The alleyway felt like it was holding its breath. The rain had softened to a steady patter, but the air was thick with the weight of unspoken words. Elia clutched the glass umbrella tighter, its cold handle grounding her in the moment. Vito's words from the previous night echoed in her mind, swirling with the relentless beat of the rain. The umbrella was a key, but to what?
She hadn't had the courage to ask him more questions before he left. She didn't know if she wanted the answers, or if she feared the truth would drown her in its weight.
But now, as the morning mist curled up from the wet cobblestones, she knew that she couldn't ignore this any longer. There were too many unanswered questions about who she was—and who she might become.
Footsteps echoed behind her, quick and purposeful. Elia turned and found herself face to face with a man in a long green coat, his broad shoulders blocking the narrow passageway.
Vito.
For a moment, he said nothing. His dark eyes watched her carefully, assessing. The raindrops slid off his coat like liquid glass, vanishing before they could touch the ground.
"You've been listening to the rain, haven't you?" His voice was low, a soft hum beneath the roar of the storm. "I can see it in your eyes. The city is calling you."
Elia wasn't sure what to say. Her heart was still pounding from the night before. She opened her mouth, but the words didn't come. Vito, however, didn't wait for her response. He stepped forward, closer than she expected, and his voice became almost a whisper.
"You're more connected to this place than you think. The umbrella," he glanced down at the object in her hand, "isn't just a tool. It's a bridge, Elia. A bridge between what was and what could be."
She held her breath, trying to process what he was saying. "What do you mean? What was?"
Vito's eyes flickered to the alley's entrance, a subtle warning. "The past. The memories that the city holds. People forget, Elia, because they want to. They don't realize that forgetting is what keeps the city alive. But the umbrella... it remembers. It remembers everything."
Her head was spinning. "And the Guild—what do they have to do with it?"
He gave a slow, deliberate nod, his lips curling into a shadow of a smile. "They want to control what the city remembers. They believe that erasing the past is the only way to free the people. But in truth, all they're doing is suffocating it." Vito stepped back, turning to face the misty streets. "The Guild's influence grows every day. They've been hunting those who hold the memory threads for years. Your mother... she was one of the last to resist them."
Elia felt a sudden chill, even though the air was warm from the rain. "My mother?"
Vito's expression softened. "She wasn't just anyone, Elia. She was one of the Memory Weavers—the last generation of those who could preserve memories before they were lost to the river of time. Your mother fought for the city's memories. She knew the price of forgetting."
Elia's stomach dropped. "So she—she's dead?"
Vito turned back to her, his gaze deep and knowing. "Not dead. Erased. She's part of the past now, and that is a dangerous place to be." He watched her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "Elia, you are not just a girl with a strange umbrella. You are part of something much larger. The memory of this city is alive. And that's why the Guild wants to destroy it."
A silence hung between them. Elia could feel the weight of his words, the heaviness of the task he was implying. Her hands trembled slightly, gripping the umbrella as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
"Why me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why do I have this power?"
Vito hesitated before answering. "Because you are her daughter," he said, as if the answer should have been obvious. "You are a Memory Weaver, too. You carry the legacy of your mother and all those before her."
Her mind reeled. "I don't—I don't understand."
He smiled, though there was no humor in it. "The Weavers were protectors, Elia. They fought to preserve the truth, the things that matter. But the city's history is not just about the memories of its people; it's about the memories of the place itself. Every street, every wall, every drop of rain has a memory. And you, Elia, have the ability to weave them back together. But you must choose carefully. Because with great power comes great cost."
She stared at him. "Cost?"
"The more you remember, the more you risk," he replied. "Memories are fragile. They are like threads in a tapestry—pull one, and the whole thing unravels. The Guild is after your ability, Elia. They want to control the city's fate, and they think erasing the past will allow them to rebuild it."
Elia's thoughts raced. The idea of controlling memories, of shaping the past, was both intoxicating and terrifying. The rain had always been a comfort—so familiar, so constant. But now, it felt different. Alive, in a way she hadn't understood before.
"What do I do?" she whispered. "How do I stop them?"
Vito's gaze softened, and he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "First, you need to understand what's at stake. The rain speaks to you, Elia, because you are listening. You have a power that few can understand. But if you're going to fight the Guild, you'll need to find others like you—those who understand the memory weavers. And most importantly, you need to learn how to protect your own memories. Because if you lose them, Elia… you'll lose yourself."
Her breath caught in her throat. "What do you mean, lose myself?"
Vito's eyes turned serious. "The Guild has ways of erasing memories so completely that they become ghosts. They are forgotten not only by others but by themselves. You can forget who you are. Who you've been. And eventually, you can forget why you're fighting in the first place."
Elia's heart thudded painfully in her chest. This was more than she'd bargained for.
Vito turned toward the street, his coat rippling in the wind. "The rain is calling to you, Elia. You need to listen to it carefully. The storm is growing stronger, and when it breaks, the Guild will move to strike."
She followed his gaze, the city stretching out before them—an endless maze of memory and loss.
"Are you ready?" Vito asked, his voice carrying just a hint of something darker beneath it. "Are you ready to remember everything?"