Requiem of the Forgotten

The receptionist looked up as I approached.

Same woman. Sharp eyes, stiff posture, golden badge on her chest that read "Lunia Guild – Senior Registrar."

She didn’t smile.

“Oh,” she said flatly. “You’re back.”

I nodded, trying not to fidget. My hands were cold.

“I remembered something,” I said. “Just… a name. I think. Someone I knew—maybe a merchant. I figured if I walk around the markets, I might find him.”

She stared at me, blinking once. Then leaned slightly forward, elbows on the desk.

“What name?”

Shit.

I looked past her for half a second, pretending to think.

“Davan. Or Davin. Something like that. He used to… come by our village to buy grain.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yeah.”

Her gaze lingered on me—measuring me like a butcher deciding if a cut of meat was worth selling. But I didn’t flinch. Not this time.

I didn’t have time to be afraid.

“Alright,” she said finally, leaning back in her seat. “You’ve got three days. If no one comes forward by then, I’ll report you again. Church will probably take you after that. Maybe.”

I nodded once. “Thank you.”

She didn’t reply.

I turned and walked away, heart pounding harder than it should’ve. Three days. Not much—but enough. Enough to vanish.

Outside the hall, the morning was in full swing. Lunia buzzed around me like a restless beast. The city was built like a multi-layered crown: circular walls, climbing terraces, narrow bridges connecting districts. Smoke curled from chimneys. Market stalls opened with the groan of wood and clatter of crates. Carriages rattled over uneven stone paths. Somewhere nearby, a blacksmith slammed iron against iron, each strike ringing like a slow war drum.

I pulled my coat tighter.

It still smelled faintly like lavender and sweat.

That’s when I saw them.

Serenya and the others—Ashmarked.

They were standing near the city’s east gate, packs slung over their shoulders, checking gear. Darian adjusted the strap across his chest. Kaelin stretched one arm behind her head, yawning. Gorrun stood like a stone statue. Serenya was speaking quietly to a young gate officer.

I hesitated.

Then walked toward them.

Serenya noticed me first. Her expression softened.

“You alright?” she asked.

I nodded. “I will be.”

The others turned as I approached. Kaelin tilted her head, already smirking. Gorrun gave me that unreadable glance. Darian’s brows lifted just slightly.

“I wanted to say thanks,” I said. “For taking care of me.”

They didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at me like they were expecting more.

I met Serenya’s eyes.

“I won’t forget it.”

She gave a small nod. Then stepped closer and rested a hand on my shoulder. It was warm.

“Then don’t waste it.”

That was all.

Kaelin grinned. “Don’t die, mystery boy.”

“Try not to lose more memories,” Darian added, adjusting his sword belt.

Gorrun didn’t speak. Just gave me a slow nod.

And then they turned and left.

No tears. No goodbyes. Just the road swallowing them up like it always did.

I stood there a minute longer, letting the wind brush my face. I could still see the back of Serenya’s coat as she disappeared into the land beyond the gate.

Then I turned the other way.

I had no map. No weapons. No place to sleep tonight.

But I had a name.

And just maybe, a reason.

I didn’t know where I was going. Only that I had to leave.

The city of Lunia stretched out before me like a tired giant—stone, smoke, and steel, stacked high with people who all had somewhere to be. I didn’t. Not yet. So I walked.

Past the markets, where vendors shouted over each other, selling charred skewers of meat and glass vials of shimmering blue. Past the training fields where mercenaries beat the shit out of wooden dummies and sometimes each other. Past the temples with their worn steps and cracked prayer plates. The sun hovered behind thin clouds, casting a pale, dusty light across the streets. It felt like the whole city was holding its breath.

There was a square near the east watchgate where caravans prepared for long trips—north to the lake provinces, west to the cliffs of Rion, south toward the edge of the Dark Zone. Or east, toward Vetra and eventually Reslau.

That’s where I went.

That’s where the voices got louder. Harsher.

“Can’t take another mouth, kid.”

“You look like a wet scarecrow.”

“Essence-less? What the fuck do you bring to the table then, huh?”

I didn’t argue. Just kept trying.

Most of them weren’t even cruel—just practical. Mercenaries, traders, guards. They looked at me and saw a liability. I didn’t blame them. Hell, if I were in their boots, I’d probably say the same thing.

I had no Essence. No money. No reputation.

All I had was an old coat, a dull eating knife, and a few scraps of food stuffed into a cloth bag. I still wore the shirt Serenya had cleaned for me. My boots were secondhand and one size too big. My left one squeaked every few steps.

I stopped to sit on a stone bench near the edge of the square, rubbing my temples. I’d been walking for hours, and the ache in my legs told me I wasn’t as tough as I wanted to be.

I didn’t notice the old man until he was already beside me.

“Long way to sit for someone with nowhere to go,” he said.

His voice was dry, but not brittle—like cracked bark. I turned my head and saw him watching the road like he was waiting for it to speak to him.

He looked... weird.

Not in a threatening way. Just wrong for the setting.

He wore a wide-brimmed hat that was too old to be stylish and too new to be antique. His cloak was patchy, but clean. His boots were wrapped in an extra layer of cloth, tied with blue string. His eyes were grey—not cloudy or faded, just... still. Like the kind of still water you never trust.

I said nothing.

He looked at me.

“Let me guess. No coin, no magic, no ride.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You stalking me?”

“I’d have to care more to be a stalker,” he said. “Besides. You look like every other desperate boy in this city.”

“Great.”

He leaned back and cracked his knuckles. “Name’s Brynn. I’m headed northeast. Vetra. Might cut down through the hills after that, maybe Reslau.”

My heart jumped, but I kept my face still.

“I’m Aleks,” I said. “You going alone?”

“Wasn’t planning to. But most people don’t like traveling with a man who hears voices in trees.”

I stared.

He didn’t flinch.

“I’m joking,” he added after a long pause. “Mostly.”

I was starting to understand why no one wanted to ride with him.

He stood up suddenly and waved me toward a nearby wagon. “Come on. You’ll meet the rest.”

I followed.

The wagon was small, two-wheeled, pulled by a fat grey mule with an attitude. Three people stood around it, checking supplies and arguing over a map spread across a crate.

One was a tall woman with her hair pulled into a messy braid, sleeves rolled up, arms scratched from brambles. Her face was angular, eyes narrow, and the way she stood—weight shifted to one leg, arms crossed—screamed I don’t trust you even before she looked at me.

Next to her was a man built like a siege tower. Shaved head, heavy leather coat, massive sword strapped across his back. His nose looked like it had been broken three times and never healed right. He barely looked at me. Just nodded once and went back to adjusting the wagon.

The third was a younger guy with too many bags and not enough common sense. He had curly hair, ink-stained fingers, and a grin that made me uncomfortable. He was fiddling with a compass that wasn’t pointing north.

Brynn raised a hand. “This here’s Mira, Toma, and Leif. Don’t piss them off.”

Mira glared. “We don’t need more strays.”

“He’s not a stray. He’s a... temporary asset.”

“I don’t need assets. I need someone who won’t scream the first time a wolf shows up.”

“I don’t scream,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, he talks.”

Brynn looked between us. “He pulls his weight, you let him stay. Deal?”

Mira didn’t answer. She just went back to tying down a pack.

Toma gave me a single glance, then turned to the mule. I heard him whisper something to it. The mule farted in response.

Leif walked over and shoved a bundle into my arms.

“Here. Spare blanket. You get half a bedroll. You snore, I stab.”

“Thanks.”

He grinned. “Knew you’d fit right in.”

We left Lunia just after noon.

The city gates groaned open behind us like the jaws of something ancient and tired, and then we were out—on a dirt road flanked by fields of swaying grass and low stone walls crumbling with age. No music, no fanfare. Just the squeak of wheels and the distant cry of birds.

The first few hours were quiet. Mira walked ahead, eyes sharp and focused, as if she expected something to leap from the trees at any moment. Toma drove the mule with slow, steady movements, barely speaking. Brynn hummed some tune I didn’t recognize, and Leif kept trying to talk to me about spice trade routes until Mira told him to shut the hell up.

I kept my head down and walked.

The air out here smelled like fresh earth and pine. Patches of wildflowers lined the roadside—orange, purple, some glowing faintly in the shade. Insects buzzed, distant birds circled overhead, and the occasional breeze brought the scent of wet bark and smoke from faraway farms.

It should’ve felt peaceful.

It didn’t.

Not for me.

Somewhere past the third hill, I slowed down, pretending to check the pack Leif gave me. In truth, I just needed a second to breathe. I sat on a low rock at the edge of the road, my coat tugged tight around me.

The others didn’t notice.

Or maybe they did and didn’t care.

I looked at the dirt between my boots.

What the fuck was I doing?

Seriously.

I used to sit in my room all day. School was hell, but at least it was predictable. Then the invasion, the flames, the screaming, the sky ripping open—and now? I was walking through some fantasy-ass countryside with a bunch of people who probably wouldn’t even remember my name a week from now.

Was this even real?

Was I in a coma?

Maybe I hit my head when the world ended. Maybe I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines, and this was all one long, drawn-out hallucination created by my fucked-up subconscious. Would explain the elves. And the dragon. And the fact that everyone here was either hot or terrifying.

Or maybe this was a simulation. A punishment.

Some twisted god playing Skyrim with real people and no mod support.

I rubbed my face with both hands, sighing.

“No sense losing your mind twice,” I muttered.

Then I stood up and kept walking.

By sunset, the landscape changed.

The hills gave way to clusters of birch and pine, and the road dipped into a shallow valley surrounded by trees. The wind turned colder, the sky painted in soft orange and violet hues. A stream trickled through the trees on the left, its water clear and fast. Somewhere in the distance, I heard wolves howling—not close, but close enough to make me check over my shoulder.

Brynn called a halt when the shadows grew long.

We camped just off the road in a clearing bordered by mossy stones and old tree roots. Toma unhitched the mule. Mira gathered dry wood without needing to be told. Leif tried to light a fire with flint and failed twice before Brynn leaned down and snapped his fingers.

A spark flared, caught, and danced.

The flame grew quickly. Warmth spread.

I sat by the edge of the fire, my back against a fallen log. I hadn’t spoken much since we left the city. No one seemed to mind.

Mira cooked something over the flames—thin strips of meat in a metal pan, with sliced root vegetables and dark sauce from a leather flask. The smell was rich, earthy. My stomach growled, embarrassingly loud. She didn’t look at me, but she handed me a wooden bowl first.

I blinked. “Thanks.”

She shrugged. “If you die on the road, I’m not carrying your body. So eat.”

Fair enough.

As we ate, Brynn spoke. Of course he did.

“You know,” he said, staring into the fire, “there’s a forest three days from here where the trees hum at night.”

Leif looked up. “What, like... singing?”

“More like remembering,” Brynn said.

Mira rolled her eyes. “Please. Not the humming trees again.”

“No one ever comes back from that place,” he said.

“Because it’s a legend.”

“It’s not a legend if you believe it.”

“Then I believe you’re full of shit.”

Brynn smiled.

Toma didn’t comment. He rarely did. But every now and then, I saw his hand drift to the hilt of his blade. Like his body was always one heartbeat from violence.

I stayed quiet, watching them all. These weren’t friends. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But they weren’t pushing me away. And that was enough for now.

As the fire cracked lower and the stars came out, Brynn looked across the flames at me.

“What about you, Aleks? What are you

I paused.

Thought about lying.

But then I said:

“Someone I used to know. I think he’s still out there. In Reslau.”

Mira didn’t react.

Leif nodded, like it made perfect sense.

Brynn’s eyes, though—they lingered on me longer than I liked.

He didn’t smile this time.

He just said, “The road remembers things we try to forget.”

Then he stood up and walked off into the dark.

We reached an village just before nightfall.

The sun was sinking behind the treeline, turning the sky into a long bruise of gold and violet, and the road had narrowed into something barely more than a trail—dirt packed hard by wheels and hooves, with tufts of wild grass breaking through in the center. The forest had pulled back slightly, leaving behind a low clearing where the village sat like a collection of forgotten thoughts.

I don’t know what I expected from a rural outpost in the middle of nowhere.

But it wasn’t this.

The first thing I noticed was the stillness.

No laughter. No music. No dogs barking. Just wind brushing through the grass like a whisper too quiet to catch.

Wooden homes with thatched roofs stood on uneven foundations, crooked and weather-stained, as if they’d leaned into the wind too long and forgot how to stand straight. Runes were carved into every doorway—some simple protection glyphs I vaguely recognized, others unfamiliar, like a language older than words.

Smoke curled from chimneys, but no one stood outside. No farmers. No children. Not even the usual bored guard leaning on a spear.

It felt like walking into the aftermath of something no one wanted to talk about.

Brynn stopped at the edge of the square and tapped the side of his staff against the cobblestones. “Welcome to Grava,” he said, not sounding particularly welcoming.

“Place looks cursed,” Mira muttered.

Leif let out a low whistle. “I thought villages were supposed to be lively.”

Toma didn’t say anything. His hand rested near the grip of his sword, thumb brushing the edge of the hilt in small, silent movements.

I looked around, uneasy. The buildings were intact. The fields we passed were half-harvested. There were signs of life, sure—but no people.

That was somehow worse than blood on the walls.

We passed a small well in the center of the village. The rope hung slack, bucket missing. Around it stood three poles with wind charms tied to them—bundles of feathers, bones, and thread.

Only one of them was spinning.

“Should we announce ourselves?” I asked.

Mira scoffed. “What do you think we’ve been doing?”

Brynn motioned us forward. “Someone will come. Eventually.”

We moved toward the largest building—probably the town hall, or what passed for one. It was two stories tall, sloped roof, shuttered windows, a warped wooden door with a worn brass handle.

We stopped there. Waited.

I tried not to fidget, but every minute that passed stretched thin like skin over bone.

Then finally, the door creaked open.

A man stepped out.

Middle-aged, pale, bald, with dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in a week. He wore a leather vest over a linen shirt and held a heavy wooden walking stick, more for show than support. His eyes flicked from face to face, finally settling on Brynn.

“You travelers?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Passing through,” Brynn said calmly. “Need a place to rest. We can pay.”

The man nodded slowly. “Not much left. But there’s room in the storehouse. It’s dry. Warm enough.”

Mira opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Brynn silenced her with a slight shake of his head.

“Grateful,” he said.

The man didn’t respond right away. Then he added, “No noise after dark. No lights in the windows. And if you hear something call your name... don’t answer.”

Then he turned around and shut the door.

We stood there in silence.

Leif broke it first. “Well that’s not creepy at all.”

“Maybe he’s just dramatic,” I said.

“No,” Mira muttered. “This place is wrong.”

Brynn smiled faintly. “Wrong places have the best stories.”

Toma grunted.

I wasn’t sure what to feel.

I mean, yeah, it was weird. More than weird. But after everything I’d seen, everything I’d survived... some quiet guy with bad sleep hygiene wasn’t enough to shake me.

Still.

As we followed the path toward the storehouse, I kept looking back. At the windows. At the door. At the empty road behind us.

And even though no one was there...

I swear I felt eyes watching from the trees.