"Some return as heroes.
Others as monsters.
Me, I came back nameless."
The wind blew over the ruins of Enoth.
Sixty-five days had passed since the massacre. The valley was nothing more than frozen silence, a black scar in the landscape of the Aurélion Empire. Nothing lived here anymore. Not even hope. The trees had melted, the runes carved into the rocks had been burned. And there, in the middle of a circle of ashes, something stirred.
A hand, black with soot, slowly emerged from the cracked ground. Then an arm. Then a bare torso, covered in scars, etched like knife cuts into the skin.
Tiama opened his eyes.
No air. No sound. Just a voice. Inside.
"Awaken, bearer."
He gasped. His body was freezing. But his heart beat loud. Too loud. He inhaled for the first time like a drowning man. Then he stood up. His father's blade was planted before him. Vibrating. He grasped it without thinking. The metal was warm. Alive.
"Sixty-five days…" whispered a voice.
"The time it took to devour your death."
He fell to his knees. Held his head. The memories came back in broken blocks. A burnt smell. Faces. Screams. A pain in his stomach. A hand reaching out. A promise. And that pact...
The voice was in his head. But also in the blade. As if the metal thought, breathed.
"I am you. You are me."
— ... Arch-Vel.
The name vibrated in his throat. He wanted to scream. But he no longer had the strength.
He rose, staggering, his body thin and battered. Naked, except for a few burnt scraps of fabric. He walked. Every step was difficult. He didn't know where he was going. But his feet guided him.
"You walk towards them."
— The Solarys.
"They no longer remember you."
— Why?
"You died. You paid. You were born from the Void. The world forgot you… in exchange for your second life."
Farther, a village. Tiama slowly approached, a stolen cloak wrapped around his shoulders and beige trousers. He held his blade. His gaze was blurry. No precise memories. But something guided him. A pulse. A direction. Like a memory deeper than memory. Passersby. Merchants. A floating rune above a well indicated purified water. An old woman looked at him. He shivered. She stared… then looked away.
— You…
— Are you lost, young man? she said.
He frowned. She didn't recognize him. Not even a flicker.
— I come from Enoth.
She paled. But not as if he were a ghost… more like he had said a forbidden word.
— That name is dead. Don't say it anymore. It never existed.
Tiama felt something break. He walked away. No one remembered. He walked on. At the edge of a forest, he sensed a trap. A chill, a vibration in the blade. A hiss. He turned. An arrow. He raised his hand, by pure reflex a wall of shadow surged before him. The arrow sank into it like into black water.
— Well now… murmured a female voice. A runic reflex without owning runes? You're no ordinary man.
A figure dropped from the trees. Graceful. Agile.
Astrid Leonael. She aimed at him with a curved bow, but didn't shoot.
— You…
She narrowed her eyes.
— You remind me of someone.
He stood still. The voice in his head whispered:
"She knows. Somewhere inside."
— I am Tiama, he said.
She flinched. Lowered her bow.
— That name… I thought you were dead. How are you still alive? she said, voice trembling.
She slowly stepped forward. Circled him. Then saw his chest. A rune. Tattooed long ago, scarred. One she had placed herself.
— Wall of Memory. It was so you'd remember me, if ever you forgot…
She stopped. A heavy silence settled.
She raised her hand, gently touched the rune. A pulse passed between them.
— Tiama…
Then, another whistle.
— Down!
A volley of arrows burst from the woods. Elira activated a protection seal a silver dome surrounded them just in time. The arrows bounced off.
— Pursuers from House Luxor, she growled. I lost them two days ago, but they never quit.
Tiama drew his blade. It vibrated.
— Let me handle it.
She looked at him, surprised.
— You weren't a fighter, before.
— Before?
He struck. A black line sliced the air. The trees trembled. Three figures fell, frozen, their spirits consumed before their bodies. But a pain shot through him.
— What's wrong? asked Astrid, panicked
He dropped to one knee. A word escaped him. A name. A place. A song… He no longer remembered what his father used to sing to him before sleep.
"A memory. Nothing important…" murmured Arch-Vel.
Elira placed a hand on him. Summoned a healing circle. He stood again. Slowly. Hand gripping the blade.
— I came back for them. The Solarys.
She nodded, slow, solemn.
— Then you'll need me.
— Why?
— Because I'm the only one who remembers you.
A long silence. Then a faint, sad smile on her lips. Tiama didn't reply.
Arch-Vel's voice hissed in his mind: "She is your anchor. Protect her."
Tiama clenched his jaw.
The world was cold. Falsely alive. But he could feel the runes, the lies, the illusions. He felt the thread of his memory stretching, burning with each use of his power. But he remembered one thing. His vow.
— Astrid.
— Yes?
— Will you help me remember you, even when I no longer can?
She looked at him for a long moment.
— I'll tattoo you with runes. With memories. With souls. And even if you forget me, your body will know.
He nodded. And behind him, the shadow of Arch-Vel stretched out.
The war hadn't started yet.
But the Dead had begun to walk again...