At long last, they arrived.
The wooden wheels of the wagon creaked to a halt just beyond the familiar stone archway that marked the entrance to Konue. The city looked still from a distance, bathed in late afternoon light that made the rooftops gleam like copper and gold. But something felt... off. None of them could name it, but they all felt it—in the bones, like a warning before thunder.
Still, they said nothing.
They were tired. Hungry again, maybe. Or maybe just glad to see home.
Alaric hopped down first, stretching his arms as if he'd just finished a pleasant afternoon nap rather than helped slaughter a demon army and narrowly survived a chaotic colosseum. "Alright, home sweet—uh—religious institution."
Cael landed beside him, arms crossed, staring up at the spires of the Grand Church of Konue. "I forgot how tall this thing was."
Renna slid off the wagon with a grunt, already pulling off her gloves. "I forgot how many stairs this place has. My legs hate me already."
Lys followed quietly, but her eyes scanned the streets—lingering just a little longer than necessary.
And Thorne? Thorne stayed standing on the roof of the wagon. Hands on his hips. Wind in his hair. Looking at the city like he was waiting for it to throw confetti for his arrival.
It didn't.
Still, he leapt down dramatically, landing with a small roll. "The Champion of Slamtown has returned!" he bellowed, to absolutely no audience. "You may begin the parade!"
"Do not say that in front of a priest," Cael muttered, already marching toward the church doors.
The Grand Church hadn't changed much in their absence. Same solemn architecture. Same echoing halls. Same one, absurdly large, shared room at the back—where the five of them had crammed their lives together not too long ago.
The door creaked open with familiarity. Their footsteps dragged across the old wood floor.
Beds. Posters. The half-broken chair Thorne never fixed. Lys's neatly stacked books. Renna's weird jar collection. Alaric's tiny engineering nook.
The room settled into a quiet sort of rhythm after they unpacked what little they had. Boots were kicked off. Weapons leaned in corners. Thorne immediately stretched like he was about to enter a full tournament again and bolted out the back, muttering something about "muscle memory, baby."
Renna, with a grin that spelled mischief, grabbed Alaric by the wrist.
"Downtown. We're getting something fried and probably dangerous to eat," she declared.
Alaric blinked. "Do I get a say in—"
"Nope."
And with that, she dragged him out the front door before anyone could stop her, both of them laughing down the corridor.
Lys remained. She always did, quiet as morning dew. She settled near the window, unfurling a book she'd left here before they left. Her finger traced the margin where she'd annotated something ages ago. The soft flick of pages echoed lightly in the tall chamber.
That left Cael.
He sat near his desk, staring at a half-finished project, one he didn't even remember leaving behind. A small gear clicked weakly as he spun it with his finger. Nothing technically wrong. Nothing out of place. But something was wrong.
His eyes darted to the door.
There was a stillness in the air that wasn't supposed to be there. Not a silence—silence was normal in the church. But stillness. Heavy and breathless, like everything was holding itself a little too tightly.
He got up.
Walked a lap around the room.
Then another.
Then slipped out without saying a word.
The hallways greeted him with the same old echoes, the kind he used to ignore without thought. But now, every footstep felt too loud. Every corner too sharp.
He wandered past the prayer rooms.
Empty.
The small dormitories.
Empty.
The kitchen.
A single loaf of untouched bread.
Cael's fingers twitched at his side.
He headed downstairs. Checked the archives. The confessionals. The locked rooms only priests used. Nothing. Not a soul. Not even dust displaced.
The Grand Church of Konue had always been quiet. Reverent. But this? This was wrong. There were no clerics. No priests. No visitors.
Where were the hymns? The candlelight prayers? The muttering of old men in their robes who always scolded Thorne?
The gears in Cael's mind turned faster.
He moved quicker now. Up to the belltower. Down to the wine cellar. Behind the altars. Underneath the pulpit floorboards.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
The paranoia settled deep in his gut like swallowed nails. His breathing became shallow. Every small creak of the old wood behind him made him whip around. He pressed his back against cold stone, staring into the dark hall that led to the back of the church.
Why did it feel like the building itself was watching him?
Why did it feel like something was... gone?
Cael didn't have an answer.
But he knew, without a doubt—
Something had changed in Konue.
The whisper was faint at first.
A sound like wind brushing against a cracked window. A breath that didn't belong to anything. Cael froze in place as it weaved through the shadows in his skull.
"Go to the graveyard."
It wasn't a command.
It was an invitation.
Like something already knew he would obey.
He swallowed hard, the tightness in his throat thick and dry. His feet moved before his logic could catch up, slipping through the front door of the church and out into the pale light of late afternoon. The cobblestone path to the city graveyard was familiar, but the way the shadows stretched across it made the world feel unfamiliar. Muted. Off.
He passed townsfolk who didn't even notice him.
Passed guards who stood too still.
Passed corners of the city he thought he'd memorized—but now they looked different. Older. Sadder.
The graveyard sat behind the church's outer wall, hidden by timeworn iron gates and rows of cypress trees hunched like silent mourners. Cael stepped through the gate.
That's when he saw them.
Clerics.
Priests.
Acolytes.
Dozens of them.
All in their full robes.
Surrounding a single grave.
None of them spoke.
None of them chanted.
They just stood in perfect, reverent silence, heads bowed. The wind did not blow through the trees. The birds did not chirp. The world held its breath.
Cael crept closer, careful not to make a sound, though no one acknowledged him anyway. It was like he wasn't there. Or like he wasn't supposed to be there.
And then he saw the gravestone.
It was unmarked.
Perfectly carved.
Unweathered.
A gravestone of fine, pale stone, yet… no name. No date. No offering. Nothing.
Just presence.
It radiated something he didn't understand.
Something that made his fingertips tingle and his throat tighten.
Cael blinked, his mind racing to catch up.
Who had died?
Why were all the clergy here?
Why had no one spoken of it when they returned?
And why did every part of him—every clockwork gear, every wire of paranoia, every pulse in his spine—scream that this grave was the reason nothing felt right anymore?
He took a single step closer.
The air grew colder.
The priests didn't move.
And neither did the shadows around the gravestone.
Cael stared at the gravestone like it might blink back at him.
His breath hung in the still air. His mind dug through memories like hands in wet sand—grasping, slipping, pulling up things that didn't fit quite right.
There was a man, wasn't there?
No—a priest?
Something about robes. Something about the way he stood. But Cael couldn't picture his face. He couldn't even remember if he'd ever seen it. Just the feeling—like warmth clinging to your coat after a fire you don't remember lighting.
He glanced at the unmoving clergy. Still silent. Still still.
The stone glistened faintly under the clouded sun, as if it had been polished that morning.
Why couldn't he remember the name?
Why couldn't anyone?
His eyes twitched, scanning his own thoughts like pages in a book written in someone else's language. There was something.
Someone.
When they first came to this world…
There had been an old man. A guide? A summoner?
Had he spoken to them?
Cael wasn't sure.
All he remembered was the light.
And a voice—not in his ears, but in his mind—whispering something about fate, about gods, about… purpose.
His heart hammered faster.
The priest.
Yes, there was an old priest.
Wasn't there?
Hadn't he walked them through the first day in this world? Hadn't he—
No.
Cael's brow tightened.
Had he?
Had anyone?
He couldn't even remember what they were doing the moment before they arrived in this world. Everything before Overmorrowland was a dream with the lights turned off.
But something in him knew.
Something deeper than fear.
Deeper than thought.
This grave belonged to the one who brought them here.
And no one else remembered.
No one else could.
The name had been taken. Scrubbed clean.
He looked at the gathered priests. Some had tears in their eyes. One had knelt, pressing a prayer stone to the earth.
Cael's mouth was dry.
His voice cracked out quietly.
"...Who was he?"
No one answered.
But Cael already knew.
Even if he couldn't remember the face or the name or the words—
He knew.
The one in the grave had pulled them into this world.
The one in the grave had erased himself.
And the world—perhaps mercifully—had already moved on.
Cael stayed there, staring at the grave, lips parted as though the wind had just knocked something loose in his chest.
The question fell out of him—not aimed at anyone around him, but somewhere higher. Somewhere quieter.
"...Why would someone erase their own name?"
His voice was barely louder than a breath, lost in the hush of the graveyard, yet heavy enough to disturb the stillness in the air.
For a moment, nothing.
Then, a whisper—not through the wind, not from the sky—but from somewhere within.
A voice not his, yet deeply familiar.
"He did not want your growth to be bound to the death of a person. Nor the memory of them."
It wasn't a grand divine proclamation. No thunder. No shimmer of holy light. Just... that.
A simple truth.
A choice.
The silence after was almost cruel.
Cael's fists slowly curled.
To mourn something that clings to your path with invisible weight—that wasn't what the old priest wanted for them.
He hadn't asked for their praise.
He hadn't wanted a statue or a title.
He just wanted them to move forward. To grow, freely. To not carry grief like a badge.
Cael looked down at the nameless grave again.
His breath slowed.
"How idiotic…" he murmured, smiling bitterly.
But maybe that was the point, too.
He stood there for a while longer, not waiting for more answers.
Just... being there.
In silence.