The wind of the First Realm shifted as they walked south. It wasn't the kind of wind that carried freshness — it carried the metallic tang of old blood, the grit of burnt bone, and the soft hiss of ash as it swirled between their boots. The air itself seemed to cling to skin, as if afraid to let go. Every step Nameless took made the blackened soil below hiss.
Ryne walked beside him with her usual unhurried stride, a thin ribbon of smoke curling from her cigar. The ember pulsed faintly with each inhale, casting small red glows that briefly lit the sharp line of her cheekbone.
The path twisted. At first, it was just more of the same: dirt and rot, jagged debris from terrors of past.
And then… the smell changed.
It was subtle at first — a soft sweetness threading through the decay. Something like lilacs, but wrong. It was the kind of scent that might soothe you if you didn't think about it… but the longer you breathed it in, the more it felt as though the flowers were blooming inside your lungs, replacing your breath with petals.
Nameless's eyes narrowed. Up ahead, the land was no longer black and full of rot. Flowers had begun to bloom across the field — soft pinks, deep crimsons, pale blues that shimmered faintly in the dim light. It should have been beautiful. It was beautiful. The kind of beauty that crawled into you slowly, the kind that made you forget where you were.
The rotten place was gone, replaced by a meadow that swayed gently under an unseen wind.
But Nameless knew beauty here was never free.
He slowed his pace, watching the petals as they broke away from their stems and drifted in the air, glowing faintly like fireflies.
"Why is this place so… beautiful?" he asked finally, his voice low. "It doesn't match the hell we've crossed."
Ryne smirked faintly without looking at him. Smoke trailed behind her like a veil, curling into the lilac scented air. "Do you not remember the realm we are in now?"
He didn't answer.
The grass felt strange under his boots — soft, too soft. Wrong.
He knelt and touched the ground. The petals swayed gently in the breeze, but something about the movement felt… unnatural. He pushed the flowers aside. And then —
Faces.
They stared back at him from just beneath the soil — hundreds at first glance, then thousands. The more he looked, the more the meadow seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction.
Mouths open in silent screams. Eyes wide, unblinking, some already clouded with the milky white of decay, others eerily fresh. The petals were growing from them — from the sockets where eyes once were, from wounds torn into flesh, from tongues bitten off long ago in agony. Some blooms sprouted delicately from their chests, others erupted violently from cracked jaws.
He could see fingernails just above the soil in some places, still clawing upwards as if even now they tried to dig free.
Nameless's gaze darkened. His hand hovered near his blade out of instinct, though there was nothing here left to fight.
Ryne stopped walking and turned toward him, watching as the realisation sank in. "You see now?" she whispered. "This path is called the Bloom of Bones."
Nameless rose slowly, eyes never leaving the ground.
"These," she said, almost lazily, "are the ones they fed to the gardens. Memories are the currency here. You forget — they root you. You resist — they make you bloom against your will." She nodded toward a cluster of pale blue flowers swaying gently. "This is the price of defiance."
Her tone was calm, almost detached, but the cruelty in her words bled through.
A flicker passed through his mind.
The meadow blurred. For a split second, the flowers were gone and the sky was crimson. He saw a woman — dark hair tangled with dirt, tears streaking her bloodstained face — being dragged down into the soil by pale, grasping hands. Her nails raked the ground, leaving dark trails as she fought to stay above.
A man stood over her, laughing. Not out of joy — but out of something darker, something hungry.
Nameless felt the flash of memory hit him like a blade. The image was gone as quickly as it came, but it left an ache in his chest. He didn't know the woman. He didn't know why it felt like he should.
The second crystal embedded in his spine flickered faintly, pulsing once before dimming again. He felt something threatening to surface, but he forced it down. Not now.
Ryne's eyes had been on the crystal the whole time. Her voice dropped to something softer, almost careful.
"You asked what truth I know," she said. "Let me give you some before the madness inside you wakes fully."
He stayed silent.
"They made you look like the villain," she continued. "You were never the villain — at least, I know that much. You fought the infected, the possessed… the ones who smiled while burning children. You cut down those who drank the memories of dying kings like wine."
Her gaze flicked to the meadow. "You fought here, once. When you still… existed here."
Nameless's jaw tightened.
"They were already lost," Ryne said quietly. "You tried to save them. That was your mistake. You wanted to be a human."
His head turned toward her slowly. "Then why was I sealed? Why do I not remember anything? Who are they that you mention?"
Ryne stopped walking. The flowerbed seemed to breathe around her boots, the blossoms swaying as if reacting to her stillness.
"They sealed you," she said at last, "because they feared what would happen if you kept realising what it means to be human. What it means to rebel against your own creators."
He stared at her.
"They erased your mind," she said, stepping closer. "But they couldn't erase mine. I borrowed this knowledge from my father. You cannot die — so they buried you in a realm where time means nothing, where you could be forgotten."
Silence.
"Who are you really, Ryne?"
She looked up at him, her face unreadable. Then she took one slow step closer until the smoke from her cigar curled between them.
"For now," she said softly, "just call me by my name. I will walk with you. I cannot tell you more — not yet. I can only hope you remember everything on your own. Even I…" she hesitated, "…want to hear your version of what truly happened."
Something inside him stirred again, but it slipped away before he could grasp it. He tried to remember — and failed.
The path ended at the edge of a cliff draped in blossoms. Far below, darkness churned, and from within it came faint, distant screams that rose and fell like a sick kind of lullaby.
Nameless glanced around one last time. That's when he noticed it — through the trees in the distance, small blue lights flickering like lanterns in the dark.
"What is that?" he asked.
Ryne's tone turned sharp instantly. "Don't look."
He turned his head toward her.
"They're ruined curses," she said, her voice low. "They wait for wanderers to approach. Once you step close, they trap you in illusions. They devour your memories, your time… until you forget you ever lived."
Nameless sighed and looked away from the lights.
"I don't want any more trouble," he muttered. "Let's just get out of here."
Ryne smirked. "Scared?"
He gave her a flat look. "No. Just shut it and lead the way."
She tilted her head, clearly enjoying herself. "You know, for someone who doesn't want to talk more, you're doing a lot of talking."
"For someone who claims to have answers," he shot back, "you're doing a lot of not telling me who I am."
Her smirk widened. "Oh, so you do want me to talk now?"
"I want answers, not your sarcasm," he said.
"Ah, but sarcasm is free," she replied. "Answers? That'll cost you."
"Cost me what?" he asked, his tone dry.
"Memories," she said with a wicked grin.
He shook his head and started walking ahead of her. "Then keep your damn answers. I'm not paying for something that's mine already, I'll figure it out myself."
Ryne chuckled, falling into step beside him again. "Fine. But don't come crying to me when your curiosity eats you alive."
"I'd rather have curiosity than your company," he muttered.
"Liar," she said without missing a beat.
He didn't respond, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
The two of them walked south, the sound of the screaming flowers fading behind them, swallowed by the wind.
But Nameless felt it before he saw it — a faint hum threading through the edges of his thoughts, like the sound of a voice speaking underwater, curling into his skull.
It wasn't a sound he heard with his ears. It was inside him.
He stopped mid-stride.
Ryne kept walking for two more steps before her instincts caught the pause behind her. She half-turned, smoke spiraling lazily from her cigar, framing her face in a haze. Her eyes narrowed.
"Don't," she said flatly.
Nameless didn't answer. He wasn't even looking at her. His gaze had locked, unblinking, on the treeline they'd just passed.
Between the warped and twisted trunks, one of the blue lights had moved. Not the drifting, idle sway they'd seen earlier. This was deliberate. Measured.
Following.
It pulsed once.
Twice.
The third pulse never came — because in the blink of an eye, it was no longer in the trees.
It was in front of him.
The change was so abrupt it bent the air itself. One heartbeat he was standing ankle-deep in the ash scattered meadow. The next, the world had peeled away. The cliff, the blossoms, the wind — gone.
The air was suddenly warm on his face.
He stood in a vast, sunlit field. Golden grass rippled like water in the breeze. Somewhere beyond a gentle rise, he heard children laughing, a bell ringing faintly. The light here was almost blinding after the endless gloom — it felt clean, pure.
And there, in the middle of the field, she stood.
A woman who he could not remember.
Her dark hair danced in the wind, unbound, free. Her face was whole, untouched by sorrow or ruin. Her eyes were alive — deep, glistening, and fixed entirely on him, as if there was nothing else in this world but the two of them.
She smiled, and the smile was so warm it hurt to look at.
"Nameless…" she whispered.
It wasn't just his name she spoke — it was a memory being placed gently back into his hands. A reminder.
He took a step forward before he realised —
Her feet weren't touching the grass.
They hovered just above it.
The blue light flickered deep in her eyes.
The warmth in his chest twisted.
Before he could move again, a hand like a clamp seized his shoulder. Cold. Unyielding.
The world shattered.
Not with sound, but with sensation — the sun, the field, the laughter, all breaking apart like brittle glass, shards dissolving into black mist. The ashen meadow roared back into being, the real wind biting cold against his face.
He staggered once, blinking hard. The blue glow was already retreating into the trees, pulling away like a predator denied its prey.
Ryne's grip was still firm on him, her voice low and edged. "I told you. Don't look at them."
Nameless's heart was pounding. His fingers twitched toward the hilt of his blade. He could still feel the heat of the false sun on his skin, and something else — the pull in his chest, dragging him toward her.
Her face. Her voice.
He swallowed hard.
Ryne let go, brushing past him. "Next time," she said without looking back, "you won't come back so easily."
Nameless stared into the darkness between the trees where the light had vanished. For a moment, he swore he could still see her there, watching him through the shadows.
But he turned away. For now.
"Just take my words seriously" said Ryne.
Neither spoke for some time.
And so they continue to walk south in silence, the weight of unspoken things hanging heavy.