That was all the Elemental Council had given Aeren. Three days to prove the existence of a sixth element—Oblivion.
Veera's voice was quiet, but firm.
"If you truly want to prove the sixth element exists… if you wish to show them that Oblivion is real," she said, "then you must go… where even memory ceases to whisper."
Aeren furrowed his brow. "Where?"
Veera lifted her hand slowly, pointing toward the sky—
"To the Rift of Zero."
A heavy silence fell.
The Rift of Zero. A place that existed beyond the Four Realms.
Where time did not flow.
Where no element held sway.
Where only shadow lived and breathed.
Aeren felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine.
Without another word, Veera raised her hand again, summoning a Shadow Gate—an ancient, swirling veil of black mist and flickering runes. It trembled with unstable energy.
"This gate," she whispered, "can only be opened using the Element of Memory. That is your gift… and your burden."
Aeren stepped forward. His breath caught as they passed through the gate.
And then… darkness.
A darkness so deep, so absolute, that it seemed to press against his lungs. The air was thick, like water—but heavier. Every breath felt like dragging in sorrow.
Around him, faint voices began to echo. Not words. Not thoughts. Just the echoes of existence.
Someone weeping.
Someone laughing hysterically.
Someone screaming… and then fading into silence.
Aeren clutched his chest. "What are these sounds?"
Veera's voice came from beside him, steady but somber.
"These are the forgotten souls—beings erased from memory by their own worlds. They feed the sixth element. They are the remnants… of Oblivion."
Suddenly, a faint light appeared ahead. As they moved closer, the silhouette of a throne emerged—carved from jagged black stone, draped in a mist that curled like smoke.
And upon that throne sat a woman.
Her skin was as pale as moonlight, her eyes an endless black.
Her hair flowed like smoke, drifting without wind.
She smiled—but that smile carried no warmth. It was the kind of smile you find in nightmares.
"I am Maya," she said, her voice smooth as velvet, yet carrying an ancient weight.
"Queen of Shadows.
Embodiment of the Forgotten.
The Avatar… of Oblivion."
Aeren took a cautious step forward. "Are you the master of the sixth element?"
Maya chuckled, and the sound echoed like glass breaking underwater.
"There are no masters of elements, child," she said.
"Elements do not obey. They flow.
I am Oblivion… because I have been forgotten."
Veera stepped beside Aeren, her voice low.
"We need proof," she said. "Proof to show the Council."
Maya rose from her throne.
Even standing still, she looked as if she were floating. Her movements left a trail of black mist. Her eyes, deep and knowing, settled on Aeren.
"You are the proof, Aeren," she said.
Aeren blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Maya's voice deepened.
"One who holds Memory… must also carry its shadow.
You are the vessel that binds what is remembered… and what is not."
Suddenly, Aeren gasped.
Images began flashing before his eyes, so vivid they nearly knocked him off his feet.
A war—one that had never been recorded in history.
A girl—dying again and again, her face just out of reach… her name always escaping him.
Veera—alone, crying… in a time when she had once been his enemy.
He stumbled backward. "What… what is this?!"
Maya's eyes sparkled with darkness.
"These are your forgotten truths," she said.
"Events you fled from.
Memories your mind rejected… but your soul never did.
Oblivion is not emptiness, Aeren. It is the weight of everything unacknowledged."
Aeren clenched his fists, his heart pounding.
"So… I must remember them?"
Maya shook her head slowly. "No.
You must accept them.
Even if they burn your existence to ashes."
Silence fell again. The throne room pulsed with unseen energy.
Then Maya extended her hand—and in her palm appeared a shard of translucent crystal, swirling with grey shadows and faint glimmers of color. Within it shimmered vague silhouettes—of fire, water, air, and earth. But all veiled, all hushed.
"This is a Shadow Crystal," she said.
"In it sleeps the ghost of all four elements.
It is the evidence your Council craves."
Aeren reached out, his fingers brushing the crystal.
It was cold—colder than anything he had ever touched. But it felt… alive. Like a heartbeat lost in time.
Maya stepped back and returned to her throne.
"But remember," she said softly, "he who begins to see Oblivion… begins to lose himself to it."
Aeren stood still. The shadows curled around his feet.
Veera remained quiet beside him.
And as they turned to leave the Rift of Zero, stepping back toward the gate of memory, Maya's voice followed them one last time—
"Oblivion is not your enemy, Aeren.
But it will become your mirror."
They didn't speak on the journey back.
But the shadow of the rift didn't stay behind.
It walked quietly beside Aeren…
like something he had forgotten long ago,
and was only now beginning to remember.