The swamp stretched as far as the eye could see, covered by thick mist and the smell of wet iron.
Each step sank a few centimeters into the mud, and every time Vespera cursed, a frog croaked in response, as if mocking her.
"This isn't a swamp," she complained, lifting her mud-covered foot. "It's a trap disguised as an ecosystem."
"You've been complaining for an hour," Elara said. "Maybe if you used fewer explosives, you'd get less dirty."
"Explosives are an art!"
"And mud is the result," I added, trying not to laugh.
Celine walked ahead, her boots spotless thanks to some irritating divine trick.
"The Tower of Eidath should be at the center of this swamp. According to the records, it was built by mages who served Zephyron before the fall. They studied the power of the flame."
Liriel kept her gaze on the horizon.
"And according to legend, none of them survived the final experiment."
"Great," I muttered. "Because nothing says 'good morning' like a cursed tower and curious corpses."
After another hour, the fog began to clear.
The silhouette of the tower emerged—tilted, covered in moss, partially submerged in dark water.
It looked ready to collapse, yet still defied time.
"There it is," Celine said. "The Tower of Eidath."
Vespera whistled. "Not very inviting."
"Not very alive," I added.
The entrance was partially flooded. We crossed carefully until reaching a hall covered in greenish runes.
The air was dense, humid, and the walls seemed to pulse, as if breathing.
Liriel knelt to study the inscriptions.
"These runes were made to store spiritual energy. They collect echoes of thoughts, memories… even emotions."
"So it's an archive," Elara concluded.
"An archive of pain," Celine said, touching the wall.
"Every mage who died here left something recorded. If we're right, there's also a fragment of Zephyron trapped among these memories."
I looked around. "And if we're wrong?"
"Then you'll see ghosts screaming for fun," Vespera replied.
"Wonderful comfort, thank you."
We continued to the center of the tower.
The floor was made of ancient glass, cracked, and beneath it was a blue substance—liquid, yet alive, like melted flame.
At the top of a spiral staircase, a door opened by itself.
A cold wind passed through us, carrying a whisper:
"Eidath does not forget."
Celine raised her staff. "Be ready. This tower chooses what to show."
---
We climbed cautiously. On each floor, something changed.
On the first, we saw shadows of mages working, copying scrolls that erased themselves.
On the second, the tower displayed a room of mirrors, where the reflections had faces different from ours.
When we reached the third, the blue light grew stronger.
A large magic circle lay on the floor, and in the center, a pulsating floating sphere.
"Looks like a heart," Elara said.
Celine nodded. "The tower's core."
"And that's where the fragment is?" I asked.
"Probably."
Before we could act, the sphere expanded, releasing a wave of energy.
I felt an impact and, suddenly, the world changed.
I was alone.
The swamp had vanished.
Before me rose a golden city under an orange sky.
People greeted me, laughing, shouting a name that wasn't mine.
"Zephyron! Zephyron!"
I looked at my hands—there was golden armor, shining.
No… it wasn't mine.
A voice echoed behind me.
"You shouldn't be here."
I turned. It was a man identical to me—but with a calm, weary gaze.
"You're the fragment," I realized.
"I am what remains of Zephyron before the flame consumed him. The tower preserved this memory… and now you're reliving it."
"Why?" I asked. "Why show me this?"
"Because you must understand the weight of the fire you carry. It wasn't made to destroy, but to remember. And remembering… is a curse."
The city began to turn to ashes.
"I created the flame to prevent forgetting," he continued.
"But when the world chose to forget anyway… it consumed me."
Pain split the air like thunder.
I saw people screaming, temples collapsing, and Zephyron himself—kneeling, clutching his head, as if fighting invisible voices.
"I tried to contain the fire within me," he said, "but every memory I kept turned to weight. And when I finally fell, the fire split me into echoes.
Each fragment… an isolated memory."
"And now those fragments are returning," I murmured.
"Yes. And if they reunite without purpose… the world will burn again."
The ashes covered him completely.
Before disappearing, he looked at me.
"You are the last mirror. Do not let the flame decide what to remember."
I woke up to the sound of Liriel calling me. I was on the floor of the tower, my body covered in blue dust.
"Takumi! Are you okay?"
"Depends... how many versions of me are you seeing?"
"Just one," Elara replied, relieved.
"Then I think I'm alive."
Celine was observing the sphere, now inert. "The tower recognized the bond. It showed the truth Zephyron kept here."
Vespera whistled, looking at the scorched magic circle. "And it also almost blew everything up. That counts as progress."
I looked up at the ceiling. The blue flame inside me pulsed stronger — alive, but strangely calm.
"He tried to save the world with memories," I said. "But ended up trapped in them."
Liriel approached, placing a hand on my shoulder. "And now you carry that. It's no coincidence, Takumi. The flame chose someone who still remembers what they feel."
"Great," I muttered. "I'm basically a walking emotional archive."
She laughed softly. "At least you have company."
Celine looked toward the horizon through the tower's broken window. "The next echo must be on the move. There are reports of blue lights appearing near the borders of the Kingdom of Salthen. If the fragment is traveling… we won't have much time."
"Again with no rest," Elara said, adjusting her bow.
"Rest is for those who don't carry curses," Vespera replied.
"And a sense of humor is for those who haven't given up yet," I added.
When we left the tower, the swamp seemed quieter. The mist had dissipated, revealing the sky's reflection in the mirror-like water. For a moment, everything seemed normal — until I noticed something different.
My shadow flickered, as if burning with invisible flames.
Liriel noticed. "It's intensifying."
"Yeah," I replied. "And it doesn't seem like it's going to stop."
Celine tightened her grip on her staff. "The flame isn't consuming you. It's awakening. Maybe… trying to turn you into something."
"Something what?" I asked.
She hesitated. "The same thing he was."
We fell silent. The wind carried the distant sound of thunder. The journey to Salthen would begin at dawn, but in that moment, I realized something was slowly changing — not just in me, but in all of us.
Zephyron's flame was no longer just a mystery. It was starting to become a choice.
That night, we set up camp on the edges of the swamp.
The sky was clear, full of stars. Vespera slept on her stomach, holding a bottle of light; Elara was cleaning her arrows; Liriel wrote something in her grimoire.
I sat by the fire, watching the embers.
The blue flame inside my chest pulsed, reflecting in my eyes.
"You're still there, aren't you?" I murmured.
The voice came softly, almost a whisper.
"I am. But every memory that awakens makes me less me… and more you."
"Then let's try not to lose ourselves," I replied.
The flame glowed in response, like a silent nod.
I smiled, tired.
Even in the middle of the swamp, surrounded by ruins and ghosts of the past, a part of me believed that this — this link between memory and life — could still mean something good.
Or at least something worth understanding.