Chapter 13 – The City That Chose to Forget
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They arrived at dusk.
The sun bled through the clouds as Anterz and Elaria crested the hill, and the city below them shimmered gold.
Not the gold of stone or sun-washed marble.
No—this light was false.
A glow that came from memory itself, drawn up through the cracks beneath the cobbled streets and humming through the city's bones like music waiting to be played.
The place was called Vel Saren—once a border city of scholars and farmers, now a beacon pulsing with the Choir's mark.
The second Well lay somewhere beneath it.
But unlike the fortress, this one was alive.
And thriving.
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Elaria lowered her spyglass and blew out a long breath.
"They're not afraid," she said. "They're... singing."
Indeed, the city streets below echoed with soft, rhythmic chants. From balconies, from windows, from temple rooftops—every voice in perfect harmony. Not manic. Not forced.
Willing.
Anterz narrowed his eyes.
"They've accepted the dream."
"They've chosen it," Elaria said. Her voice trembled.
That was the deeper terror.
This wasn't infection.
It was conversion.
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They waited until nightfall to descend.
The outer roads were empty. Not abandoned—swept clean. Lanterns burned on every corner, casting pools of warm light.
Too warm.
When Anterz stepped into the first circle of light, Valteris shivered on his back, like a wolf catching the scent of something wrong.
They passed homes full of laughter—families eating together, lovers embracing on balconies.
Smiles everywhere.
But the eyes...
The eyes were hollow.
Too calm.
Too sure.
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They were halfway to the central plaza when they met the first one.
A woman in a white dress, standing at the corner of a garden that bloomed with impossible flowers—each petal etched with runes, each root whispering softly.
She turned as they passed.
"Are you lost?" she asked gently.
Elaria paused.
"We're travelers."
The woman smiled.
"There's no need to travel anymore," she said. "Everything you've ever needed... you've already lived. We remember it for you now."
Anterz gripped Valteris.
The woman's eyes flicked to the blade.
Her smile didn't falter.
But her skin pulsed—like something lived beneath it, waiting.
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More appeared as they walked.
Men, women, children.
All dressed in white. All smiling.
None speaking with urgency or anger.
They welcomed Anterz and Elaria like honored guests.
Like pilgrims.
"You must be tired," said an elderly man with a gleaming cane. "Lay down your burdens. Let the dream carry you."
"You don't have to suffer anymore," whispered a girl holding a basket of songbirds. "We know who you are. We can make it better."
"You were always meant to return," said a youth with eyes like starlight. "Why keep choosing pain?"
Elaria walked faster.
Anterz didn't speak.
His silence was its own answer.
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They reached the plaza at midnight.
It was beautiful.
At its center rose a spire of crystal—pure, towering, humming. The second Well.
Around it, a crowd sat in perfect stillness, hands joined, eyes closed.
They weren't chanting.
They were remembering.
And the Well drank in every thought, every past, every regret—growing brighter, stronger.
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At its base stood a figure in robes darker than night.
A man.
Not the Choir King.
But close.
His skin glowed faintly from within. His breath shimmered on the air.
He smiled as Anterz approached.
"We've been waiting for you," he said.
His voice was soft.
Beautiful.
Wrong.
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"I am Elrad, the Choir's Voice," he said, bowing. "And this is Vel Saren reborn. The first true city of peace."
Anterz drew Valteris.
"Peace that rewrites souls."
Elrad's smile widened.
"No. Peace that rewrites pain."
He gestured to the people around the Well.
"They came willingly. No battles. No coercion. Just choice."
He stepped closer.
"You of all people should understand that, Ruin-Bearer."
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Anterz said nothing.
He didn't trust his voice to hold steady.
Elrad walked slowly around him, like a priest appraising an altar.
"You tore down the Tower because you believed in choice. In freedom."
"I still do," Anterz said.
"Then let them choose."
Elrad gestured to the city.
"No one forced them. They asked to forget. To be rewritten. To become more than themselves."
Elaria stepped forward, voice sharp.
"To become less."
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Elrad's eyes narrowed.
"Only by your standards."
He raised his hand.
And the Well flared.
A dozen figures rose from the crowd—faces familiar.
Too familiar.
People Anterz and Elaria had met on the road. Fighters. Survivors. Friends.
All rewritten.
Eyes silver.
Voices soft.
"Anterz," one said, stepping forward. "You saved me once. Let me return the favor."
"Let go," said another. "You've carried too much."
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Elaria's hand trembled.
"They're not dead," she whispered.
"No," Elrad said. "They're complete."
He stepped to the Well.
Rested a hand upon it.
"And you could be, too."
He looked at Anterz.
"We've built a better world here. No more pain. No more failure. Just memory made kind."
He paused.
"Stay."
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Silence fell.
The crowd watched.
Even the Well held still.
Waiting.
Anterz stood very still.
Then stepped forward.
Raised Valteris.
And spoke.
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"No."
The word was a hammer.
A blade.
A crack in the dream.
Elrad didn't flinch.
"You would destroy their peace for your principles?"
Anterz nodded.
"Yes."
"Then you are no savior."
Anterz's eyes burned.
"I'm not."
He stabbed Valteris into the ground.
And spoke the unmaking word he had learned at the Tower's fall.
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The Well screamed.
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The city twisted.
The crowd convulsed—some collapsing, others shrieking as memories fled them.
Elaria drew her blade, facing the silver-eyed guardians.
They attacked.
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Anterz surged forward.
Valteris sang.
First strike—clean through a false pilgrim's ribs.
Second—across a glowing throat.
Third—shattering a blade of memory before it could form.
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Elaria moved like wildfire.
Dodging. Cutting.
Her dagger struck where thought was weakest, shattering Choir forgeries into dust.
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Elrad howled.
"You don't have to do this!"
Anterz charged him.
Their blades met—steel against memory, will against will.
Elrad fought like a man who had never lost—because in the Choir's dream, he hadn't.
But Anterz had faced loss.
He knew what it cost.
And he used it.
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The fight was brutal.
Neither gave ground.
But Elrad was bound to the Well.
And the Well was breaking.
Cracks spidered through its surface.
Light spilled upward, unfocused.
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Elaria reached the crystal first.
Drove her dagger into its heart.
"Let them remember!" she shouted.
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The Well detonated.
Not in fire.
In truth.
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Memories poured outward—raw, broken, real.
The false world cracked.
The false peace ended.
The people of Vel Saren collapsed—some screaming, some laughing, some sobbing.
The dream was gone.
Only the world remained.
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Elrad fell to his knees.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why did you take it from them?"
Anterz lowered his sword.
"Because they never got to choose after they knew the cost."
Elrad looked up.
"Then what now?"
Anterz turned away.
"Now they rebuild. Without you."
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He and Elaria walked through the broken city, among people waking for the first time in years.
And the stars watched, silent and bright.
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