At dawn, the world was silver. Mist hung low, and every tree seemed carved from frozen breath. Frido and Teren walked east with no map—only the weight of the Watcher's journal and Ilric's warning in their minds.
They came upon a river.
But it was not on any chart Teren remembered.
And the oddest thing was—not a single bird flew over it. No sound of insects. No ripple of fish.
Just silence.
Frido looked at it and whispered, "It doesn't remember itself."
---
The Bridge Without a Name
The stone bridge ahead was crumbled at its edges, as if time had chewed it piece by piece. No signs marked it. No names carved in its rails. But at the center stood a post—once bearing a banner. Now, only tattered cords flapped in the wind.
Teren frowned.
"This river… it should be the Merin, but it's too wide. Too still."
Frido stepped onto the bridge and paused.
"There's something buried here."
---
Beneath the Stones
They pried open a loose slab. Below it: a box, sealed in wax and iron. It bore no crest—only a short sentence etched in three lines:
"In peace, they came.
In silence, they died.
Let no one forget."
Inside were bones. Small. Not soldiers.
Civilians.
A man. A woman. Two children.
Frido's hands trembled as he touched the edge of the box.
Teren looked away, jaw clenched. "It was a crossing point."
"A massacre," Frido said. "Erased."
He looked up.
"We must cross."
---
The River Speaks in Silence
Halfway across, the mist thickened. The world behind them faded. Frido could barely see Teren a few steps ahead.
Then came the voices.
Not loud. Not clear.
But they pressed into his skull like the memory of a scream.
"…run…"
"…please…"
"…they were unarmed…"
"…why did you abandon us…"
Frido staggered.
Then he saw them.
Figures in the fog—shadowed shapes, walking across the bridge. Not ghostly. Not solid. Just memory given form.
Children clutching dolls. Men in chains. A woman carrying a scroll with a broken seal.
All walking west.
Into the mist.
Into death.
---
The Envoy's Mark
One figure stopped beside him.
A young man in a diplomat's robe, his eyes wide with grief. He held out a paper—blood-stained, half-burned.
The seal was the same as the one in the Watcher's journal.
"The ceasefire," Frido whispered.
The man vanished.
But the image remained—burned into Frido's mind.
Teren pulled him forward. "Don't stop. Not here."
They ran the rest of the bridge, breathless and heavy-hearted.
---
On the Other Side
Once past the mist, the world was clearer—brighter even.
They stood on a small hill, overlooking what might have once been a town.
Now, just foundations and broken stones remained.
Teren spat. "I bet no map remembers this place."
Frido didn't speak.
He only knelt and began writing in his own journal.
A name.
A river.
A crossing.
A loss.
---
The Man With One Eye
As they camped by the broken town, a figure approached from the north road.
He wore a faded military cloak and walked with a limp.
He raised one hand in peace.
"Mind if I share your fire?"
Teren looked ready to draw his blade, but Frido nodded. "You're welcome."
The man sat. Only one eye remained in his weathered face. The other socket was sealed with a metal disc.
"You crossed the river," he said.
Frido nodded.
"Did you hear them?"
"Yes."
The man gave a weary smile.
"Then you are the first in thirty years."
---
His Name Was Arveth
He spoke slowly, every word scraped from regret.
"I was a lieutenant. Not when the war was loud—no, during the false peace. I was escorting the envoy. The one with the ceasefire."
Frido leaned forward.
"Then you know what happened?"
Arveth nodded, face grim.
"They killed him on the bridge. The silence wasn't an accident—it was ordered. Our general feared peace. Said it would weaken our claim to the mountains. So he burned the treaty, killed the envoy… and buried the town under silence."
Frido's jaw clenched.
"They lied," Teren whispered.
"They erased," Arveth corrected.
---
Why He Still Lives
"I deserted," Arveth said, "but I couldn't forget. I tried. For decades. But the river always calls me back. I come here once a year to remember… so they won't be alone."
Frido handed him the Watcher's pendant.
"This belonged to someone who remembered too."
Arveth took it gently.
Then wept.
---
A Name Restored
In the morning, Frido carved a marker on the edge of the bridge:
"Here stood the town of Virelle.
Its people were peace.
Its death was silence.
May the world remember."
He left the marker unguarded.
But as he walked away, he felt—for the first time—that silence was watching him now.
Not to erase.
But to listen.
---
[End of Chapter 12]