Kaelen stared at the man with the burning sigil, breath shallow, fingers clenched so tightly her knuckles ached. The symbol on his forearm pulsed like a heartbeat, echoing the heat still simmering beneath her own skin.
"Who are you?" she managed to whisper.
The man's voice was rough as worn leather. "No time. We need to move."
He didn't wait for permission. He sheathed his blade and turned, already walking toward the alley's mouth, his long coat trailing behind him like torn shadow. Kaelen stood frozen, torn between fear and the nagging pull in her chest — the same pull that had guided her hands to draw the sigil in the dirt.
Then she heard it.
A soft hiss, like sand sliding over stone.
Behind her, the dirt where the creature had fallen was vanishing — not just dispersing, but unraveling, peeling away from the world like a forgotten word.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up.
---
They ran for several blocks in silence, cutting through alleys and over shuttered stalls. The city of Dromar, normally restless even after dusk, was dead quiet. No market bells. No footfalls. Just the sound of Kaelen's ragged breathing and the stranger's steady pace.
They stopped near the edge of the western wall, in the shadow of an old watchtower.
"Who was that?" she asked, still panting.
The man didn't answer right away. He scanned the rooftops, then finally turned to her. In the flickering lamplight, Kaelen got a better look at him — mid-thirties, perhaps older, with storm-gray eyes that looked like they'd seen entire lifetimes burn.
"A Hollowborn," he said finally. "Servant of the thing that's unmaking the world."
Kaelen blinked. "Unmaking…? What does that even mean?"
He glanced at the sigil on her wrist, which had begun to fade back beneath the skin.
"You really don't know."
"I don't know anything," she snapped. "I dreamed about a city. I drew the mark. Then a memory ghost tried to kill me, and you showed up swinging fire. I think I'm entitled to a little clarity."
A pause. Then a soft, grudging nod.
"The city," he said, "was Valenstrad. Capital of the High Accord. Fell nearly a century ago — except no one remembers it ever existed. No books. No songs. Not even ruins. Erased."
Kaelen's stomach turned. "But I remember."
"Exactly. So do I."
He extended his arm again. The spiral sigil was faint but visible, the skin around it scarred.
"They call us the Remembered. We're not supposed to exist."
---
They made their way through a forgotten tunnel beneath the wall — damp and crawling with vines, but hidden well. Tareth lit a glowstone and led her into a hollow carved deep into the stone — a makeshift shelter filled with worn maps, half-burned scrolls, and shelves stacked with broken blades.
"This used to be one of our signal outposts," he muttered. "Back when there were more of us."
Kaelen moved to a faded tapestry nailed to the wall. The thread was frayed, but she could still make out the symbols — a ring of spirals, a cracked crown, and the words:
"Memory is Resistance."
She touched the cloth. It felt familiar, though she'd never seen it before.
The silence stretched. Then she turned.
"Look, I don't even know your name," she said, realizing just how far from normal her life had shifted in the past hour. "And you clearly know more about me than I do."
The man hesitated — just for a second.
"Tareth," he said. "Just Tareth."
Kaelen folded her arms. "Kaelen."
"No last name?"
She shook her head. "I had one. Once. Don't remember it. Or maybe the world doesn't."
He gave a grim half-smile. "Fitting."
---
That night, they sat in silence around a sputtering camp flame.
Tareth finally spoke again.
"They're hunting us, Kaelen. The Hollow God wants everything remembered erased. But we — we carry what the world has forgotten. And that makes us dangerous."
Kaelen stared into the fire.
"If all this was taken… why do we remember?"
Tareth's eyes darkened. "Because something chose to leave us whole. Or maybe… maybe we chose not to forget."
He tossed a small cloth bundle toward her. Inside: a torn scrap of old parchment, marked with the sigil — hers.
Kaelen stared.
"I had this?"
He nodded. "Evron left it with the Order. Said you were too young to understand back then."
"Evron knows?"
Tareth stood. "He was one of us. He still might be."
Kaelen's mind reeled. Her life, the city, her dreams — none of it was safe anymore. But in her bones, something ancient stirred. A truth that had been waiting for her to return.
"Get some rest," Tareth said, his voice softer now. "Tomorrow, we find another like you."
"Another Remembered?"
"No." He looked at her, deadly serious. "A city. One that no longer exists."