herself to step back from it mentally because not everything needed to be solved at once, but one part refused to quiet.

He had told her that she had to protect Seraphina. That her survival depended on keeping that human safe. The idea felt distant, almost absurd, because how was she supposed to protect someone she could barely feel anything for? How was she meant to build devotion around a person who existed mostly as just a name and a vague sense of importance?

He had taken her memories precisely so she would not form deep attachments, so she would not make reckless choices fueled by emotion, and now he was telling her that she needed to ensure the safety of a human girl whose existence was tied to the fading fragments of her humanity.

It felt contradictory.

She knew, instinctively, that she did not want to die. That much was simple since survival was natural and automatic, but when she truly examined the thought, it did not carry any real intensity or desperation. It was more reflex than conviction.

She tried to imagine the alternative, which was Seraphina dying, the balance collapsing, and her phoenix power turning inward and consuming her. He had described it plainly that she would burn from the inside out. The power that made her dangerous would end her, and yet, when she considered that outcome carefully, she realized something unsettling.

She did not feel fear.

Living in a world that did not accept her, that talked about what she was, that watched her carefully as though she were something unstable, had not exactly given her a strong desire to preserve herself at all costs. She had only been conscious of this world for a few days, and in such a short period, she had spent most of the time suppressing her nature, shrinking herself to make others comfortable, and pretending that her power was less than it truly was.

There was no freedom in that, just constant restraint. If the end came because of Seraphina’s death, because the fragile balance finally snapped, then maybe that was simply the way things were meant to go. The thought did not disturb her, it simply existed.

Her grandfather’s voice interrupted the silence in her mind.

“Have you made your decision?” he asked, his tone even and controlled as always. “Do you want your memories back?”

The question hung in the darkness between them. Electra turned her head slowly to face him fully. Her expression had smoothed into something unreadable again, calm and almost detached. She studied him for a moment, as though weighing not just the choice but the way he stood before her, confident and certain that this was the correct path forward.

“No,” she said, her voice firm and loud enough to cut through the silence. “I don’t want them back.”

She did not hesitate. The decision felt clear in a way the rest of the situation did not. Taking back her memories meant taking back emotional burden, attachments, grief, love, anger, and all of it tied directly to power that could spiral beyond control. She had lived without those burdens in the last few days, and it wasn’t exactly unbearable. In some ways, it was easier.

“I would rather live without the past hanging over me,” she continued, her gaze steady on him. “Without emotions dictating my reactions. You said my power reacts to what I feel. If that’s true, then why would I choose to amplify it?”

There was no bitterness in her tone, only logic.

“And from what I can tell,” she added after a slight pause, “you weren’t hoping I would ask for them back either. You took them because you believed it was necessary, so I’m going to assume you had your reasons. If you thought I was a disaster waiting to happen before, then maybe this version of me is safer.”

Her grandfather watched her in silence. His expression remained composed, though something in his gaze sharpened as if he were assessing not just her words but the absence of emotion behind them. Seconds stretched until finally he gave a small nod.

“Good choice,” he said simply.

There was no visible relief in him, no satisfaction beyond his approval, and before she could respond, before she could reconsider or ask another question, he lifted his hand. His fingers snapped once, the sound echoing unnaturally in the dark void around them.

The fire vanished instantly, the ground under her feet dissolved without warning, and the darkness deepened in a way Electra didn’t think was even possible. For a brief second, there was nothing, no light, no sound, no sensation.

Then her eyes opened, and bright white light replaced the darkness. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It was sharp and sterile, something clean yet faintly bitter, and it lingered in the air and settled at the back of her throat. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the brightness above her. The ceiling was flat and pale, with rectangular lights embedded into it.

She was lying down, not standing in darkness or sitting in a classroom like she was before her grandfather’s stunt. Instead, she was lying on a narrow bed with stiff sheets and a thin blanket pulled halfway over her. The mattress under her felt firm and unfamiliar.

She turned her head carefully to the side, her movements controlled, and her gaze widened slightly as she took in her surroundings.

There were more beds, several of them, arranged in rows across a large open room. Some were empty, and others were occupied by still figures lying under identical blankets. Thin curtains stood between certain beds, partially drawn, offering small pockets of privacy.

The walls were basically colorless, interrupted only by tall windows that allowed muted daylight to filter through.

She pushed herself up slowly, propping herself on her elbows before sitting upright. Her body felt real and solid, her breathing steady. There was no rush of returning memories, no sudden wave of emotion crashing into her. Her mind remained calm, quiet, and untouched by the past she had chosen not to reclaim.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep