The city did not sleep the way normal normal places slept.
It dimmed.
Lanterns lowered their glow until they were no brighter than fireflies. Windows softened from gold to amber. The shimmering canals slowed until the reflections on their surface barely moved.
Above it all, the strange midnight sky shifted, constellations drifting like thoughts half-remembered.
Aerin stood beside the crystal tree while the city changed around them.
"Is it... shutting down?" Aerin whispered.
Ilen shook their head. "It's stabilizing."
"For how long?"
"Until dawn," Ilen said. "Or until something forgets itself."
That phase still made Aerin uncomfortable.
They walked together through narrower streets now, where the buildings leaned closer, their windows glowing like a watchful eyes. Soft wind carried the smell of old paper, rain, and something electric — like the air before a storm.
Aerin noticed things that hadn't been obvious before.
A street sign that flickered between two names.
A shop whose door faded in and out of existence.
A bridge that looked solid but felt slightly hollow underfoot, like stepping on a memory of stone instead of stone itself.
"Why is it doing that?" Aerin asked, pointing at a building whose edges were becoming blurry.
Ilen slowed.
"That's what forgetting looks like," they said quietly.
They led Aerin into a narrow alley that opened into a small square. In the centre sat a fountain — except there was no water. Instead, soft light flowed upward from the basin like reversed rain.
Around the fountain, several people stood in a circle.
They were murmuring.
Not words.
Names.
Aerin listened.
The sound was gentle, rhythmic, almost like a lullaby. As the names spoken, the fountain brightened.
"What are they doing?" Aerin asked.
"They're remembering," Ilen said.
They stepped closer. A woman with silver-thread hair glanced at Aerin and smiled kindly.
"First time?" She asked.
Aerin nodded.
She gestured toward the fountain. "Every night, we choose something that's fading and remind it that it exists."
"That keeps it here?" Aerin asked.
"For a while," she said. "Memory is like stitching. You can mend things, but you have to keep sewing."
Aerin watched the light fountain pulse brighter as the people continue to speak.
The building nearby grew sharper.
Its edges stopped blurring.
Its sign stopped flickering.
Aerin felt something strange in their chest.
Not magic.
Not fear.
Something gentler.
Like caring about something before knowing why.
"What happens if you stop?" Aerin asked.
The woman's smile softened.
"Then things return to the place where forgotten things go."
"Where's that?"
She shrugged lightly. "Nowhere. Everywhere. It's not a bad place. Just a quiet one."
That answer didn't comfort Aerin.
They walked on.
Ilen showed Aerin the parts of the city that were strongest — the market square, the bridge of bells, the archive hall whose walls were made of floating letters. Then they showed the parts that were weakness.
A street with only two buildings left.
A park with no trees, only outlines in the air where trees used to be.
A house with light inside but no door.
"Why doesn't everyone just... remember everything?" Aerin asked.
Ilen looked tired for the first time.
"Because there's too much," they said. "And remembering take effort. Attention. Care. Most worlds are very busy forgetting."
They stopped near the edge of the city.
Beyond this point, there was nothing.
Not drakness.
Not emptiness.
Just a blankness that made Aerin's eyes slide away when trying to look at it directly.
"That's the edge," Ilen said. "We don't go past it."
"Why not?"
"Because there's nothing there to hold you."
Aerin nodded slowly.
They sat on the steps of a glowing building that hummed quietly like a sleeping animal.
"How did you find this place?" Aerin asked.
Ilen smiled faintly, " Same way you did. I noticed something that shouldn't have been there."
They were quiet for a while.
The city felt peaceful now. Not loud. Not urgent. Just... fragile.
"What happens after dawn?" Aerin asked.
"We leave," Ilen said. "The city rests."
"Does it disappear?"
"It remembers itself less," Ilen said. "Which is almost the same thing."
Aerin frowned.
"That sounds sad."
Ilen looked at Aerin carefully.
"Not sad," they said. "Temporary."
The word felt heavier than sadness.
A bell rang somewhere far away — soft and slow.
Ilen stood. "That means the first fade is starting."
"The what?"
"The part where things decide if they'll be here tomorrow."
They hurried back toward the centre.
As they walked, Aerin saw more signs of instability.
A banner dissolved into mist.
A lantern went out and didn't come back.
A person paused mid-step, looked confused, and slowly faded like fog in sunlight.
Aerin gasped.
"Did they just —"
"They were a minor memory," Ilen said gently. "Not anchored to anything important. They come and go."
That did not make Aerin feel better.
They reached the crystal tree again.
Its light dimmer now.
At its base stood several people — including the silver-hair woman — all watching the leaves flicker.
"It's losing coherence," she said.
"What does that mean?" Aerin asked.
She looked at Aerin kindly.
"It means the city needs more remembering than it's getting."
Aerin hesitated.
Then took a step forward.
"What do I do?"
Ilen looked at Aerin, surprised.
"You choose something," they said. "And you care about it."
Aerin looked around.
At the tree.
At the bridge of bells in the distance.
At the small shop that folded paper birds.
At the house with no door.
At the park where trees used to be.
Aerin pointed.
"That park."
The silver-haired woman nodded. "Good choice."
She touched the crystal tree, and a soft thread of light connected it with Aerin's chest.
Not painful.
Just warm.
"Close your eyes," she said. "And remember what it feels like to stand under a tree."
Aerin did.
She remembered sunlight through leaves.
The smell of bark.
The sound of wind.
The way shade feels cooler than air.
The way branches look like they're holding up the sky.
The thread of light brightened.
The crystal tree glowed.
Far away, in the empty park, something shimmered.
A shape appeared.
Not fully solid.
But present.
Aerin opened her eyes.
In the park, faint outlines of trees had become... more.
Soft.
Green.
Alive.
Aerin laughed quietly.
"I did that?"
Ilen smiled.
"You helped."
The bell rang again.
This time louder.
"The second fade," Ilen said. "We should go."
"Will the trees stay?" Aerin asked.
"For a while," Ilen said.
They walked back toward the edge of the city.
Behind them, the lights dimmed further.
Buildings softened.
Sounds grew quieter.
At the border, Ilen turned.
"You'll come back,' he said.
It wasn't an question.
Aerin nodded.
"I think I have to."
Ilen smiled.
"Good."
The city blinked.
And then Aerin was standing on the abandoned railway platform again.
Cold air.
Dark windows.
Silent tracks.
No lanterns.
No bridges.
No bells.
Just an ordinary town.
But Aerin felt something different inside.
Not wonder.
Not fear.
Responsibility.
Above the station, a single leaf drifted down.
It landed on the concrete.
Green.
Real.
Aerin picked it up.
And smiled.