I lay on the floor, my breath heavy and uneven. My head throbbed, and in my ears, the woman's cry from the Village of the Last Echo still echoed, now mixed with her own soft whisper. Had they truly left? Was all of this... a dream? An image created by my deranged mind? My hand clutched the metal casket. It was cold, hard, undeniably real. On its surface, the etched symbols seemed to pulse, though I knew it was merely a trick of the light in the gloom. I remembered them. From somewhere. But where? From the library? From some ancient tomb?
The silence that settled over the hut after their disappearance was more terrifying than their presence. It was a silence that screamed of the mess left behind, of the traces they'd imprinted on my mind. And in my life. The village. Those people. Were they truly accusing me? Of bringing the anomaly? Was I to blame? My mind was a labyrinth, and I was its prisoner, trying to find a way through cracking walls. "Bread?" I whispered again, the word like an anchor in a sea of madness, something simple, something that should be easy to recall. But even that was a challenge.
The Golem, the Collector, still sat in the corner, surrounded by his glowing crystals. He was like a statue of chaos, a silent witness to my falls. But now, his obsidian eye, the only one he possessed, was fixed on me. He didn't move. He just watched. And in that gaze, there was... something. Understanding? An understanding I lacked. I struggled to my feet, feeling every age in my bones. The casket was heavy in my hand. I approached the Collector, and he didn't stir as I sat beside him on the dusty curb. "They're looking for the Book of Signs," I told the Golem. "They think I hid it. That it's inside me. But... I don't know, Collector. I don't know anything." The Golem scraped softly, as if contemplating. His clay fingers, despite their lack of visible joints, moved with surprising precision, arranging the crystals into ever-new patterns. "They spoke of 'hidden passages'," I continued, pointing to the casket. "Is this it? Is this the key?" The Golem tilted his head, and his eye slowly turned towards the casket. Then to my hand. Then back to the casket. He seemed to... recognize.
Suddenly, the Collector raised one of his clay hands. Between his thick fingers, one of those blue crystals rested. It didn't glow as intensely as the one he'd placed on the table earlier, but it pulsed with a calm, steady light. The Golem carefully, with a precision I hadn't expected from such a clumsy figure, pressed the crystal against the casket. Against one of the symbols etched upon it. I was surprised. I thought he'd try to open it. Or somehow break it. But he... touched it. As if testing its soul. The moment the crystal touched the symbol, something strange happened. The casket trembled. The metal sides chimed softly, like a distant bell. Then, slowly, very slowly, the symbols on its surface began to... glow. One by one. With a blue radiance. The same as the Collector's crystals. Then, before my eyes, on the smooth surface of the metal, the symbols began to form into something. Not signs. Images. Moving images. The first image: a library. A vast, circular library, with shelves reaching into infinity. Filled with scrolls, tablets, glowing data spheres. And I was there. Younger. Too young for such knowledge. My hands, still with unblemished skin, touched ancient parchments. The second image: a face. The face of a man in black robes. Not the Architect. But the one I'd seen in the flash. The one with the scars. He smiled, but his eyes were empty. He whispered something. The words were blurred, but I felt their weight. "Memory is... a Lie."
My head began to ache again. Not that chaotic pain, but a sharp, precise pain. As if someone was inserting a key into a rusted lock in my brain and trying to turn it. "Is this... true?" I whispered, directing the words at the Golem. He just watched the casket, his eye absorbing the images. The third image: a forest. A dense, ancient forest, full of whispering trees. And me. With the Book of Signs in my hands. Fleeing. Behind me, shadows. Not the Architect's Shadow. Other shadows. Human. The Void Whisperers. Chasing me. Wanting to reclaim the Book. So it wasn't just my memory. These were... facts. Hidden facts. "Collector... what is this?" I asked, feeling my body tremble. It wasn't from cold. It was fear. Fear of the Truth.
The Golem, slowly, withdrew the crystal from the casket. The images faded, and the symbols stopped glowing again. The casket was cold and silent once more. But something about it had changed. A small, almost invisible indentation appeared. Like... a concave button. The Golem, with an incomprehensible precision, pressed this button with his clay finger. With a soft rustle, the casket's lock clicked open. Not grinding, not thudding. It simply opened. As if it had been waiting for this moment. Inside the casket... there was nothing. It was empty. "Empty?" I stammered, my heart seizing. Was this all a joke? Another cruel whim of my deranged mind? The Golem shook his shapeless head. Then, with a gesture surprisingly full of expression, he pointed to... my chest. To my heart. "No, old man," a soft, grating whisper resonated. Not from my lips. From the Collector's lips. His voice. "The Truth is here. The Book of Signs. It is in you. It always was."
The words echoed in my mind, clear and distinct, as if all veils had suddenly fallen. The Golem... he spoke. He never spoke. And what he said... The Book of Signs. In my heart. And then... everything returned. Chaos. Whispers. Cracking. I looked at the Collector. His eye was motionless again. His lips... clay and silent once more. Was it a dream? Did he really say that? Was it another flash? I clutched my hand to my chest. To my heart. The Book of Signs. I knew I had to find it. Even if it meant diving deeper into my own madness.