Ashes of the Forsaken

Kieran stood in the center of the chamber, his breath slow and measured.

His mind was racing.

The vision—the memory—had come and gone in an instant, slipping through his grasp like water through his fingers.

But he had seen it.

A city in flames. A voice calling his name. A battle already lost.

And above all—the undeniable, unshakable knowledge that he had been there.

Not in this life. Not as Kieran Valtheris.

But as something else.

Something the world had tried to erase.

Kieran clenched his fists, forcing his breathing to steady. He could still feel the echo of that moment, lingering at the edges of his thoughts—faint, fragile, like the last embers of a dying fire.

But it wasn't enough.

He needed more.

More than whispers. More than glimpses.

He needed the truth.

Kieran turned his gaze back to the chamber walls. The carvings that lined the stone had remained unchanged, untouched even as the past had tried to force itself into his mind.

He traced his fingers along one of the symbols, feeling the cool stone beneath his touch.

The language was ancient. Older than the kingdom. Older than the noble houses that had condemned him to die.

But the shapes, the way the markings curved and wove together—he had seen something like this before.

Not in this life.

But in the vision.

The city in flames—the buildings had been lined with these same markings.

This place, these ruins—they were connected to whatever had happened before.

His past wasn't just lost.

It had been buried.

And if the nobles had feared him enough to erase his very name from history, what had they done to the ones who had walked this path before him?

Kieran exhaled sharply. He wasn't the first.

And if he wasn't the first…

Then where were the others?

At the far end of the chamber, past the carved walls, a second path stretched into the dark.

Kieran approached cautiously, scanning the stone for more markings.

No doors. No barriers.

Just an open corridor, waiting for him.

He narrowed his eyes.

A test.

This entire place was a test.

The Veilkeeper's warnings, the whispers in the dark, the memory that had just forced its way into his mind.

Everything was pushing him toward this path.

Kieran took a slow breath and stepped forward.

The moment he crossed the threshold—

A cold wind rushed through the tunnel.

His instincts screamed at him to stop, but he forced himself to move.

This was it.

The next step.

And he would not turn back.

The corridor was long and narrow, its ceiling arching above him, the stone untouched by decay.

Unlike the ruins above, this place had not been abandoned.

Not truly.

Even after centuries—**millennia, perhaps—**there were no signs of collapse, no rubble or debris.

It was as if the corridor had simply been waiting.

Kieran's fingers brushed against the walls as he moved. The symbols here were clearer, more deliberate than those in the chamber behind him.

But what caught his attention wasn't the markings.

It was the light.

Faint. Barely visible.

A soft glow emanated from deeper within, just beyond the curve of the tunnel ahead.

Kieran's heart quickened.

Someone—or something—was still here.

He reached for the dagger at his belt, but his fingers found nothing.

He had no weapons.

Only his instincts.

And the knowledge that if he had truly been here before, then this place would recognize him just as much as he recognized it.

He exhaled and pressed forward.

The corridor opened into a second chamber.

Smaller than the first, but no less strange.

The walls were lined with stone pillars, each carved with more of the unfamiliar script. The glow he had seen—it came from the very air itself, as if the room was lit by something unseen.

And in the center—

Kieran stopped.

A statue.

Tall. Hooded. Cloaked in worn robes, its hands outstretched.

But its face—

There was no face.

Only smooth stone, featureless and empty.

A figure without identity.

A name lost to time.

Or erased.

Kieran exhaled.

This wasn't just a ruin.

It was a tomb.

Not for a body.

But for a memory.

The air shifted.

Kieran felt it—the same weight that had pressed against him in the first chamber.

The same force that had tried to warn him away.

The Veil.

It was stronger here.

He stepped closer to the statue, his gaze locked on the smooth, faceless surface.

The moment he touched the stone—

The world fractured.

A rush of voices.

A city crumbling.

A name, whispered from the dark.

And then—

Silence.

Kieran's vision cleared.

The statue was still.

But something had changed.

The carvings along the walls—they were no longer unfamiliar.

He could read them.

Not all, not fully.

But some.

The knowledge had been buried deep inside him.

And now, it was waking.

He stepped back, his heartbeat steady.

This place had been waiting for him.

And it had just recognized him.

Kieran clenched his fists.

His past was not lost.

It had only been sleeping.

Until now.

The room was watching him.

Kieran felt it in the air—in the way the very walls seemed to breathe, in the way the statue's blank face seemed to bear silent witness.

But more than that…

Something had changed.

The carvings that had once been unfamiliar, unreadable, were now something else entirely.

He could understand them.

Not all of them, not fully—but enough.

Enough to know that this place, these ruins, this tomb of forgotten things—

It had been waiting.

For him.

Kieran moved slowly, his fingers brushing over the carved letters.

Not all of them were readable—some still blurred in his vision, their meaning slipping from his grasp.

But others…

He traced the first word his mind could fully process.

"Exile."

His breath hitched.

The second:

"Forsaken."

And then, finally:

"Return."

A cold sensation curled in his gut.

He turned his gaze back toward the faceless statue, his pulse steady.

"The one who returns."

That's what the whispers had called him. That's what the Veilkeeper had feared. That's what the slumlord had refused to speak aloud.

And now, it was carved into the stone itself.

Not just about him.

About all who had come before him.

Kieran's fingers clenched.

He wasn't just retracing someone else's steps.

He was part of a cycle.

Something endless.

Something that had already played out before.

And if the past had been desperate enough to erase him—

What had he done before?

Or worse—what had he failed to do?

The chamber was silent, but the air felt different.

Like a storm waiting to break.

Kieran turned back to the statue, stepping closer. The faceless figure loomed over him, its robed arms outstretched, empty palms facing upward—like an offering, or a judgment.

This wasn't just a symbol.

This was the remnant of something real.

Someone real.

A part of himself that had been carved from existence.

He inhaled deeply, then, without hesitation—

He pressed his palm against the stone.

The world shattered.

Not physically—not yet.

But in his mind.

A rush of sensation—too much, too fast.

Memories. Not his. Not from this life.

But they belonged to him nonetheless.

A voice, sharp and clear:

"They will not let us leave."

A city of towers, rising against a blood-red sky.

Figures clad in dark robes, standing beneath a vast, swirling rift in the heavens.

"We have no choice."

A symbol drawn in the air, glowing with power.

Then—screaming.

Kieran staggered back, his vision lurching.

The ruins flickered around him, shifting between past and present.

For a split second, he was both here and there.

Both Kieran Valtheris and someone else entirely.

Then—nothing.

The memory snapped like a broken thread, yanked from his grasp.

Kieran gasped, steadying himself against the nearest wall. His hands were shaking.

The room was the same. The air was still.

But his breath came faster now.

Because he understood something terrifying.

The city in his vision—

The war he had seen—

It hadn't been a dream.

It had been real.

And he had been there when it burned.

Kieran wiped a hand across his face, forcing himself to breathe.

He was unraveling something he wasn't meant to find.

But now, there was no stopping.

The truth wasn't just waiting to be uncovered.

It was forcing itself back into existence.

Piece by piece.

His name wasn't just erased.

His entire life before this one had been sealed away.

The whispers, the warnings, the forces trying to keep him from remembering—they weren't trying to stop him from learning.

They were trying to stop something from happening again.

He straightened, his mind racing.

If he had truly been part of that war—

Then what had happened at its end?

What had happened to him?

And why had he returned now?

His gaze fell back to the inscription beneath the statue.

A single line of text, standing apart from the others.

More deliberate. Clear.

He read it aloud, his voice low.

"Only the forsaken walk between worlds."

Kieran stilled.

His breath caught.

The meaning—the implications—

The truth was right there, carved into the stone.

He wasn't just part of the past.

He had crossed the Veil.

And he had done it before.

Kieran stepped away from the statue, his thoughts sharp, clear.

He knew what to do next.

The visions, the whispers, the glimpses of another life—they weren't random.

They were guiding him.

Not just to knowledge.

But to a choice.

One that he had clearly failed to make before.

He turned toward the corridor leading deeper into the ruins.

He wasn't going to stop.

Not now.

Not until he reached the end.

And not until he knew why he had returned.

One step at a time, he pressed forward.

And the shadows of the past followed.