The fly vanished. It simply vanished. It didn't strike the wall, nor did it buzz away into a corner. There wasn't even a trace of it. As if it had never existed. I flinched, and the old Golem, the Collector, emitted a soft, grating sound, like broken machinery. He stared at the spot where the fly had been moments before, his obsidian eye seeming to comprehend. Did he see it too? Or was I merely... going mad again?
The crystal on the table pulsed. Its blue light cast an ethereal glow upon my trembling hand. Something stirred within it. Not an image. A sensation. Like a sudden gust of freezing wind that carried the scent of burnt ash and stale parchment. And a feeling of urgency. Something I had to do. But what? My head... It was like hundreds of cabinets with drawers opening and closing simultaneously. Too many memories. Too many voices.
"Is this... the truth?" I whispered, directing the words at the Golem. He merely tilted his head, as always. As if waiting for instructions. Always waiting. For as long as I could remember. But when did I meet him? Had he always been there? Or did... I create him? In some way unknown to me? A vision bloomed in my mind. A workshop. A large, dilapidated workshop, filled with strange tools and clay. And me. Younger. Creating. Forming. No, it wasn't a workshop. It was... the Soul Foundry. A place where Archetypes were distilled from the Echo and sealed within... something. Something like the Collector. Is he one of those... creations? My own mistake?
I rose abruptly, the bench crashing to the floor. Pain shot through my knee, then my hip, my shoulder. My entire body screamed. But it wasn't physical. It was... an echo of pain. Pain from a battle. Which battle? I saw a flash of light. A flash that tore the sky apart. And I heard a scream. My own? Someone else's? I remembered a weapon. Forged from... pure thought. A weapon that cut concepts, not flesh. A weapon that could erase memories. Was it my weapon? Was that what I carried? I clutched the crystal. It was cold, smooth, yet within it, that hot, blue radiance pulsed. It was like a heartbeat. The heartbeat of something ancient. Something that had its own history. "I must... I must write this down," I mumbled, discarding the quill. It was useless. The ink was solidified, the quill too brittle. Like my memories.
I needed something else. Something that wouldn't remember, but would record. Yes, a recorder. I remembered such devices. Used by the Wanderers. By the archivists. Those who... collected. Just like the Collector. He collects. But he doesn't understand. I must understand. I must remember. I stepped across the threshold, exiting the hut. The air was heavy, saturated with the scent of mildew and the salty wind from the Echo Blight. Two orange suns hung low, casting long, distorted shadows. The trees on the horizon were twisted, as if battling an invisible wind, or their very existence. These were no ordinary trees. These were... empty trees. Hollowed out by the Erasure. The shadows I'd seen on the wall were there, on the ground, stretching towards the anomaly.
The anomaly was growing. Now it was the size of a granary. Inside it, objects flickered and distorted, like in a broken kaleidoscope. I saw... a fragment of a tower. Yes, the same tower I'd seen in my mind. Gleaming, crystalline. Crumbling into dust. I also saw... a fragment of a person. His face, distorted but familiar. The one who smiled as he vanished. The one whose name I couldn't remember. A flash of fear pierced me, but it dissipated as quickly as it came. Fear was a luxury I couldn't afford.
The Golem followed me. His footsteps were heavy and monotonous, like the thud of a pestle. He held several other crystals in his clay hand, each pulsing faintly. He was like... a treasury. A treasury of lost whispers. "We must go," I told him, though I knew he wouldn't understand. "We must... find. We must find what is true." I approached the spot where the anomaly bordered the normal world. The air trembled. The temperature dropped. I felt my own consciousness begin to stretch, like rubber, threatening to snap. "Always the same," I whispered. "Always anew. And no one remembers. No one but me. Or... me and him." I pointed to the crumbling face in the anomaly. Was it just an image? Was it he, the one who vanished, trying to break through to me? Or was it a warning? "Don't enter there, old man. Or you, too, will vanish. Forever."
Despite myself, I felt a magnetic pull. Like a moth to a flame. The anomaly was like a giant wound in reality, and within it... Truth. Fragments of Truth that the Architect of Oblivion was trying to erase. A sharp screech echoed in my head, as if the gears in my brain had locked up. A new image. Another city. Underground. Full of machines. Strange, pulsating machines that created... living dreams. And I was there. I. Creating dreams. For someone. For... for them. For the Wanderers. Was I their tool? "No!" I tried to scream, but only a rasp escaped my throat.
The pain in my knee intensified. No, it wasn't my knee. It was... a symbol. The same one I'd seen on the wall. Now it burned beneath my skin, on my left hand. Had it always been there? Was I only just seeing it now? A shadow. The shadow I saw in the picture. On an old map. A map of forgotten paths. In my mind. I touched the ground with my hand. Cold. Hard. But beneath it... I felt something. Vibrations. A quiet heartbeat. Not of the earth. Of something beneath it. Something that slept. Something that waited. It wasn't a heartbeat. It was... the beating of time. Shifting. Flowing backward.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard a dog bark. Or was it... the sound of a gunshot? I remembered gunshots. Many gunshots. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Running. Through a forest. With the Book of Signs. Yes, the Book of Signs. Now I saw it more clearly. It wasn't empty. It was full. Full of... truth. I looked at the crystal in my hand. The pulsating blue glow. It was my key. My Golem had collected it. Does he know more than me? Is the Collector... wiser than an old man who has forgotten even his own name?
The shadow from the anomaly reached closer. The air grew thicker. I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. Whatever was in the anomaly knew I was here. Whatever was in the anomaly was looking for me. "Go!" I heard a voice. But not from the anomaly. It was my own voice. Youthful, strong, full of command. "Flee! Save yourselves! This is the end of the cycle!" But was it my voice? Someone else's? An Archetype? Then, on the horizon, silhouetted against the orange suns, a figure appeared. Distant. Moving fast. Too fast. Not like a human. Like... a shadow. A shadow in a black robe. The Architect of Oblivion. No. It couldn't be. It's impossible. My heart pounded harder. I remembered. I remembered everything. For a fraction of a second. And I forgot. The Collector let out another grating sound, this time sounding like a warning. He placed another crystal on the ground, forming a small, glowing circle. It looked like... a barrier. Was the Golem trying to protect me? From what? From oblivion? From what was coming.