The scream of burned memory ripped through the air, striking the Shadow from the Void like a shockwave. It wasn't a sound that could wound a body, but it was a hum that seemed to suffocate the very concept of existence. The Shadow flinched. Its fluid movements froze for a fraction of a second, like a recording suddenly jammed. In that flicker of hesitation, I saw in it... anger? Irritation? It was too brief a moment to be certain, but the mere fact that I had stopped it, even for that one, impossible fraction of a second, filled me with a strange, fleeting satisfaction.
Then came the people. From the Village of the Last Echo. They ran across the gray, withered grass, their faces distorted by fear and exertion. They were simple folk. Farmers, fishermen, a few shepherds. Their eyes were wide, fixated on the anomaly that was devouring their world. Their shouts rang out. No, not shouts. They were whispers. Prayers? Pleas? Or curses? Everything merged into a single, incomprehensible din that only amplified the chaos in my head. "Stop! Don't come closer!" I snarled, feeling a sudden urge to protect these... these... who were there, where I was. But they didn't listen. Or didn't hear me. They were focused on the Shadow, on the threat that was so palpable, yet so absurd. Their tools—hoes, pitchforks, primitive knives—were laughable in the face of what was coming.
The Golem, the Collector, still trembled at my feet. His small, glowing circle of crystals had extinguished, but in his hands, new Echos, small, blue crystals, vibrated as if they wanted to escape. "Master! Archmage!" I heard, and the voice was close. Too close. I turned. A young man stood there, with wide, open eyes and a beard I didn't remember. He wore a simple linen tunic and carried a heavy staff. Behind him, a woman with a child in her arms, her face pale with fear. And others. Many others. "It's you! It's you again! The anomaly... it came for you!" the man cried, his voice trembling, but in his eyes there was more than just fear. There was also... accusation. My head pulsed. This man... did I know him? Had I seen him before? His face was like... a face made of film. Familiar, yet lacking detail. How many faces had I seen that dissolved into oblivion?
"I... I don't... I don't remember anything." I stammered, trying to form coherent words. It was difficult. Like catching water in a sieve. The man approached closer, ignoring the Shadow that still stood, as if contemplating its next move. It was foolish. Suicidal. But they... they didn't understand what the Shadow was. They didn't understand what the Erasure was. To them, it was just another monster. Big, terrifying, but just a monster. "The anomaly came again the moment you awoke! When you started having these... these visions!" The man's voice took on an accusatory tone. "The village is dying! Our crops, our animals! It's all vanishing! Just like last time!" Last time? Did I remember "last time"? Was this one of the cycles? Was I responsible for... the fall? Again?
Then I felt a touch. An alien touch. A cool hand gripped my right arm. It was the young woman, the one with the child. Her fingers were delicate, but her grip—strong. I was surprised. No one had touched me in years. The villagers feared me. They called me mad. They said I was... marked. "Help us, Master Elaraith," she whispered, her voice breaking with fear, but her eyes... in her eyes there was more than just fear. There was a plea. A pure, desperate plea. "Only you can. We saw your power! How you stopped that... that evil!" My power? Again? A flash. A scream. Yes, the scream of burned memory. Which struck the Shadow. And then emptiness again. Who did that? Me? Was it an Archetype?
The Shadow, after a moment of stillness, finally moved. Not towards us. But... to the side. Its fluid silhouette vanished behind the trees, merging with the dark contours of the forest. It disappeared. It didn't erase us. It didn't consume us. It simply left. The village sighed with relief. Several men fell to their knees, praying to their forgotten deities. The woman with the child squeezed me tighter. Her breathing was shallow, but regular. "It's gone," the young man said, in disbelief. "It fled. You scared it away!" "No... it didn't flee," I whispered, my eyes still fixed on the spot where the Shadow had vanished. "He... he's changing strategy." In my head, the chaos momentarily subsided, giving way to something more ominous. An image. A map. The same one I'd seen in my dreams. A map of the Library of Oblivion. But now, on that map, I saw... points. Small, glowing points, marking places where the Architect of Oblivion had already acted. Or where he intended to act. And there were hundreds of them. Scattered across the entire Eonum. The Shadow didn't flee. It dispersed its Erasure. Like a disease. Like a plague.
Then I felt a sudden shiver run down my spine. It wasn't the cold of the Void. It was... something else. Something that had infiltrated my hut, my personal sphere, while I was preoccupied with the Shadow. "Collector!" I snarled, turning abruptly. The Golem, still clutching the crystals, stood rigid now, his eye fixed on the open doorway of the hut. Inside. Inside the hut... Someone was there. Someone had entered. And that someone, that intruder, had left a scent behind. A scent I knew. The scent of old books, herbal smoke, and... decaying human flesh. The scent of Lies. A scent that belonged only to... the Void Whisperers. The young woman with the child still held my hand. The bearded man stared at the anomaly. And I, the old madman, was torn. Between the Shadow that retreated, and the intruder who entered. Between a great, cosmic Truth and a small, personal Lie.
"I must... I must go back," I said, pulling my hand from the woman's grasp. I took a step towards the hut. "But Master Elaraith! The Shadow is gone! You're safe!" the man shouted after me. "No!" I snarled, feeling the memories in my head begin to accelerate, like a runaway train. "I'm never safe! Especially when I don't remember what from!" I looked at the Collector. His eye turned towards the hut. Yes. The threat was there. Another threat. Perhaps worse. I rushed into the hut, feeling my old bones protest. The Void Whisperers. What were they doing here? What were they looking for? Did they want to... steal my dreams?