After Eclipse: Omega, the world expected a victory tour.
Interviews. Awards. A next project.
What they got instead was silence.
Max D Costa was last seen on the balcony of a boat crossing the Ganges at dusk. He stood barefoot, dressed in white, his eyes fixed on the skyline. A child nearby heard him whisper,
"They'll forget me just in time to remember themselves."
After that, he disappeared.
But not before leaving behind one final creation:
The Temple of Remembering.
🕍 The Temple
Built not in Los Angeles or Dubai — but beside the Hooghly in North Kolkata — the Temple was unlike anything the world had seen. Half archive, half sanctuary. Not made to worship gods, but to protect stories.
It had no statues.
Only walls lined with glass shards, each containing a "memory" — fragments of old games, audio diaries, fan letters, scripts, hand-drawn dreams sent by players around the globe.
Visitors entered barefoot, in silence. They walked through the Hall of Forgotten Names, where voices whispered every story that had once gone unread. In the center stood a circular room with no ceiling — only sky — where a soft voice asked:
"What are you most afraid to forget?"
People cried there. Children drew. Old women sang lullabies no one had recorded. And somewhere, among it all, was a locked door labeled:
"The Room That Waits."
No one ever saw inside.
Some said it contained his unfinished memoir.
Others said it was a room that recorded your memory and turned it into a playable game — just once, just for you.
🧭 The Letter
Max didn't attend the opening.
A small note, handwritten and framed in the lobby, read:
"If you've made it here, you still remember.
That's enough.
I've said what I needed to say.
Keep going."
No logo. No signature. Just a single line pressed in ink at the bottom:
"The Architect."
🌫️ The Disappearance
Rumors swirled.
Some said he was in Bhutan, writing his memoirs with no electricity.
Others claimed he had joined a shadowy think tank beneath the Alps.
A theory even circulated that he was developing a game so immersive, so personal, you'd never know you were playing it.
But those closest to him — his oldest team from PixelBaaz — knew the truth.
He had gone home.
Not to escape.
But to begin again.
"I buried my name so someone else could find theirs."
And the world… remembered.