The archway led to silence.
Not the silence of peace—but the deep, unnerving absence of life. The kind of silence that follows after all the screaming has stopped.
The knight stepped into a vast courtyard, broken and choked with ivy. Crumbled statues stood in reverence to a forgotten age. In the center, a fountain flowed, not with water—but with ink. Black, slow, and thick like memory itself.
He moved cautiously, the wind here colder, almost reluctant to speak.
At the edge of the courtyard stood a building—more temple than fortress, its doors open as if waiting. On the stone above the entrance, worn letters carved in ancient tongue barely formed a phrase:
> "Here dwell the memories too heavy for the world."
He entered.
Within, the air was heavy with dust and forgotten pages. A thousand shelves spiraled upward into darkness. Books bound in hide, etched with runes, murmured when brushed. No guards. No footsteps. Just the whisper of paper breathing.
And then he saw her.
A lone figure stood behind a desk of bone and oak. Pale, slender, and still as a statue. Her eyes were hidden beneath a hood, but her hands moved delicately, sorting fragments of letters. She did not acknowledge his presence.
He stepped forward.
> "Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.
She raised her head. Her voice was soft—like distant bells under deep water.
> "Names are currency here. You possess none."
He stared at her. Somehow, she knew. She felt the emptiness in him.
> "I seek truth," he said.
> "Then seek pain," she replied.
There was no mockery in her words. Only certainty.
> "Many come, thinking truth lies in knowledge. But books hold only reflections. What you seek is buried in scars."
She turned, walking between the shelves with ghostlike grace.
> "Follow, Forgotten One. I will show you your first wound."
He followed.
Up a winding staircase, through a chamber where words floated freely in the air—memories unbound. Visions passed by: a child in chains; a woman screaming into the void; a knight kneeling before a fire that would not warm him.
She stopped before a sealed door. From behind it, came a sound—not loud, but persistent.
Dripping.
> "Behind this door is a memory you buried. One that must bleed before it heals."
She handed him a rusted key.
> "You do not remember her. But she remembers you."
And for the first time, the knight felt fear.