The ruins of the Mnemonic Spire smouldered behind him, the air thick with the stench of scorched stone and the faint echoes of fading memory streams. Thales tightened his grip on the memory shard in his hand, its pulsing light dim and erratic, as if reflecting his own turbulent thoughts.
"You've made the right choice," a voice said from the shadows.
The Shadow Host member stepped forward, their form shifting like ink in water.
"Memory is a chain. Forgetting is freedom."
Thales didn't reply immediately. He felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him—heavier than the shard in his palm.
"What now?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him.
"Now, you learn," the figure replied. "The Forgotten Plains await. The Kaiser himself will see to your initiation."
Thales glanced back at the remnants of the Spire, where Hypatia and Aletheia had fought valiantly to protect what they believed in. For a moment, he felt a pang of regret.
But the whispering voices from the shard drowned it out, urging him forward.
As he turned and followed the Shadow Host into the shadows, the first steps of his journey into the Forgotten Plains began—a journey that would test his resolve, challenge his beliefs, and redefine his understanding of chaos and memory.
The corridor to Sima Carlyle's chamber stretched endlessly before Thales, its crystalline walls shimmering with faint echoes of forgotten memories. Each step he took seemed to dissolve into the next, the weight of the sigil on his chest pulsing in time with an unseen rhythm.
The Shadow Host flanked him in silence, their forms flickering in and out of focus like restless phantoms.
The entrance to the chamber loomed ahead—a towering archway carved from obsidian and etched with shifting, incomprehensible symbols.
As Thales crossed the threshold, the air thickened—the oppressive void of Carlyle's presence pressing against his mind like a tidal wave.
The Great Kaiser sat upon a throne of twisting shadows, his cloak rippling as if caught in a breeze that did not exist. The faint ticking of his mask echoed in the vast chamber, each sound a reminder of time slipping away.
His golden eyes locked onto Thales, piercing and unyielding.
"You've made it here, Thales Miray," Carlyle said, his voice calm yet reverberating with authority. "Or should I still call you Zagreus?"
Thales's breath caught, though he forced himself to stand straight.
"Call me what you will. A name is just a name."
Carlyle tilted his head slightly, the ticking of his mask momentarily halting.
"Spoken like a man who doesn't yet understand the power of names. A shame that Voidclaw placed his sigil on you before testing your mettle. Now, I must decide whether you are a liability... or an opportunity."
The sigil on Thales's chest flared briefly, its chaotic energy coursing through him like a storm. He gritted his teeth, fighting the surge.
"I'm here, aren't I? That should count for something."
Carlyle rose from his throne; his movements deliberate and measured.
"It does. But survival alone is insufficient in the Legion of the Forgotten. You claim to seek understanding, purpose. Yet you cling to memory and identity as if they are anchors in the storm. Tell me, Thales—do you know what memory truly is?"
Thales hesitated, his Umwelt flickering as he searched for an answer.
"Memory... is a record. A way to preserve what's important."
Carlyle's laughter was low and cold, echoing through the chamber like a distant avalanche.
"Preservation? No, child. Memory is a chain. It binds you to the past, to pain, to illusions of purpose that have no place in chaos. The Legion exists to sever those chains—to grant true freedom."
Thales met Carlyle's gaze, his own resolve hardening.
"Freedom isn't found in forgetting. It's found in understanding what's worth remembering."
The room fell silent. The ticking of Carlyle's mask resumed its steady rhythm.
For a moment, it seemed as though the Kaiser might strike him down where he stood.
Instead, Carlyle nodded slowly, as if satisfied.
"Perhaps there is something worth testing in you after all. Very well. You will go to the Forgotten Plains. There, you will prove your worth—to me, to the Legion, and to yourself."
Carlyle gestured toward the crystalline spires lining the walls, which shimmered and reformed into a projection of the desolate Plains.
The image was haunting: barren landscapes fractured by chaotic rifts, ruins swallowed by swirling shadows, and spectral figures drifting aimlessly through the void.
"The Plains are a nexus of lost timelines and shattered identities," Carlyle continued. "Velara Nost oversees our operations there. You will assist her, survive her trials, and secure our foothold. Fail—and you will not return."
Thales inclined his head, his mind racing as he processed the weight of the mission.
"Understood."
Carlyle's eyes gleamed as he waved him away.
"Go, then. And remember, Miray—freedom demands sacrifice. Let us see if you are willing to pay the price."
The crystalline walls of the Citadel shimmered with a dim, otherworldly light as Thales stepped out of Sima Carlyle's chamber. The words of the Great Kaiser echoed in his mind, sharp and inescapable:
"Memory is a chain. Oblivion is freedom."
The Shadow Host that had escorted him before now faded into the darkness, their duty complete.
Thales stood alone in the corridor, the weight of the sigil on his chest pulsing faintly. He clenched his fists, the warmth of his Umwelt sparking within him—as if to counter the suffocating void left in Carlyle's wake.
The air grew heavier as another figure emerged from the shadows ahead.
Velara Nost, known as the Chronicler of Nothing on a bounty poster, moved with a quiet, ghostly grace. Her robe of fragmented memory shards caught the dim light, each shard flickering with fleeting images of places and people Thales could barely comprehend.
Her face remained obscured by a shimmering veil—a barrier between herself and the world she sought to unmake.
"So, the Kaiser sends another to test their mettle," Velara said, her voice lilting with amusement yet tinged with an undercurrent of disdain.
"Tell me, Thales Miray. Are you prepared to let go of who you are? Or will the Plains claim you as they have so many others?"
Thales squared his shoulders, his Umwelt flickering faintly as his resolve hardened.
"I'm ready."
Velara tilted her head, the faint light reflecting off her veil.
"We shall see. The Forgotten Plains do not tolerate hesitation. Nor do I."
With a wave of her hand, the corridor dissolved around them—replaced by a swirling void of shadows and light.
The sensation of weightlessness overtook Thales as the ground beneath him vanished, and for a moment, he felt himself falling...
...untethered.
Uncertain.
When the world reformed, Thales stood at the edge of the Forgotten Plains.