The settlement clung to the cliff's edge like a fragile memory,
its patchwork buildings stitched together from the wreckage of a broken world.
Null trudged through its crooked streets,
his boots grinding against stone and ash,
his breath fogging in the brittle air.
Hooded figures darted past,
their faces hidden behind masks of bone and cloth,
their eyes glinting with suspicion as they lingered on his tattered cloak and the spiraling brand seared into his wrist.
The air thrummed with a faint, unnatural pulse,
as if the Fracture itself were alive, watching.
Above, the sky was a fractured tapestry—
streaks of dusk bleeding into dawn,
time unraveling at the seams.
Null's shadow stretched thin and wavering,
heavy with the weight of memories not his own.
The brand pulsed faintly,
a tether to the power—
and the curse—
he couldn't yet grasp.
He needed shelter,
a moment to breathe,
to untangle the chaos that had erupted since his flight from the monastery.
The Hollow Choir's song still echoed in his skull,
a discordant wail that gnawed at his resolve.
---
That's when he saw her.
She leaned against a doorway with the ease of a predator at rest,
her wild mane of black curls framing a face both sharp and beguiling.
Her eyes, bright and piercing, locked onto him,
and a sly smile curled her lips.
She pushed off the wall as he drew near,
her steps fluid, deliberate.
"You look lost," she said,
her voice a silken thread woven through the settlement's din.
"Or perhaps found, depending on one's perspective."
Null paused, caught between wariness and desperation.
"I am," he said, the words scraping out of him.
"Lost in more ways than one."
She extended a hand, her smile sharpening.
"Thorne. Memory trader, dream weaver, and occasional guide to the bewildered."
He clasped her hand,
and a spark flared between them—
electric, like the flicker of a half-remembered thought.
"Null."
"Null," she repeated, savoring it.
"A name that isn't a name. Fitting for someone like you."
She tilted her head toward the shop behind her,
its windows aglow with a strange, shifting light.
"Come. Let's talk."
---
Inside, the air was dense with the scent of ancient parchment and a metallic tang—
blood or rust, Null couldn't decide.
Shelves loomed, cluttered with jars of swirling mists,
books with pages that rippled like water,
and small devices that ticked and whirred with a life of their own.
Thorne moved through the space with a quiet confidence,
her fingers brushing the artifacts as if greeting old friends.
"You're not from the Fracture," she said,
her tone matter-of-fact.
"I see it in your eyes—hope, maybe, or just ignorance."
She turned, her gaze cutting through him.
"And that sigil on your wrist… an Echo Fragment. Powerful magic. Dangerous magic."
Null's hand twitched, the brand flaring warm under her stare.
"How do you know about that?"
Thorne laughed,
a sound like shattering crystal.
"I make it my business to know things, especially what others forget. It's how I survive."
She stepped closer,
her breath a whisper against his ear.
"And you, Null, are a walking treasure trove. But treasures can be curses, too."
---
Before he could reply,
the room chilled,
the lights flickering as if snuffed by an unseen hand.
Thorne's eyes widened.
"Memory ghost," she hissed.
"Get behind me."
But Null felt it—
a tug deep in his chest,
a call he couldn't ignore.
A figure coalesced in the shop's heart,
its form a shifting haze of smoke and grief.
It reached for him,
and suddenly, he was elsewhere.
---
He stood on a battlefield,
the air thick with blood and ash.
A soldier gripped a locket,
whispering a name as he sank to his knees,
life bleeding out.
Then, a sunlit garden—
a woman laughing, her eyes alight with love.
And finally, a void—
dark, empty,
a hollow where memory should have been.
---
The emotions slammed into Null—
grief, joy, despair—
none of them his,
yet they clawed at him, threatening to drown him.
He gasped, flailing for an anchor, for himself.
Then, instinct surged.
He traced the Sigil of Doubt in the air,
his hand steady despite the storm within.
The glyph shimmered,
and the ghost faltered,
its shape fraying.
With a final, keening wail,
it dissolved,
leaving a lingering ache in its wake.
---
Thorne stared,
a flicker of admiration in her eyes.
"Impressive. Most would've buckled."
Null shook his head,
the borrowed feelings still clinging like damp cloth.
"What was that?"
"A lost soul," she said softly.
"One of countless. The Fracture's full of them—echoes of lives wiped away when the world shattered."
She turned, fussing with a stack of books.
"Be careful, Null. The more Echo Fragments you claim, the more these ghosts will seek you. And not all are so easily dismissed."
---
He nodded,
the weight of her words settling in his bones.
"I need to find the next Fragment. I need to know what I am."
Thorne studied him,
then sighed.
"Very well. There's a place—the Shattered Grove, not far from here.
A nexus where the Sanctum Layers spill into our world.
Echo Fragments surface there, but it's treacherous. The memories are wild, untamed."
She pulled a weathered tome from the shelf,
flipping through its brittle pages.
"The Grove bends time and space. If you can endure it, you might find what you seek."
---
"Will you take me there?"
She shook her head.
"I can't. The Grove isn't for me. But I'll guide you to its edge and give you what you need to survive."
She pressed a small, carved box into his hands.
"A memory anchor. It'll keep you tethered when reality frays."
He took it,
its solid weight grounding him.
"Thank you."
---
Her smile was bittersweet.
"Don't thank me yet. Remembering can hurt more than forgetting."
---
Outside, the sky had darkened,
the settlement's crystalline stabilizers pulsing faintly against the encroaching night.
Null watched a group in the plaza,
their voices rising in a rhythmic chant—
a litany of names and deeds,
a fragile shield against oblivion.
---
"This is how we endure," Thorne said,
her tone tinged with melancholy.
"Clinging to scraps of the past."
Null felt a pang—
envy, perhaps.
They fought to hold their history,
while he drifted,
a vessel for strangers' lives.
---
She led him through shadowed alleys,
away from the plaza's glow.
"My shop's here, out of sight. What I trade isn't always… welcomed."
Inside, she lifted a brass sphere etched with runes.
"A dream catcher," she explained.
"Traps memories or visions. Useful, if you can master it."
She set it down and fixed him with a look.
"Now, tell me everything. From the start."
---
He recounted his awakening in the monastery,
the voice,
the Echo Fragment,
his flight from the Scriptorium.
Thorne listened,
her fingers tapping a silent rhythm.
---
"You're the Echo Vessel," she said when he finished.
"The one the prophecies name."
Null's breath hitched.
"Prophecies? What do you know?"
She waved a hand.
"Plenty of prophecies swirl in times like these.
But yours is unique.
The Echo Vessel will either mend the world or break it forever."
Her eyes held pity and curiosity.
"Which will you choose?"
---
Her words pressed against him,
heavy and cold.
"I just want to know who I am," he murmured.
Thorne's gaze softened.
"The hardest quest of all, in a world where self is fleeting."
She pulled a map from a drawer,
spreading it across the table.
"But survival comes first.
You need to master your power and find the next Fragment before the Scriptorium does."
---
She pointed to a marked spot.
"The Shattered Grove, east of here. I'll take you to its edge, but that's as far as I go."
Null traced the route with his eyes.
"What's there?"
"Truths," she said. "And perils.
The Grove's memories can unmake you if you're not careful."
She handed him a pouch.
"Provisions, trinkets. Use them wisely."
---
Gratitude swelled in him.
"Thank you, Thorne. I'd be lost without you."
Her smile was tinged with shadow.
"Nothing's free here. Even kindness has its price."
---
The air chilled again,
and the memory ghost returned,
its form sharper, more insistent.
Null traced the Sigil of Doubt,
but it resisted,
its wail slicing through his mind.
Thorne stepped in,
her hands weaving a pattern of light.
The ghost shuddered and vanished.
---
He stared.
"You have power too."
"A little," she shrugged. "Enough to live."
She glanced skyward.
"We need to move. The Hollow Choir's song grows louder.
They're waking something… something that should stay buried."
---
A shiver ran through him.
"What?"
"Some memories should stay lost," she said, cryptic.
"But you can't choose that, can you?"
---
With the memory anchor in hand and Thorne beside him,
Null stepped into the dusk,
the path to the Shattered Grove stretching ahead.
The Hollow Choir's hum rose,
a haunting promise of secrets and ruin.
---