Ashen fell again—but this time, it wasn't falling.
It was slipping.
Like water pouring into the cracks of someone else's life.
The stone plain, the obelisks, the voices—they were all gone. Replaced by the quiet hum of something too vast to name. There was no ground. No sky. Just space wrapped in warm twilight.
And then…
A field.
Endless and golden, made of tall, soft grass that shifted in a breeze he couldn't feel. The sky was blue—not the real kind, but the kind from a child's drawing, too pure to be true.
In the center of it all stood a cottage.
Ashen blinked.
The world didn't feel hostile here. It felt peaceful. And that scared him more.
His feet moved without consent. The grass parted as he walked. He reached the wooden door of the cottage and placed a trembling hand on the frame.
Inside, the light was dim.
A fire burned in the hearth. A table sat in the middle of the room, laden with warm bread, steaming soup, and cups of water.
And sitting beside the fire—
Was him.
No. Not him. A boy. Younger than Ashen. Maybe seven. Same face. Same dark hair. But bright eyes—eyes that hadn't seen death, hadn't learned to flinch.
The boy looked up from a book.
"Are you ready to go back?" he asked.
Ashen stood still. His throat tightened.
"I… don't understand."
The boy smiled softly. "That's okay. You don't have to understand to remember."
Ashen stepped closer. "Is this another trial?"
"No. This is a truth."
The boy closed the book. It vanished into ash.
"You're not broken because of what happened to you," the boy whispered. "You were broken because the world forgot who you were supposed to be."
Ashen's voice cracked. "Who was I supposed to be?"
The boy looked at the fire.
Then quietly, with unbearable gentleness:
"The last echo of memory."
Ashen staggered back.
His chest burned. Not with pain—but pressure. A scream trying to break free.
Images flooded him again:
—A mother cradling a god's dying body in the ruins of a temple.
—A child being born under smoke while monks wept.
—A ritual: not to bless him, but to bury what he was.
Ashen clutched his head. "No… I'm not a god."
The boy nodded. "You're not."
"But I carry one."
The boy smiled wider. And nodded again.
The fire in the hearth roared. Its flames turned silver, then black.
The world around them began to crack, splintering like a dream unraveling.
The boy stood and walked toward Ashen.
He touched Ashen's chest with two fingers.
"You can forget again if you want. Let them erase it. Walk forward blind, like the rest."
Ashen swallowed.
"But if you don't…" the boy said, "Then you must remember even the pain. Even the loneliness."
A door appeared behind them. Glowing with the same golden sigil of the spiral eye.
Ashen looked down at the boy one last time.
He whispered, "Why me?"
The boy's eyes shimmered.
"Because someone had to remember. And you… you were the only one who could."
Ashen stepped through the door.
And the dream shattered