The rain had never felt as heavy as it did that night.
Elia stood at the edge of the alley, the distant glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The umbrella in her hands pulsed faintly, as if it were alive, responding to the storm's rhythm. She couldn't remember the moment she had taken it from the apartment, nor the reason she was here, but something—an unshakable compulsion—had drawn her to this place. The glass handle was warm to the touch, its surface smooth as if it had been polished a thousand times by invisible hands.
A flash of lightning split the sky, and for a brief instant, the world around her seemed to stop. The rain slowed, then fell in a single, steady sheet, coating the alley in a soft, shimmering glow.
And then, it happened again.
The memories rushed in. Not her memories, but those of a woman she didn't recognize. Her mother. Her mother, standing before Elia in the same alley, holding the umbrella with a sorrowful look in her eyes, as if preparing to say something vital. The rain turned cold and distant, the air thick with an oppressive stillness.
"Don't trust it," her mother's voice echoed in Elia's mind. "The rain doesn't forget, but it erases. Keep your heart close, Elia. You'll need it more than you know."
Elia stumbled back, the umbrella almost slipping from her fingers. She gasped for breath, but the vision was gone, leaving only the sound of the rain and the pounding of her heart.
The air smelled of damp earth, and the alley seemed unchanged, as though the moment she'd seen had never happened. She blinked several times, trying to ground herself in the present, but the words hung heavy in the air, like a warning etched into her bones.
She clenched the umbrella tighter, her pulse quickening. It had all felt so real—too real. She had known, somehow, that the umbrella held memories. But this memory, the one that lingered, the one of her mother—why had it felt so urgent?
She glanced around the alley, but the only thing that met her gaze were the wet stones, glistening under the storm's relentless downpour. No one else was here. She was alone. And yet, the weight of the memory crushed her from all sides, like the city itself was breathing its own sorrow into her chest.
The distant hum of footsteps echoed from the far end of the alley. Vito.
He was there, standing under the archway, his shadow long and angular, eyes narrowed against the rain. He had been watching her from a distance for days, but now, as he approached, Elia couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. His expression was unreadable.
"I knew you'd come here," he said, his voice low, as if the alley itself might be listening. "I can sense the pull of the umbrella. It calls to you, doesn't it?"
Elia didn't answer at first. Her fingers tightened on the umbrella, the glass handle cool beneath her touch. She wanted to scream at him, demand answers—what did he know about her mother? About the umbrella? But the words wouldn't come. The air around her felt thick, suffocating.
"What does it mean, Vito?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vito stepped closer, lowering his voice even further, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the fragile reality they were standing in. "The umbrella... is a key, Elia. It was forged by the Memory Weavers, the ones who could hold and shape memories. They created it to guard against the erasure of the past. Your mother was one of them. She knew what was at stake."
He paused, his gaze piercing through the mist, as though reading something Elia couldn't see. "But the truth is dangerous. Those who wield the umbrella risk losing themselves. Their memories—your memories—become fragile, split between what you've lived and what the umbrella allows you to remember."
Elia's breath hitched. "What do you mean, 'lose myself'? What happens to me if I keep using it?"
Vito's expression softened, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "You'll start to see things that aren't yours. You'll begin to hear voices that don't belong to you. And the more you seek the truth, the more you'll lose of yourself. The Guild of Unremembering seeks to destroy the umbrella's power. They want to erase your memory—erase everyone's memory—so that the past will remain a blank canvas."
Elia's heart raced. "And what if I want to stop them? What if I want to keep the memories?"
Vito's gaze hardened, and he stepped closer still, until he was standing just behind her, the rain pouring over both of them. "Then you must be ready to face the consequences. Because once the truth is revealed, you won't be able to walk away from it. The city is already changing. The rain knows everything, Elia, and it doesn't forget."
She closed her eyes, the weight of the umbrella in her hands suddenly too much to bear. The rain was alive, and it had already claimed her. But the question remained: Could she save the city without losing everything she loved?