They came upon it at dusk.
There were no roads that led to it. No paths carved by foot or hoof. One moment, they walked through the windswept plains of the Vareth Expanse—and the next, the horizon split open like a wound, and there it was.
The city.
It had no name.
At least, not anymore.
Vaerin stood still as stone. His jaw slackened. His sword dropped at his side, forgotten.
"I… I've been here before," he whispered. "As a child. With my father. But it was rubble. Dead."
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"It's alive now."
He wasn't wrong.
Lights flickered behind cracked windows. Shadows passed behind torn curtains. Smoke curled up from crooked chimneys. The whole city breathed like it had lungs made of marble and grief.
And from its depths came whispers—not voices, but thoughts.
"Remember me."
"Remember us."
"You promised."
A City Unwritten
They stepped through its gates—iron twisted like vines—and were swallowed whole.
The city was a maze of cracked streets and collapsing towers, stitched together by broken bridges and whispering alleyways. Statues lined every avenue, each face blurred, as though someone had tried to erase the identities with clawed hands.
Kael touched one.
It was warm.
Alive.
"These aren't statues," he said. "They're… people."
"Turned to stone?" Iris asked.
"Turned to memory," Vaerin said darkly. "This city doesn't eat flesh. It eats who you are."
Kael clenched his fist. He could feel it—something prodding at his memories. Tugging at them. Twisting them.
For a moment, he forgot his name.
The Archive of Forgotten Things
They found it in the center of the city—a cathedral made of bones and mirrors, humming with magic older than time.
Inside, the walls were covered in names. Thousands.
Kael read a few:
Calia Eleneth
Thorne Yurev
Iris—and then crossed out
Kael—crossed out, then written again.
"This is a ledger," Iris whispered. "A list of everyone this place has stolen."
"And a record of who escaped," Vaerin added grimly, pointing to the strikethroughs.
Kael ran his hand over his name.
It burned cold.
What Lies Beneath
In the center of the cathedral stood a mirror taller than a house. But it didn't reflect their faces. It reflected moments.
Kael saw himself as a child, holding a sword too large for his arms.
Then himself at the monastery, alone by the well.
Then—himself, at the gate of names, refusing his bloodline.
The mirror shattered.
A figure stepped from the shards.
"You've come far, Kael," the man said. His voice was kind. Familiar.
Kael's blood ran cold.
"Father?"
But it wasn't.
It was a reflection—a memory of his father, twisted by regret.
"You cannot outrun what you are. Every step you take away from your blood only leads you deeper into it."
Kael gritted his teeth.
"I'm not running."
"Then why haven't you looked behind you?"
He turned.
Iris was gone.
The Cost of Forgetting
Kael ran. Vaerin called after him, but he didn't stop.
He dashed through endless alleys, each corner revealing streets that hadn't existed seconds before. The city shifted, reshaping itself to pull him deeper.
Then he heard it.
A scream.
He turned and found Iris—on her knees, staring blankly into a pool of glass. Her hands trembled. Her lips moved silently.
"She doesn't remember," a voice said beside him.
The figure was tall, cloaked in smoke and bone. A woman, face veiled in silk, eyes glowing with absence.
"She's offered her memory to save yours."
Kael drew his blade.
"Give her back."
"Only if you give me what you've hidden. The one memory you sealed away. The one you won't let yourself feel."
Kael froze.
He knew exactly which one.
His mother's final moment.
The Memory He Feared
He saw it then—his mother, burning alive, her arms wrapped around him, whispering a lullaby as the cultists howled in the dark.
"It wasn't your fault," Iris had always said.
But Kael had believed it was.
He'd screamed as a child. That scream had drawn them to their hiding place.
That scream had gotten her killed.
He let the memory come.
Let it burn him.
Tears streamed down his face.
And when it was done—the city trembled.
The mirror reformed.
Iris gasped, blinking.
"Kael?"
He caught her before she fell.
"You remembered," she said.
"So you wouldn't have to."
The Exit That Wasn't
They staggered toward the cathedral's edge, back toward the gates. The path now stood clear. The statues bowed their heads as they passed.
But as they reached the threshold, the voice returned.
"You still carry names not your own."
"You still have truths you haven't spoken."
Kael turned.
The city remained still.
But he knew it was watching.
Judging.
Waiting.
The Next Path
Outside the city, the sky had changed. No longer stars—but eyes.
Watching.
And far in the distance, smoke rose from the mountains of Ithar.
The cult was moving.
The gods were no longer silent.
"We have to go," Kael said.
"Where?" Iris asked.
Kael looked to the burning sky.
"To where the names were made."
"You mean—"
"Yes," he said grimly. "To Ithar. The god grave."