I crashed into the hut, my old heart pounding frantically, not from exertion, but from a sudden, alien dread. The scent. The same one I had smelled outside. Stale, sickly sweet, like decaying flesh mixed with old herbs and parchment. The scent of the Void Whisperers. How... how could they be here? When? Inside, gloom prevailed. Only thin streaks of orange light from outside pierced the cracks in the window shutters, casting long, distorted shadows. The hut seemed larger than it was, its interior... unfamiliar. Was this my hut? Had it always been so cluttered?
The Collector followed me in, his heavy footsteps echoing in the small room. He stood just behind me, his clay body rigid, his obsidian eye scanning the darkness. He sensed it. He sensed the intruder. "Who's here?" I whispered, my voice dry and raspy. Silence. Only the slow ticking of a clock somewhere deep inside, though I'd never owned a clock. Had the Collector brought it? Had I owned it? Chaos reigned in my head again. Flashes. A man in black robes. Not the Architect. Another. With scars on his face. His eyes. Like a void. He looked at me, and his lips... whispered. "This will end, Elaraith. Once and for all. Memory is a disease."
I took a step forward, and something hard slid out from under my foot. I bent down, with difficulty, and picked it up. A small, metal casket. Carefully crafted, with strange symbols etched into its surface. They weren't the symbols of Erasure. They were... mine. Or someone I knew. From the Library? "Open it," a voice hissed in my head. "What's inside is another fragment of the Lie." I fought the temptation. I fought that voice, which tried to push me. It wasn't the Architect's voice. It was... the one who vanished. The one whose face I saw in the anomaly.
Then I heard a rustle. Faint. I turned sharply. Nothing. Only shadows dancing in the gloom. "You didn't flee. Good." A voice. Not in my head. In my hut. I looked towards the direction it came from. By an old, moss-covered cabinet, almost invisible in the shadow, stood a figure. A woman. She wore dark, loose robes, and her face was obscured by a hood. But I saw her lips. A thin line of a smile. A smile that inspired no trust. "Elaraith Vel'Shar," she said, her voice velvety but cold as ice. "You still remember your name. That's... impressive. For now." My heart stopped. She remembered my name. She knew. She knew who I was. Who I was... before oblivion.
"Who are you?" I whispered, feeling the symbol on my hand begin to burn. It wasn't pain. It was a warning. "I am merely a messenger," she replied, and her eyes... I couldn't see her eyes, but I felt their piercing gaze, as if they were looking deep into my crumbling consciousness. "The Void Whisperers send their greetings. And... an offer." The Void Whisperers. Yes. That scent. "What do you want?" I snarled, feeling the Archetype of Resistance within me gather strength. "Truth, Archivist," she replied, taking a step forward, each movement deliberate, fluid. "The Truth you so carefully hid. The one that resides in your... mind library." I understood. They wanted my memories. They wanted my madness. They wanted the keys to the Eons that I carried within me.
"I won't give them to you!" I cried out, and my voice, though still raspy, gained an unexpected strength. The blue glow on my hand flared brighter. The air around me trembled. The Golem, the Collector, let out a low rumble, as if preparing for defense. "How interesting." The woman raised an eyebrow, and her smile widened. "We thought you longed to forget. That your madness was a gift that protected you from the burden of Truth." Then I heard another rustle. A second. And a third. From the shadows, from behind cabinets, from behind a pile of old scrolls, more figures emerged. Two men, also in dark robes, their faces partially obscured. Their eyes. Yes. The same empty, soulless eyes I'd seen in the memory. "Take him," the woman commanded. The men moved towards me. Their movements were swift, almost superhuman. They didn't use magic. They used... precision. Like trained assassins. But they didn't want to kill me. They wanted to capture me. They wanted my memories.
In my head, chaos exploded. I saw myself in combat. In hundreds of battles. Not just with weapons, but with mind. I knew how to defend myself. But the knowledge was buried under layers of oblivion. I lunged at them, more by instinct than by deliberation. My fists... blue flame erupted from them. No, not flame. It was the essence of Echo. I touched the first man. My hand passed through him, as if through water. And he screamed. Not from pain. From terror. His eyes... I saw his own memories shattering. His own face blurring. "Mind Magic!" the woman cried, her tone betraying surprise. "He's not controlling it! He's consuming! It's dangerous!" Yes. Dangerous. For them.
The second man struck me from behind. I fell to the ground, and the world spun. I felt my consciousness cracking, like a mirror. In the Collector's eyes, I saw terror. His single eye pulsed. "Enough, Collector!" I cried, but the voice wasn't mine. It was the voice of a young, strong Archivist. "Leave me! Seek... seek the Truth!" The Golem, reluctantly, began to retreat. His clay feet shuffled across the floor, and he himself seemed torn between loyalty and command. The woman approached me as I lay on the floor. She knelt, and her cool hand touched my temple. She saw the chaos in my eyes. She saw the Eons battling in my head. "You won't escape, old man," she whispered. "There's nowhere to go. You are the map. You are the key. You are... the Void that must be filled." I felt her magic penetrate my mind. It didn't hurt. It was like cool water trying to find cracks in my armor. She was searching for information. She was searching for hidden passages to my memory. I saw images. Quickly. Too quickly. Maps. Stars. Calculations. Faces. Hundreds, thousands of faces that belonged to me and didn't. And then I heard her whisper. Not in my head. From her lips. "The Book of Signs. Where did you hide it, Archivist? We must have it. Before... he finds it." The Book of Signs. I remembered. Running. Through the forest. With it. Was this... it?
Suddenly, a commotion from outside. Shouts. Not prayers. Fighting voices. The villagers. They hadn't fled. They were coming here. The woman hissed in anger, pulling her hand from my temple. Her face, though still obscured, betrayed irritation. "They've got him! The village is in chaos! We need to retreat!" I heard one of the men say. "Leave him!" the woman cried. "We have what we wanted. At least we know where he hid it." And then they vanished. Dissolved into the shadows as quickly as they had appeared. They left me alone, lying on the floor, my mind in total chaos. And with the casket in my hand. I looked at the casket. Cold, metal. Was it the key? Did it contain... the Book of Signs? And then... everything dissolved again. I returned to my own comfortable madness. Silence. Except for... the quiet babbling of the Collector, who had returned and was sitting in the corner, arranging his glowing crystals once more. "Bread," I whispered. "Did I burn the bread?"