He awoke beneath a black sky.
Ashen lay on cracked earth, dry and broken like the skin of a dying beast. Around him, the world was silent. No wind. No breath. Just a distant ringing—high, thin, like a whisper stretched too far.
He stood slowly.
The landscape was barren. No trees. No stars. Only one thing stood before him:
A mirror.
Tall, freestanding, framed in gold—tarnished and ancient, as if dragged from the grave of a king. But it didn't reflect him.
It showed a different boy.
Ashen stepped closer.
The boy in the mirror was not older. Not younger. Just… different. He wore no fear on his face. No shame in his posture. His eyes—Ashen's eyes—glowed faintly with flickers of gold and ash.
And then the reflection blinked.
Ashen staggered back.
The boy in the mirror stepped forward and pressed his palm against the glass.
Ashen hesitated… then mirrored the gesture.
Their hands met.
And the world tore open.
Screams. Fire. A thousand names whispered all at once.
The god of memory, dying in silence.
A child born beneath ash, not cursed—chosen.
The world choosing to forget.
Ashen fell to his knees.
It was too much.
He remembered everything and nothing. His life. The lives before his. All the broken thoughts left behind in minds that didn't want them. And somewhere beneath it all—one whisper louder than the rest.
"You cannot carry this and live."
Ashen looked up.
The mirror had shattered.
And in its place stood the boy from the dream.
But now, his eyes were hollow. His skin pale. A crown of thorned memory floated above his head, dripping with dust. In his hand, he held a dagger made of obsidian and bone.
Ashen knew what this was.
The final test.
To pass… he had to let go. To prove he could carry what had been forgotten—not by force, but by choice.
He took the dagger.
It was light. Familiar.
He stared down at his chest.
No one told him to do it. There was no voice now. No god whispering. No trick.
Only one truth:
If I am to carry memory… I must be willing to die for it.
His breath trembled.
Then—
He drove the dagger in.
There was no pain.
Only warmth.
As if every name, every moment, every sorrow that had been erased, now poured back into him—through blood, through soul, through silence.
And as his body collapsed to the earth—
The sky above shattered.
Light returned.
---
Ashen gasped, lungs burning.
He sat up.
The real world surrounded him now—dull light filtering through the roof of the military barracks. His clothes were soaked with sweat. His body ached. But he was alive.
And something was different.
In his chest, where pain should've been—there was stillness. Not peace. Not joy.
Just…
Understanding.
He remembered who he was.
Not a god.
Not just a boy.
But something in between.
And now—the trial was over.
But everything else was just beginning