Requiem of the Forgotten

We didn’t talk for the first hour.

The horses moved in silence, their hooves crunching over dry earth and scattered stone, the horizon stained red by a sun already beginning to set. The wind had a bite to it. Not cold. Just… sharp. Like it wanted us to keep moving, to not stay too long in the open. After what we’d seen underground, the quiet almost felt cruel.

Cealith rode ahead, as always—back straight, posture perfect, eyes forward like the road might betray us. Nikita stayed a few paces behind me, his horse’s gait steady and unfazed, like he could ride for a hundred hours without blinking. I sat between them, one hand on the reins, the other resting near the pouch where the shard sat in my coat pocket. I could still feel its cold edge through the cloth. It hadn’t moved. Hadn’t done anything. But it still felt like it was… waiting.

Eventually, the silence got too loud.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

Cealith didn’t look back. “Always dangerous.”

I gave him a weak smile that I don’t think he saw. “That thing back there. The one that dissolved.”

Nikita’s horse slowed slightly, coming level with mine.

I continued, “Back in the first ruin—the one with the dragon—I remember what it said. About the ‘first ones.’ The ones who were here before anything else.”

“You think it was one of them?” Nikita asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. It didn’t feel like it belonged to us. Like it didn’t even belong to now.”

Cealith muttered, “It didn’t.”

We kept riding. The landscape around us grew darker, edges blurring in the low light.

“Do you think there are more?” I asked.

Cealith shook his head once. “There were more. There aren’t now.”

“And no one up top should know what we saw,” Nikita added. “Not yet.”

There was weight in his voice—final, measured.

“I agree,” I said. “Whatever that thing was, it didn’t die just for a report.”

Cealith slowed until he rode beside me. “So. What do we tell the general?”

Nikita answered before I could. “Collapsed structure. Found some ancient tech. Didn’t function. Minor defensive traps. Neutralized. Cleared for collapse.”

Cealith raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like something a war camp would forget in a week.”

“Exactly.”

I let the lie sit for a moment, rolling it over in my head.

“We’re really not gonna tell anyone?” I asked.

“No,” Nikita said. “We are going to survive.”

That shut me up.

We kept riding.

By the time the camp came into view, the sky had turned black. Not starless—just… muted. Like the night didn’t want to look down at us.

The fortress lights were still burning. Flickering torches lined the outer walls, guarded and silent. A few tents had dim candlelight leaking out, and the central tower glowed faintly like a watchful eye. But most of the camp had gone quiet. Not asleep. Just… waiting.

We passed a pair of soldiers at the gate. Neither asked where we’d been. They knew better than to question someone walking beside a legend.

Cealith dismounted first. He always landed like he weighed nothing. Nikita followed, slow and deliberate. I dropped off last, my legs stiff, saddle-sore, and tired in a way that sleep didn’t fix.

“I’ll deliver the report tomorrow,” Nikita said. “You two rest.”

“You sure?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. Just gave me a short look and walked off toward the command building.

Cealith stretched his shoulders with a quiet grunt. “Try not to stare at the ceiling for five hours again.”

“No promises,” I muttered.

He gave me a small nod—his version of “goodnight”—and disappeared into the dark.

I stood there for a second longer. Just breathing. The ground felt different beneath my boots. The wind smelled like iron and ash, even though nothing was burning.

Then I turned and headed for my barracks.

Sleep came fast.

Dreams came faster.

And none of them stayed when I woke up.

The next morning hit me like a brick to the face.

Not literally, but it might as well have been. I woke with dry eyes, a pounding skull, and a back that felt like I’d slept on rocks. The barracks had that early-morning chill again—the kind that sinks into your bones before you’re even fully awake.

Outside, the camp was already alive.

Voices barked orders. Boots stomped. Metal clanged. Something had shifted overnight. Not just the schedule. The air.

I pulled on my uniform, grabbed my gear, and headed toward my assigned post at the western wall.

Halfway there, I spotted Lydia.

She was walking the opposite direction, face serious, shoulders tense. She didn’t look surprised to see me.

“You’re back,” she said.

“Guess I am.”

Her eyes flicked across my face like she was checking for damage. “Anything you need to report?”

I hesitated. “No. Just more rocks.”

She studied me for a second longer, then nodded. “Good. You look like shit.”

“I feel worse.”

“Try not to pass out on duty.”

“No promises.”

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t scold me either. Just kept walking.

I watched her go. Wondered if she already knew more than she was letting on. With Lydia, you never really knew.

By the time I reached the wall, most of the western guards were already in position. The shift captain didn’t say much—just gave me a nod and pointed toward the northern edge.

My spot.

I climbed the wooden platform, took my place, and stared out over the field.

Grass. Dirt. Trees. Empty space.

But it didn’t feel empty.

It felt like something was watching.

A few minutes later, the general arrived.

He didn’t say anything at first—just stood in the center of the courtyard, hands behind his back, scanning the wall, the towers, the soldiers. He looked tired. But sharp. Like a blade you didn’t know was drawn until it cut.

Then he raised his voice.

“This is for all active personnel.”

People turned. Silence fell.

“The war will not wait.”

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It cut.

“A plan has been made. With every faction. Every leader. Every goddamn race that still breathes.”

A pause.

“The enemy comes soon. This month. We don’t have the exact day—but we know they’re moving. We’ve seen the signs. And when they hit, it won’t be slow. It won’t be fair.”

His eyes swept the wall.

“It will be war.”

I swallowed.

“Topolin will be the fallback. All non-combatants—children, elders, wounded, civilians—will be relocated. Only those who can fight will stay.”

He took a breath. There was weight behind it.

“That means you. Every one of you. No exceptions. No safety nets. From now until it ends, this fortress is your home, your shield, and your grave—if that’s what it takes.”

Silence.

Then—

“We will be assigning additional duties. More mouths are coming. We’ll need more hands. You’ll work. You’ll eat. You’ll bleed. But you won’t break. Not here.”

Still silence.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving nothing but echo.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath.

The shift captain muttered under his breath, “Guess it’s real now.”

Yeah.

It was.

And somewhere deep down, I knew—

this was the last normal morning we’d ever have.

The rest of my shift passed without a single word.

The fields stayed still. The trees didn’t move. The wind was hollow. I kept glancing at the horizon like something might rise out of it—towers, wings, fire, anything. But there was only silence.

And then the bell rang. Shift over.

I climbed down from the platform, legs stiff, head fogged. The air felt heavier than it had in the morning. Not colder—just… heavier. Like the sky had dropped a little lower while no one was looking.

I headed toward the barracks, thinking maybe I’d close my eyes for ten minutes—just ten—but someone stopped me near the central post tent. A young aide. Couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

He handed me a folded note, didn’t say a word, and walked off.

I opened it.

The handwriting was messy, fast, but I recognized it instantly.

Carmen.

We're on our way. The Dragontown unit moves at dawn. We'll arrive soon.
– C.

I stared at the page for a long time.

They were coming.

Her. Daisuke. Amina. All of them.

Something about that hit harder than I expected. Like the final piece of a puzzle had been clicked into place. Like the past was catching up to the present—and bringing everything I’d left behind right back to the front lines.

I folded the note, slid it into my pocket beside the shard.

Then I looked up.

The sky was darker now. But not because of clouds.

Just… darker.

A breeze passed through the camp, carrying a silence that felt earned. People moved with purpose. No wasted words. No wasted steps.

The ground beneath my boots didn’t feel solid anymore.

It felt like the edge of something.

A breath before the scream.

A stillness before the fire.

And in that moment, I knew—

We were done surviving the past.

What came next…

was war.