"Every feather is a memory someone gave up.
But not all were given up willingly."
Lengaza turned the feather over in his hand.
It shimmered softly in the fading sun—silver, weightless, but unnervingly warm. The kind of warmth that made his chest ache, as if something familiar was calling him back.
He stared up at the sky, where cracks glowed faintly like veins in porcelain.
He whispered, "Who are you, Nyra?"
That night, the dreams returned.
But this one was different.
He was standing in a room that felt like the inside of a tree—wooden walls, glowing sap trickling like candlelight. On the floor were feathers—hundreds of them—each pulsing gently with echoes of laughter, screams, and silence.
And at the center: Nyra.
Dressed in dark blue robes, eyes like closed storms.
"You found the first feather," she said, without looking at him.
"That means it's starting."
"What is?" Lengaza asked.
She stepped forward, and every feather around her fluttered into the air, surrounding them in a spiral of memories.
"The reset is weakening.
And you are beginning to remember what they made you forget."
He stepped toward her, but the feathers flared up like a blizzard.
"Why do they erase me? Why this town? Why me?"
She touched his forehead with her fingers.
And then—
A memory surged into him.
He was holding someone's hand—small, fragile, trembling.
He was not alone.
"Don't forget me," a voice said in the vision.
"Even if the stars fall and names vanish."
Then it was gone.
Lengaza woke up, gasping.
The feather was gone.
But a word was burned into his pillow:
NYRA.
Written in ash.
At school, nobody said a word to him again.
Even the teacher paused like she had a glitch in her brain when he answered a question.
At the library, books refused to open unless he whispered his name.
"Lengaza."
Pages turned.
Only one word repeated in the margins:
"Dreamcodes."
That night, Lengaza sat with a notebook and began drawing the feather from memory.
As he sketched, the feather began to glow on the page.
Silver light.
Then—words appeared beneath his drawing.
Words in a language he didn't know.
But somehow… he understood.
"The forgotten ones are awakening.
Nyra is the Key.
But the Lock… is inside you."