Sakolomé suddenly sat up from his bed, his breath short.
Sakolomé: Saiko… is that you? So you know where Sally is?
In his mind, the darkness shaped itself. He made out a figure seated on a throne of shadow, two blazing red eyes cutting through the darkness like blades. Saiko was watching him.
Saiko: Sakolomé… to be honest, I have a rough idea of who holds Sally. But I don't want to lead you to him yet. That would be suicidal. However… if you truly want answers, I will ask you to go somewhere.
Sakolomé frowned, his tone impatient.
Sakolomé: Somewhere? You mean the Library of Existence? There, in Sally's story, maybe there is a mention… a clue about the entity holding her, no?
Saiko burst into a dry laugh, a dark sneer echoing in the void.
Saiko: Hah… you're truly desperate, Sakolomé. You should temper your zeal.
Sakolomé: Did I say something absurd for you to mock me like that?
Saiko: No. You said worse. Extremely foolish. In the Library of Existence, it's impossible for the name or even a trace of a creature who has reached the state of Chōshinku to appear. And I'm convinced the entity holding Sally is of that level.
Sakolomé's eyes widened.
Sakolomé: …What?
Saiko: If, by some miracle, you managed to open Sally's book, you'd see the story of what she is going through now. But at the moment the story should mention the entity… there would be nothing. A void. As if the page refused to exist. No words, no description, no name. Because Chōshinku beings have erased all traces of themselves, Sakolomé. You cannot tell their story or describe them. Even the Library fails before them.
A heavy silence settled. Sakolomé lowered his head, his fists trembling. He now grasped the gravity of what this meant.
Then Saiko leaned slightly on his throne of shadow, a sharp smile drawing itself out of the darkness.
Saiko: But… the place I wanted to tell you about might be even better than this Library of Existence.
Sakolomé abruptly raised his head, a spark of hope in his eyes.
Sakolomé: What? Really?
The darkness around Saiko seemed to thicken. His smile grew carnivorous.
Saiko: Yes. It's the… Castle of the Unforgettable.
Sakolomé repeated the name almost in a whisper, as if weighing every syllable.
Sakolomé: The… Castle of the Unforgettable?
The Castle of the Unforgettable.
It is said that, deep within the Dream Abyss, where even dreams hesitate to get lost, stands a fortress no one dares to outline. Neither of stone, nor flesh, nor light: its existence weaves at the junction of oblivion and eternity, suspended in collective consciousness, where myths are born and die.
Its walls are not made of stone, but frozen echoes; its obsidian towers bear the incandescent names of the vanished. The wind that blows there carries no air, only stories, voices without bodies. For in this place, a name is not mere speech: it is a world, a scar of memory refusing to die.
The greatest legends inscribe themselves there without ever setting foot on its slabs. For the Castle chooses, it engraves, it marks. If you are vast enough to shake the foundations of reality, your name will write itself, in moving golden letters, in the Eternal Vault. And even if you perish, your name will live… sometimes to answer.
For here, whispering the name of a lost one is to summon their intact will. Not ghosts, not illusions: but real fragments of their being, still able to speak, judge… or defy.
But a darker path exists.
Some, devoured by pride or despair, have tried to inscribe their own name while alive. To do so, one must cross the only door of the Castle that accepts the living: a black portal, with no handle, no key, opening only to those ready to sacrifice all inner peace.
Behind, there is no symbolic trial, but judgment.
A god passing this threshold will face a demon.
A lion entering will be surrounded by a pack of hyenas.
A bee will confront the sting of a giant hornet.
And the human… the human will confront what they hate most deeply within themselves. Not a metaphor, but a real incarnation, born of their own inner abyss.
For the Castle only accepts names able to endure eternity. Those who fail do not only die: they are erased. Their name, their trace, their memory disappear forever from the dream, the story, the living… and even the dead.
It is said that climbing this tower is to face vanished legends… heroes erased from memory… and creatures so terrifying a single glance would reduce you to nothing. If you survive each floor, then, at the very top, you will face an omniscient god. And he… could reveal you all the truths you ignore. Absolutely all.
Admit it, it's fascinating.
Saiko: There, you will get all the answers you desire. And you know the best part? Even a pseudo-deviant like you has the right to enter.
Sakolomé: Hmm… wouldn't there be a guardian? Like in the Library of Existence?
Saiko: Of course. But you'll see… it's not exactly what one can call a guardian. Go there, and you will understand. From now on, I will be your guide.
Sakolomé waited no longer.
He put on a black hooded coat, a simple white t-shirt, and scarlet pants. Then, closing his eyes, he let his red mana burst out of him, shaping itself until forming a silhouette identical to his.
When he opened his eyes again, he addressed this double:
Sakolomé — I count on you to watch over my daily life while I travel in the spiritual world.
The double smiled and nodded slowly.
The Double — You can count on me.
Sakolomé — Wait… that's not all.
He placed his hand on his reflection's shoulder. The red mana intensified, enveloping the copy like a second skin.
Sakolomé — You will also carry the entirety of my Nemesis system. Where I'm going, I won't need it.
The double met his gaze and answered calmly:
The Double — I understand perfectly. I will take good care of it.
With a brief gesture, Sakolomé broke the contact, releasing his system and transferring it entirely to his alter ego. Then, without another word, he turned away and opened a glowing red rift in the air.
Sakolomé — Good… I'm going.
He crossed the opening, which closed immediately behind him, leaving his double alone, motionless and silent.
Inside the rift, Sakolomé was engulfed by an infinite flux of possibilities — mingled possibilities and impossibilities swirling around him like shards of worlds never born.
Sakolomé (internally) — Saiko… can you guide me directly to the Castle of the Unforgettable?
Saiko (internally) — No problem. Just let yourself be carried, and you'll understand on your own…
Sakolomé emerged in an unreal place. His feet touched a ground whose texture defied all logic: neither stone nor mist, but a blend of both, as if matter hesitated between existing and disappearing.
Before him stood the central tower. It tore the sky, rising far beyond the clouds, like a lance fixed between dimensions. Around its heights, red and ethereal lightning crackled. They pulsed slowly, like the beats of an ancient heart.
Sakolomé sighed:
Sakolomé — So this is the place…
He advanced to the staircase. Each step seemed to weigh a thousand years, yet he slowly climbed this solemn path, reaching the massive door of the Castle. Heavy chains of shadow, almost alive, tied the building to the misty foundations. A supernatural coldness oozed from the place, oppressive, almost hostile.
Removing his hood to reveal his face, he thought:
Sakolomé (internally) — Saiko… is it up to me to open the Castle?
Saiko (internally) — No… wait.
Sakolomé stood still. His gaze followed the tower rising endlessly, piercing the heavens.
Sakolomé — So… at the summit is that omniscient god? I have to climb up to him?
Saiko — Wait, I said…
A tremor suddenly shook the ground. The sky tore into swirling spirals. A titanic voice imposed itself, resonating through the air as if each word was a law written into reality itself:
Voice — Deviant human… I read your intentions. You did not come to inscribe your name in the tower. You came seeking answers… truths you still ignore. I could permit you… but tell me: do you possess a pass?
Sakolomé's body stiffened, his legs trembled.
Sakolomé — W… who is this?
Then his body split with a red glow. Saiko fully detached from him, appearing in all his stature: a colossus two meters eighty tall, carnivorous smile on his lips.
He looked up at the swirling sky and roared with a resounding voice:
Saiko — Yes, he has a pass!!!
Then, placing a hand on his chest, he knelt slightly, head bowed, in a calculated bow.
Saiko — I am his pass. I, Saiko… Mü Thanatos's second son. I guided him here. And by who I am…
He slowly raised his head, a mocking smile on his lips, and added:
Saiko — … you could say I'm a VIP card.
The voice, deep as an echo of eternity, resonated through the swirling skies:
Voice — …Very well.
With an ancient, sonorous creak, the Castle door slowly opened. Each hinge creaked as if centuries were erased with this single movement.
Sakolomé swallowed, his breath short.
Sakolomé — I don't know why… but I feel strange… almost… dissolved.
Facing the gaping portal, Saiko straightened. His shadowy shining smile settled on Sakolomé.
Saiko — What are you waiting for to enter?
Sakolomé turned, surprised.
Sakolomé — You… you're not coming with me?
A guttural laugh burst forth, echoing in the air like a provocation.
Saiko — Haha… no. I am your VIP card, your pass. Consider me a key already turned in the lock… You cross the door, not me. And don't forget: it's you who seeks understanding, not me.
A slight smile softened Sakolomé's face.
Sakolomé — Thank you, Saiko.
He turned around and advanced toward the Castle.
Behind him, Saiko's deep voice resounded one last time, more serious, heavier:
Saiko — Sakolomé… Learn as many truths as possible. We will need them… for what I have in store for you next.
Sakolomé looked over his shoulder, slowly nodded gravely, then crossed the threshold. The door closed immediately behind him with a sharp clap that made the whole building resonate.
At once, darkness engulfed him. A total void, silent, oppressive. Then, one by one, torches lit themselves, casting unmoving flames with unreal glimmers.
The walls revealed themselves: covered with countless engraved names and stories, thousands of intertwined marks, as if eternity had tattooed its scars into stone.
A voice resounded in the corridors, solemn and imperative:
Voice of the Castle — Human… All the names you see are marks. Read them, but do not speak them aloud… For to speak is to call. And to call… is to risk contacting the bearer of the name. You will not reveal the entity itself… but a part of its essence.
Then the voice immediately faded, swallowed by the darkness.
Sakolomé, alone, continued forward. His eyes slid over the frescoes of names. One section caught his attention: the names of the quaternary, tertiary, then secondary gods. At the very top, engraved like a crown, he spotted a name he knew.
Sakolomé (murmuring inwardly) — Isissis… him. So he is at the top of all.
He turned away, his heart pounding. This was not what he sought.
Further on, he reached the area dedicated to powerful mortals. Again, thousands of marks, those of deviants. And atop all those names… one alone dominated, solitary and overwhelming:
Bakuzan.