The city should not have been there.
Aster stood at the edge of the cliff, cold wind tearing at his coat as his eyes fixed on the impossible sight below.
A vast metropolis stretched across the hollow basin—black spires rising like broken fangs, bridges suspended in the air without visible support, rivers of pale light flowing where water should have been. The sky above the city was fractured, layered like overlapping sheets of glass, each reflecting a different shade of twilight.
This was not a ruin.
This was not an illusion.
It was a city erased from history, yet standing intact.
Lyra stepped beside him, her breath hitching the moment she saw it.
"…This place," she whispered, "it doesn't exist in any archive."
Elias shook his head slowly, fingers trembling as he flipped through a floating projection of runic data.
"No timeline recognizes it. It's like the world agreed to forget it."
Aster said nothing.
Because his shadow was reacting.
It stretched unnaturally along the cliffside, trembling—not in fear, but in familiarity.
You've been here before, the silence seemed to say.
---
A City Outside the Weave
They descended carefully.
The moment Aster's boots touched the ancient stone road, the air changed.
Mana here didn't flow—it hesitated.
Every step felt like walking against a decision the world hadn't finished making.
The buildings were carved with symbols that hurt to look at for too long—sigils that refused categorization. Not magic. Not technology.
Intent.
Raven exhaled sharply.
"This place feels… watched."
Lyra nodded.
"Not by something alive. By something that remembers."
Aster felt it too.
A presence pressed faintly against his consciousness, like a fingertip tapping glass from the other side.
Then—
The city responded.
Lights ignited across the streets one by one, pale and soft, as if welcoming a long-absent resident.
Elias swallowed.
"…Aster. The city activated when you entered."
Aster closed his eyes briefly.
"So this is where my thread leads," he murmured.
---
The Name That Returned
At the city's center stood a tower—unfinished, jagged, as though construction had stopped mid-thought. Its peak vanished into a distortion in the sky.
As Aster approached, words appeared across the tower's surface, carving themselves into reality.
Not glowing text.
Not system prompts.
Names.
Names of people who never existed.
Lyra froze beside him.
"…That name," she whispered.
Aster followed her gaze.
Etched into the stone, half-erased yet undeniable, was a single name:
ASTER VALE
The world lurched.
Aster staggered back, heart slamming violently.
"That's impossible," Elias breathed.
"This city predates the academy by centuries."
Raven clenched his jaw.
"So why does it know him?"
Aster's shadow peeled away slightly from his feet, pointing at the tower like a compass needle finding north.
Lyra grabbed Aster's sleeve before he could step forward.
Her voice was quiet.
"Aster… were you born in this era?"
The question landed heavier than any blade.
Aster didn't answer.
Because somewhere deep inside him, something had just recognized home.
---
A Quiet Moment Before the Storm
They took shelter inside a fractured hall near the tower's base.
For the first time since entering the city, the pressure eased.
Lyra sat beside Aster, knees drawn close, the pale citylight reflecting in her eyes.
"…You don't have to carry this alone," she said softly.
Aster let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"This city exists because of a mistake," he said.
"And that mistake might be me."
Lyra looked at him, expression steady.
"Then we'll face it together."
Her hand brushed his—hesitant, brief, but real.
Aster felt warmth bloom in his chest, fragile yet grounding.
Not salvation.
Not certainty.
But something worth protecting.
His shadow watched silently.
---
The City Speaks
The tower began to hum.
A low vibration rippled through the streets, shaking loose fragments of memory embedded in the air.
Elias shot to his feet.
"The city's core is waking up!"
The sky above the tower split further.
From the distortion, a voice descended—not loud, but absolute.
"The misplaced thread has returned."
Aster stood.
The warmth of Lyra's hand faded as she stepped back, eyes wide with fear and resolve.
The voice continued:
"This city was built to house you."
"And to bury you."
Aster lifted his gaze.
"So this is my original grave," he said calmly.
The tower responded.
"No."
The ground cracked open at the tower's base.
What rose was not a monster—
but a memory construct, shaped like a younger version of Aster, eyes hollow, expression empty.
"This was."
The shadow behind Aster smiled.
Raven drew his weapon.
"This is bad."
Aster stepped forward anyway.
"Then let's finish what was left unfinished."
The city's lights flared violently.
And the erased timeline began to reassert itself.