The path thought the forest widens suddenly, and the trees thin. The mist parts in silvery threads, revealing something I didn't expect, a city. Stone walls rise before me, pale and still, streets stretching endlessly. The air feels heavier here, as if it has been holding its breath for centuries.
I step forward. The ground is cold beneath my boots, smooth cobblestones slick with dew. Doors hang open, chairs tilt as if people just vanished mid-motion. A faint hum lingers in the air, subtle, almost imperceptible – like the echo of a heartbeat long gone.
No birds. No wind. No insects. Only silence and the soft echo of my own footsteps. The city feels alive– I can sense it –yet hollow. Its pulse is there, faint beneath the stillness, but without warmth. There are people here, and yet I see no one.
I walk along the main street. Buildings tower above, elegant yet strange, their edges bending just enough to make me uneasy. Shadows cling where light should fall.
A whisper grazes my ear- so soft I almost miss it.
"Here…"
"We…"
I turn around. Nothing. Only the empty street stretching beyond, long and gray, curling back into itself. My stomach tightens. The whisper comes again, faint, carrying words I can't understand.
I keep moving. The streets are unfamiliar, yet my steps know them. A fountain stands in a square – dry, cracked - but I remember laughter spilling over its rim. Now only silence. The wind touches my cheek, cold yet scentless. No leaves stir.
I turn a corner. A figure – or a shadow -flickers across the street ahead, vanishing before I can focus. My heart stumbles. The city seems to breathe, walls leaning, streets shifting, geometry bending softly around me.
A hum rises, low and melodic. Whispers thread through it – soft, ungraspable.
"Remember…"
"Wait for your…"
"Do not forget…"
"Woe…"
"Doom…"
Each word brushes my mind, never whole, never clear. They don't warn or guide - they linger, like ghosts that forgot they were dead.
I wander deeper. Alleys fold into courtyards, courtyards into mazes. My feet know the way, though my mind does not. It feels like walking through a dream I once had – or a memory that never belonged to me.
A tower looms ahead, its glass spire cutting through the dim sky, reflecting gray light like a blade. I approach, drawn by something I can't name. The base is cracked stone, the doors open – waiting. My hand brushes the sword at my side.
Inside, the tower is vast, echoing with silence. Murals cover the walls - battles, flames, falling figures. I know their faces. One turns toward me - mine, older, harder, eyes faintly golden.
I step back. The air hums like something waking. Whispers rise – tangled, overlapping.
"You shall… remember… you shall bear it… woe to you…"
They fill me, not my ears but the hollow behind my ribs. I stagger toward the door, breath shattering.
The city breathes with me – slow, uneven, aware.
Streets shift like veins beneath its skin; the tower tilts, silent, watching.
I feel its gaze, not from eyes but from the weight of stone itself.
I run. My footsteps echo sharp against the cobblestones.
Shadows reach for me but never move.
The whisper follows – brushing thought, tasting fear.
"We wait… the world… waits for your fall."
I reach the city's edge, where the streets dissolve into mist. The forest waits beyond. My lungs burn; my body shakes. I glance back.
The city is gone.
Only mist remains – faint outlines fading, a breath taken away. The spire, the fountain, the walls – all vanished. A ruin without ruins.
The whisper drifts across the empty air, cold and unhurried:
"We bide for the night you summon."
I tighten my grip on the sword. My reflection shivers in a puddle - golden eyes blink back. For an instant, the city breathes in the water, then fades.
Then it's gone.
I turn toward the forest. Each step draws me further, heavier, as the mist folds behind me, erasing all trace.
Somewhere beyond the trees, I still feel the city - waiting, watching, breathing.
Gone... no, not gone –hidden from all but him, until I forget again.