What is a memory? If one asks the microbiologists and the pure physicalists one is likely to receive an answer involving chemicals, or the encoding of a piece of the brain - we are given to understand that our memories are literally inscribed on our internal organs - most vitally the brain of course, but yes, even the other organs. The body remembers as does the brain. And indeed, I concur with them - that all of this is true.

Not the only truth, all the same. Our brains remember, and our bodies remember, but then why do we remember things that we ourselves never lived? This is one place where I think the microbiologists and the poets might come to an accord: the world remembers, and indeed all living things are like the breath of the world, the breath of God if one is so inclined. The world remembers, and therefore we all remember as well.

Is this a demonstrable basis for the phenomenon of inherited memory? Perhaps and perhaps not. But such things elude direct explanation .

-From “Inherited Memories: A treatise on the old world’s legacy and its connection to magical mechanics” by Ahbrim Pallacce. Dated 104 YT

245 YT, Winter: Kivv - near the eastern wall, in a small doctor's office

"And when did this happen?"

Doctor Amire's hand shook where it held the pen, poised over his notebook, and he glanced quickly down - toward the notes - and up - toward Kamila, where she sat, arms crossed, the single braid of her hair thrown over her right shoulder, her left hand resting on the hilt of a sword unseen underneath the other end of Amire's desk.

Kamila frowned. Amire looked down at his notes - today's session, marked 10th Wednesday of Winter, following up a brief note from the 3rd Friday of Autumn.

The woman sitting in front of him was not so different from the one he remembered, which was - itself - concerning. If what she was saying was true, then - based on Amire's research into the effects of this theoretical phenomenon - she should be gradually becoming more like the historical figure whose memories she'd acquired. If the logic held, her behavior should become more and more unstable with each passing day. If anything, Kamila Zelenko seemed more herself, more self-assured and put together, than Amire could remember her being.

Perhaps it was the simple fact that she'd chosen to come here. Perhaps it was the calm regard with which those steel-grey eyes looked across the desk at him.

As the second ticked by, Amire glanced up at the clock on the wall. He counted forty-five seconds before Kamila shifted in her seat, leaned against the desk with her right forearm, and said: "More than a year."

Amire sighed and dug his fingers into his forehead. "You should have told me earlier," he said. "I had my suspicions, and my theories, but if you'd been open for me, we could have gotten you the help you might need, earlier."

"It's strange, but I don't think I need help," Kamila said. "I've learned a great deal."

Amire tried to stay neutral despite the urge in him screaming to lash out at Kamila, this foolish little girl who thought she knew everything. "And what have you learned?" he asked levelly.

"I've learned what I need to do," Kamila said. "When all this is over."

"And that is?"

Kamila smiled, giddy like a little girl who's just learned a secret.

"Turn east and move forward until I reach my goal."