This happens after the storyline of Addergoole; for reference, see this guest story
It had never ceased to plague him. His memories of death and dying were picture-perfect, dozens of deaths, at least, some of them in worlds that had made Professor Valerian frown and Professor Pelletier twitch when he described them (which was, of course, half of why he described them). But his memories of what was, in theory, his current life, were either non-existant or fuzzy. Even large parts of his time at Addergoole were a blur.
He worked as a mechanic, because he was good at it, because he didn’t have to remember much from day to day (the skills didn’t go, just the people, and the events), and because it paid well. He paid a couple former Students of his Former Mentor, and one from Valerian, to keep his cave – a house when he’d started and, from the outside, still mostly a house – and his bed warm and comfortable, more than willing to share the money. You helped your cy’ree. He didn’t forget that. You helped your crew, your cy’ree, and your brothers. If he had any of those.
But now the stupid departed gods were coming back, and they were ruining all of that. The world kept moving, changing, and his uncertain memory couldn’t keep up with the changes the interlopers were imposing on the city around him. The clients who kept money in his pocket were fleeing the city, and encouraging him to do the same. Run and hide. Prey ran and hid, and girls. He might hate his memories of death, but Baram did not fear it.
He thumped down the street from the shop – no work today, go home, the boss had said, get your girl and get out of here – to his home, pushing aside overturned cars and, once, because it was in his way, moving a broken bus off a wounded human. He muttered the healing Words at the human so she’d stop screaming; something was wrong. The place where his cave was looked wrong.
A growl started deep in Baram’s throat. The fucking returned gods had gone too far.
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