"Honestly, Thales, I'm a little scared of you," Hypatia said.
"You weren't caught in an eternal loop, and the Labyrinth didn't spawn any Echo Wraiths… which means whatever was in your memories was more than enough to qualify as a trial."
They were walking toward the next province now. Hypatia had decided to tag along.
She seemed the quiet but diligent type—yet around Thales, she was slowly growing more open.
"Yeah. Trial by fire," Thales muttered.
He glanced ahead.
I don't need you anymore.
I remember this province.
This… is where I started.
And I have unfinished business here.
The Mnemonic Spire.
"Yes. That means I no longer need to hold your hand, I dare say," Evward Gibbon interjected smoothly.
"We Everspire dominate this province."
"Here you will learn our ways—of memory, the lifeblood of both History and Historia itself."
Then he walked off, as if Thales was no longer his concern.
Interesting.
So the Labyrinth didn't belong to the Mnemonics after all—it was governed by some other race. Strange, given the name.
Before he could reflect further—
"Monsieur Miray, would you like to accompany me for some tea?"
A stranger approached.
Platinum hair. One green eye, one silver. Gems embedded into his cloak. Effortlessly elegant.
"Sorry—that's very kind," Thales said. "But who are you?"
"Excuse me. Where are my manners," the man said, coughing softly—a prelude to his introduction.
"My name is Mr. Swann. I am a retainer to the Governor of this province, Lord Tempus Proust."
"We of the Governor's party extend an invitation for tea. Would you so care to accept?"
"Yes, but... another time. I'm busy with—" Thales paused. "A lot, to be honest."
"That is, of course, quite alright, monsieur."
And with grace befitting royalty, Mr. Swann took his leave.
Now then.
Time to see the big idea here.
No one told me to come here. But clearly, exploring the provinces benefits me most of all.
...Or does it?
If I were short-sighted, I'd think that way.
But as long as there are beings above me, I can never rule out that my fate is being controlled.
He walked deeper into the outskirts, Hypatia quietly following.
This area felt peaceful, but deceptively so. He couldn't tell what the threat was, or how cultivation here functioned. He wasn't part of the race, after all—he had no need to trade or sell memories.
Though now that I think about it… I have a plan to control the economy.
But that'll only work once I reach a higher cultivation tier.
He passed archivists along the road—low-to-mid in hierarchy, from the looks of it.
Something stirred in his memory. A face? A name?
But it was gone.
The memory… wasn't there.
And then he saw it.
The spire.
Not just any structure—a masterpiece. Towering, crystalline, resplendent.
A spectrum of colours glimmered across its surface, like a prism breathing in real time.
Its aura was serene. But that serenity held weight. The kind that crushed the vain and beckoned the bold. It promised grandeur, and ruin.
Who designed this?
Who laboured to build it?
What princess waits at the top of that tower?
A fleeting, foolish thought.
But for some reason… it felt nostalgic.
He stepped forward.
The barren plains beneath his feet shifted.
The desolate terrain gave way to something ethereal—an order born from memory itself.
And in that moment, Thales realized—
He had never been here before.
Wherever he had started… it wasn't here.
A guard stopped him at the gates.
"State your business, traveller."
"I'm Thales Miray of House Miray," he said. "Here as a guest of Historia."
"We'll have to check that. Wait here."
The guard's voice was sharp and formal.
Behind him, the glyphs flickered—symbols of memory, given shape, dissolving just as quickly as they formed.
"It really does feel magical…" Thales mumbled to himself.
Then Hypatia was let through without pause.
"Wait—why did they just let her in?"
"We know who she is."
"...Right. First time here."
The weight of this province settled on his shoulders.
It wasn't spiritual—it was historical.
The burden of collective memory poured from the air itself.
"So," Thales asked, trying not to show awe. "Is the Spire just for show, or is there an actual purpose?"
Hypatia responded without a hint of irony.
"It's the repository of collective memory.
An entire river of faces and their lands is stored in the Spire.
It's the second-most important place in all of Historia."
Just then, the other guard returned.
"You may enter."
"Thanks."
Thales stepped forward.
And as he crossed the threshold, he heard distant echoes.
The kind that carry no words, yet say everything.
An ambience both unsettling and mesmerizing.
Yeah…
This time, I don't buy that this'll be easy.