Nu'Ravin was not a city built by hands.
It was dreamed into being.
Every spire, street, and slum whispered of memory-ink sorcery—ancient magic that wove buildings from forgotten prayers and shaped bridges out of songs no one remembered singing. The city shifted when no one watched. Doors appeared only for those who had heard certain names in their sleep.
And today, it was watching Echo.
He walked through the Ashglass Quarter, where the streets shimmered like obsidian sand, and every lamplight glowed with the warmth of dying stars. Figures passed him in silence—some real, some conjured. He couldn't tell the difference. That was part of the city's design.
On his neck, the silver key pulsed faintly.
He didn't know why he trusted it.
He just did.
His footsteps brought him to a building shaped like a screaming face. Its eyes were shattered windows; its mouth, a warped doorway that yawned open as he approached.
The Library of Lost Days.
A place banned by the Empire.
Rumor said it could only be found by those who had murdered and forgotten.
He stepped inside.
Instantly, the smell of old ink and burnt feathers filled his lungs. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, crowded with floating ladders and hovering books. Lanterns with tiny, glowing skulls drifted lazily in the air, illuminating a single central desk—manned by a blindfolded boy whose arms were made of living vines.
The boy looked up without seeing.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.
"I know," Echo replied. "That's why I'm here."
The boy tilted his head. "What do you seek?"
"Myself."
"That section's a mess. Come."
He waved, and a vine slithered out from his sleeve, stretching across the air to pull down a thick, chained tome from a floating shelf. The book hissed as it landed, leaking smoke from the pages.
"Name?" the boy asked.
"Echo."
"No," the boy said. "Your true name."
Echo hesitated. Then whispered, "I don't remember."
The book snapped open anyway.
And on the first page, in blood-red ink, were the words:
[ENTRY 17: SUBJECT – ECHO]
PROJECT STATUS: CORRUPTED ARCHETYPE
CLASS: FORGOTTEN KING / MIND-EATER VARIANT
ESTIMATED BODY COUNT: 103
NOTES: DO NOT ALLOW SUBJECT TO ACCESS MEMORY CORE SIGIL
DO NOT ALLOW SUBJECT TO FIND HER
The book slammed shut.
Echo stumbled back.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded.
The boy didn't answer.
Instead, he removed his blindfold.
There were no eyes—only mirrored voids that reflected Echo's face… but it was not the same face he wore now. Older. Colder. Wearing a porcelain smile.
A mask.
"You asked for yourself," the boy said. "So I showed you the version that still exists between realities."
Echo clutched the key around his neck. "Who made me this way?"
The boy's lips didn't move, but his voice echoed in Echo's mind.
She did.
"Who is she?"
The air cracked.
Bookshelves folded into themselves.
The room began collapsing into a tunnel of light and screams and shadow-ripped pages.
"She bound you to the city," the boy's voice boomed. "She cursed your memory. And she is the only one who can undo it. But beware—"
The floor fell away.
"—you loved her once."
The library vanished.
Echo awoke on a rooftop, wind slicing across his face. Below him, crowds gathered around a blood-soaked square.
A new body.
A murder scene.
His?
No. Not this time.
But it was his rose again. Blooming from the chest of a soldier in black armor, surrounded by Empire Reapers and recording glyphs.
"This is the fourth this week," someone muttered. "Always the rose. Always the eyes missing."
"Who's doing this?" another whispered.
A third voice—calm, commanding—spoke behind them: "I know who."
The Reapers turned.
A woman stepped forward.
She wore a cloak woven from shimmering smoke and had silver hair that never seemed to stay still. Her eyes were endless gray spirals.
Echo's breath hitched.
He didn't know her name.
But his pulse reacted like it remembered every kiss, every betrayal, every scream.
"Agent Thalia," the Reaper saluted. "You think it's really him?"
She didn't answer. She just knelt beside the corpse, studied the rose, and plucked it free with a gloved hand.
Then she whispered something only Echo could hear, carried on the wind like a razor against his spine.
"Game on."
And the rose bloomed again in her hand.
But this time, it opened into an eye.
***
The sky shifted above Echo's head, crackling with energy. The moment Thalia touched the rose, something deep within him shifted as well. It wasn't just his memories—his very soul seemed to awaken, reaching for something he couldn't name. The city, the cursed city that bent and twisted itself under the influence of forgotten magic, hummed, as though it knew a battle was about to begin.
He didn't remember her. Not clearly. Not fully.
But something in his chest told him he should fear her.
And desire her.
Echo's hand clenched tighter around the silver key hanging from his neck, his pulse quickening. He had never been this close to the woman who haunted his fragmented dreams. The game—the game he had been playing for what felt like lifetimes—was about to get infinitely more complicated.
Thalia straightened from the body, her fingers still wrapped around the rose. It had fully bloomed now, the petals spread wide as though they were wings that could carry her into the very depths of the city's shifting core. The air around her crackled, her presence growing stronger, more tangible. She was a storm contained, waiting to erupt.
"Do you know him?" one of the Reapers asked cautiously, looking between the corpse and Thalia. His voice was edged with the tension of years spent chasing shadows, never finding the answers they sought.
"I know what he is," Thalia replied coldly, her voice like steel cutting through the chaos around them. She was calm. Calculated. She was always one step ahead of them, always just out of reach.
Echo watched from the rooftop, hidden in the shadow of a distant spire. He knew that Thalia was dangerous, but he didn't know how. He didn't know why he was compelled to follow her, to understand her, to stop her.
A strange shiver ran through him, and before he could comprehend it, a figure appeared beside him.
"You're following her, aren't you?" the boy from the Library of Lost Days asked, his voice as soft as the wind, yet as sharp as a blade.
Echo turned, startled. "What are you doing here?"
The boy smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You should know by now, Echo. The city listens. And it brings the pieces together."
Echo looked back toward the Reapers and Thalia. "Why her? Why now?"
"She's a piece of your puzzle," the boy said cryptically. "But you're too close to see it. You've been playing the game wrong, Echo."
Echo's jaw clenched. "What do you mean?"
"You're too focused on remembering," the boy said, walking along the rooftop edge, his feet never touching the ground. "The key, the rose, the bodies—they're all part of it. But they're not the real game."
Echo didn't respond, his mind racing. The key around his neck throbbed again, its warmth spreading through his body, settling into the pit of his stomach like an unquenchable fire.
"What is the real game?" Echo asked, his voice thick with frustration.
The boy's eyes glinted with knowing, but there was no pity in them. "The real game is about power, Echo. You were created to play it, and you have no choice but to continue. The only way out is to win. But winning isn't as simple as killing your enemies or solving riddles."
Echo took a step forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the rooftop. "Then what? What does it mean to win?"
The boy's smile faded. "To win… you need to remember her. All of her."
And with that, the boy was gone, leaving only a trace of smoke in his wake.
Echo stared at the spot where the boy had stood, his mind whirling. Her. The woman whose name echoed in the darkest corners of his mind, whose presence haunted every moment. Thalia. She wasn't just another piece in the game. She was the game.
And yet, he couldn't remember her face. Couldn't remember the moments they'd shared, the promises they might have made. The key pulsed harder against his chest, a silent demand that he unravel the truth.
"Are you going to just stand there, Echo?" Thalia's voice cut through the storm of his thoughts.
He spun, and there she was—standing just beyond the edge of the rooftop, her figure framed by the flickering lights of the city.
"You've been watching me for far too long," she said, her voice soft but dangerous. "Aren't you tired of this?"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing," Echo admitted, his voice shaky. He hadn't expected to confess it, hadn't planned for her to hear it. "I'm not sure who I am anymore. But I know I have to stop you."
Thalia tilted her head, studying him with those endless silver eyes, as if weighing his soul.
"You've always been good at starting fights, but you never finish them, do you, Echo?" Her words slid into his skin like poison, a familiar sting. "You play the game well. But you're losing."
"I don't even know the rules," he spat, anger flaring. The key burned against his skin, but it wasn't the key's heat that unsettled him. It was her.
"You did know," Thalia said, her voice low, barely a whisper. "You just forgot. And that's why you'll never win. You were supposed to be more than this. You were supposed to be my game."
Echo's heart skipped a beat. "What does that mean?"
"You're a reflection of me," Thalia said, her smile fleeting. "Every choice you've made has been part of this—part of our game. The problem is, you're too afraid to remember what you've done."
"You—" Echo's throat tightened. "You're the one who did this to me, aren't you?"
Thalia stepped closer, her presence all-consuming, but there was something in her eyes—something like regret, like pain—that made him falter.
"I didn't do it, Echo," she said, her voice almost gentle now. "You did. You did it the moment you started playing."
Before he could respond, the ground beneath them shifted. The city groaned, its deep, forgotten heartbeat echoing through the bones of the buildings. The air grew thick with the scent of burnt paper and ash. The skyline flickered as if the world itself was glitching, a digital mirage on the brink of falling apart.
"You will remember me," Thalia said, her voice low and dangerous. "But by then, it may be too late."
Echo reached for the key around his neck, his fingers trembling. The final piece of the puzzle was slipping away from him, and he had no idea how to stop it.
"Do you know how the game ends?" Thalia asked, almost conversationally, her smile returning.
Echo swallowed. "How?"
"Everyone forgets," she whispered. "Everyone except you."
And with that, the city collapsed into darkness.