Requiem of the Forgotten

The bed was soft—too soft.

I laid on my side, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, listening to the quiet creak of wooden beams above me. The room smelled faintly of burned oil and aged fabric, mixed with something sweet—probably the incense someone left burning by the stairs. A small candle on the nightstand flickered against the stone wall, throwing long shadows across the ceiling. Someone had tried to make the room cozy. It wasn’t working.

My eyes stared blankly into the darkness.

I hadn’t slept. Not really.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again.

Carmen's shattered scream.
Nikita's blood-soaked armor.
The burning dragon falling from the sky.
Antoine crawling toward us with half his face gone.
The General. That smile.
Carmen’s body in my arms.

I curled deeper into the blanket. My chest felt tight. Breathing didn’t help. The silence in the room wasn’t comforting—it was crushing. Like the world had moved on without me, and I was stuck somewhere in between.

“It’s over,” I whispered to myself. “That world’s gone. You’re here now.”

I wanted to believe it. I really did.

But how was I supposed to sleep in a place like this?

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My toes touched the cold wooden floor. I had nothing but the basic set of clothes Serenya gave me when I first woke up—an off-white shirt, loose brown pants, and worn boots that didn’t quite fit. There was a coat, too, hanging over the chair. She said it used to belong to one of their former guildmates. It smelled like firewood and lavender.

I rubbed my eyes and stood up, grabbing the coat.

Couldn’t just lie here. Not all night.

I opened the door slowly and stepped into the hallway. It was quiet, except for the soft murmur of voices downstairs and the creak of someone shifting in their sleep behind a nearby door. The inn was old but clean, with warm lanterns on the walls and thick carpets that muffled my steps.

As I descended the stairs, I heard someone moving near the entrance.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

It was Darian. He stood by the door with his arms crossed, wearing the same leather coat he always wore—scarred, dark brown, with a steel insignia on the shoulder: the Ashmarked sigil.

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

He nodded and pushed open the door. “Come on. Fresh air’ll help.”

Outside, Lumina was still asleep—mostly.

The street was dimly lit by magical orbs floating from iron posts, casting a gentle bluish glow over the cobblestones. The city stretched out in curves and layers, built along the slope of a valley that descended into shadows far ahead. I hadn’t noticed it during the day, but Lumina was massive—built like a spiral, wrapping around a wide crater that faded into mist.

Dozens of buildings stood stacked atop each other, made from a mix of stone, wood, and some metallic alloy that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Rope bridges, staircases, and narrow balconies connected them like veins across a body. It felt alive.

Down below, I could see distant orange lights flickering—campfires, maybe. Or some forge still burning through the night.

“Beautiful, huh?” Darian asked beside me.

I nodded.

“You get used to it,” he added, then yawned and glanced at the sky. “Sun’ll be up soon. You coming with us to the guild building?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Might as well.”

We met the others by the fountain plaza at the center of the district. Serenya greeted me with a warm smile, her long white coat catching the breeze. She always looked composed—like she didn’t belong in this chaotic world. Her eyes were gentle, but there was something behind them. Sadness, maybe. Or experience.

Kaelin was leaning against the fountain’s edge, tossing pebbles into the water. She gave me a half-smirk when I walked up. “Sleep well, pretty boy?”

“Like shit,” I muttered.

“Good,” she grinned. “Means you’re normal.”

Gorrun didn’t say anything. Just gave me a glance and grunted. Same as always.

Without another word, the group started walking.

The Guilder's Hall was impossible to miss.

It towered above the rest of the plaza, built from thick blackstone blocks and reinforced with silver inlays that glimmered like veins of light. The massive front doors were open, guarded by two armored sentinels in enchanted plate. Above the entrance, a giant brass emblem spun slowly—showing a sword, a torch, and a rising sun.

Inside, it was loud. Not chaotic, but full of motion and life.
Adventurers sat at long wooden tables, eating, drinking, laughing.
Dozens lined up by the reception desks to report quests, trade in loot, or post new contracts.
A massive board stretched across the far wall, covered in parchment sheets and glowing glyphs—job listings, monster bounties, requests for bodyguards, artifact recovery, escort missions.

This place was alive in a way that made me feel... dead.

Like I didn’t belong here.

Serenya led the way to the front counter. A woman with short dark hair and piercing gold eyes greeted her politely.

“We’re looking for any missing persons reports,” Serenya said. “A boy, around sixteen. Human. Pale skin, dark blonde hair, skinny, probably... lost?”

The woman tapped through a glowing crystal pad, brows furrowing. After a moment, she looked up and shook her head.

“Nothing matches.”

Darian sighed. Kaelin looked at me, then looked away.

Gorrun muttered, “Should’ve known.”

I stayed silent.

As the receptionist continued tapping, I heard them whisper behind me—barely audible, but enough.

“We can’t keep dragging him around.”
“He’s just a kid.”
“A kid who can’t use Essence.”
“He eats, sleeps, takes up space. That’s all.”
“We need to think long term.”

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to.

I knew those words weren’t meant to hurt. But they did anyway.

The receptionist cleared her throat.

“If you leave him here, I can contact the local church. They manage a sanctuary for orphans and displaced children. He might find a place there.”

Serenya hesitated. I could feel it.

But she nodded. “Please do.”

“Of course,” the woman said, then looked at me. “Would you like to wait here?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

She gestured to a nearby bench, but I didn’t sit. I just... walked away.

Toward the bar.

Toward something else.

Toward whatever the fuck was waiting on the other side of this mess.

The bar was tucked into the left side of the guild hall, slightly separated from the noise of the main floor. Still, you could hear everything—boots scraping the wooden floor, chairs being dragged, silverware clinking against metal plates, the occasional explosion of laughter or argument. A haze of smoke hung near the ceiling, mixed with the smell of spiced meat and cheap ale.

I slipped into one of the corner stools, hoping to disappear.

The counter was smooth and dark, stained with age. A few adventurers sat nearby, most of them busy drinking or bragging to their guildmates about whatever beast they’d gutted last week. No one looked my way.

That was good.

I had nothing left to say. Nothing left to offer.
No skills. No magic. No place in this new world.
I just sat there, hands in my lap, listening to the dull throb of my own heartbeat.

“Hey, kid.”

The voice was low and rough, but not unkind.

I turned my head.

Behind the bar stood a woman, probably late thirties. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail streaked with hints of grey, and she wore a loose shirt with rolled-up sleeves, stained with oil and flour. A thin scar ran across her cheekbone, half-hidden by strands of hair. Her eyes—warm brown, with just a touch of tiredness—looked me over like she’d already figured me out.

“You look like shit,” she said.

I blinked. “Thanks.”

“You want something to drink?”

I hesitated. “I... I don’t have any money.”

She snorted. “Did I ask if you had money?”

She disappeared behind the counter and came back a moment later, placing a wooden plate in front of me. Two soft, golden-brown dumplings sat steaming in a shallow bowl, their seams pinched tightly shut. Next to it, a small clay cup filled with a pale purple liquid that shimmered slightly in the light.

“Dumplings” she said. “Stuffed with pork and roots. Family recipe. Drink’s a berry fizz. Non-alcoholic. Unless you want it to be.”

I stared at the food. My stomach growled.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” she cut me off. “Eat. You’re skinnier than a damn scarecrow.”

She walked away without another word, back to cleaning glasses.

I looked down at the dumplings. Steam curled up toward my face, bringing with it the scent of roasted garlic and herbs. I didn’t want to admit it, but it smelled like heaven.

I picked one up and took a bite.

Hot. Soft. Salty. A little sweet. Gods, it was perfect.

The fizz was tangy and cold, washing down the warmth in my throat. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until the plate was already empty.

She came back just as I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

“You gonna tell me what a kid like you is doing in a place like this?” she asked.

I lowered the cup slowly. “Just... passing through.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. Ran away from home. Or orphaned. Or both.”

I said nothing.

She leaned on the counter with both elbows, watching me.

“Where you from, really?”

I paused, thinking. Then said, “Small farming village. Out west. Near the edge of the forest, maybe a few days from here. I used to help sell our harvest in Lumina.”

She didn’t blink.

“That why you look like someone just dug you out of the snow?”

I forced a smile. “Long trip.”

She didn’t push. Just nodded.

“You’re a bad liar, you know.”

“I’m not trying to be good at it.”

That made her laugh. A short, raspy thing. She straightened up and grabbed another glass to polish.

“Well, kid,” she said, “this world’s full of worse things than bad liars.”

We stood in silence for a bit. The noise of the hall seemed distant now, muffled by the moment.

I looked at her again. Something about her made me feel... safe. Not in a fake, friendly way—but in the way only someone who’s been through enough shit can make you feel.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Shoot.”

“What’s the Dark Zone?”

Her eyes didn’t widen. They didn’t narrow either. She just stopped wiping the glass and looked at me like she was deciding how much to say.

“You serious?”

I nodded.

She placed the glass down and crossed her arms.

“Alright. You asked.”

She leaned on the bar again, arms folded, one eyebrow raised.

“You ever seen a wound that doesn’t heal?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Well,” she said, “that’s the Dark Zone. A wound. Still bleeding.”

The way she said it made me pause. No theatrics, no legend-spinning. Just truth, plain and heavy.

“Long time ago—hell, nobody really remembers when—there was a war. Not the kind with soldiers and swords. The kind that tears a hole in the world and doesn’t ask for permission.”

She reached under the counter and pulled out a flask, took a swig, then offered it to me.

I waved it off. She didn’t insist.

“They say a great darkness rose from beneath the earth,” she went on. “Black fog, twisted creatures, corrupted Essence. Cities fell. People vanished. Magic turned on itself. Some say gods died. Others say they never existed.”

She shrugged like she didn’t really care which version was true.

“All that’s left now is the Zone. In the middle of the continent. Miles of cursed land, tainted air, broken ruins. Monsters crawl outta there like rats from a sewer. And guess what?” She smirked. “That’s where all the best dungeons are.”

I blinked. “Wait—people go there?”

“Of course. Glory, fame, money—same reasons people climb volcanoes or sleep with nobles. Dangerous as fuck, but worth it if you survive. Lumina wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t so close to the border.”

She gestured around us.

“This city runs on dungeon loot. We clean it, sort it, sell it, research it. And when we don’t... we bury the ones who brought it in.”

I looked down at my empty plate.

“So people die… just to keep this place running?”

“People die every day, kid,” she said. “At least here they die for something.”

Her voice was sharp—but not unkind.

I leaned forward a little.

“What about the kingdom? Who runs this place?”

She snorted. “Oh, you mean the royal fuckshow?”

She poured herself another drink.

“Kingdom of Lydia. Proud banner, pretty soldiers, and a whole lot of smoke up their own asses. Used to be noble, I guess. Back when they actually fought. These days? They sit in their marble castles while the rest of us clean up their mess.”

I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

Lydia?

She saw the confusion on my face.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just… thought I heard that name before.”

She nodded slowly. “It’s a popular name. Especially among the highborn. They like naming their daughters after queens. Makes ‘em feel important.”

“Anyway,” she continued, placing the flask down with a sigh, “you’re not here for politics.”

I shook my head. “No. I was just curious.”

She looked at me again. Studying me. Like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve.

“You ask a lot of questions for a kid from a farmer’s village.”

I forced a smile. “Guess I’m just curious.”

She didn’t call me out this time. Just leaned in closer.

“You want to hear about something actually worth knowing?”

I blinked. “Like what?”

She lowered her voice.

“The Academy of Reslau.”

The barkeeper leaned closer across the counter, her voice dropping like we were swapping secrets in the middle of a battlefield.

“Reslau,” she said. “Now that’s a name you should remember.”

I stayed still.

She paused, eyes flicking toward a loud group of adventurers near the bounty wall, then back to me.

“Reslau’s not just a city. It’s the city. South enough to touch the edge of nobility, east enough to steer clear of the Zone. The Academy sits at its heart—white stone, floating towers, enchantments older than any of us. They say it breathes magic.”

She grinned faintly, but there was a bitterness under it.

“They also say only the top one percent get in. And guess what most of them have in common?”

“Born rich?” I asked.

“Bingo.”

She straightened up, grabbing a clean glass, spinning it slowly between her hands as she spoke.

“Every spoiled little noble with a spark of talent gets funneled into the Academy. Trained by Archmages, battle-tested in mock wars, taught how to bend Essence into art. The rest of us? We read dusty books by candlelight and hope the local temple doesn't run out of healing scrolls.”

Her voice wasn’t angry. It was tired. Like someone who’d stopped expecting fairness a long time ago.

“They train the best there,” she continued. “The elite. The ones people write songs about. You ever hear of the Top Four?”

I shook my head.

She chuckled, setting the glass down.

“Course not. You’re from a ‘farm.’”

That word stung more than it should’ve.

She went on. “They’re legends. Four warriors, all former students of the Academy, all holding titles granted by the Crown itself. 

I swallowed.

“And all of them came from Reslau?”

She nodded. “Every single one. Taught by the same person, too.”

My heart started to beat faster. Something about her tone shifted.

“They were trained,” she said, “by the founder himself. The Gray-Haired One.”

That name hung in the air like smoke.

I tried to stay calm. “Who… is that?”

She looked at me like I’d just asked what fire was.

“An Ascended Elf,” she said. “Some say he’s the oldest being alive. Older than the war. Older than the calendar. He didn’t just teach magic—he invented it. The way we channel Essence? He laid the foundation for it. Converted wild power into usable flow. The world changed because of him.”

I stared.

“What’s his real name?” I asked, and it came out quieter than I meant.

She squinted, thinking. “Hm… give me a sec. It’s one of those names you hear once a year and forget until it matters. What was it again… Ce-something...”

My breath caught.

“Cealith,” she said suddenly, snapping her fingers. “Yeah. That’s it. Cealith.”

My hands curled into fists under the counter.

My head swam.

Cealith. The Cealith I knew. The quiet one who barely spoke but could cut down a demon with a single arrow. The one who stayed behind with me when the others left. The one who told me I wasn’t as useless as I felt.
Was it possible?

Could he really be... alive?

“You okay?” she asked.

I blinked and realized I’d gone pale.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just… surprised. That name sounded familiar.”

She shrugged. “He’s a legend. Most of us don’t even know if he’s real anymore. They say he never comes out of his tower in Reslau. Probably dying of old age up there.”

I nodded slowly.

Something had shifted inside me.

Like a compass needle finally pointing somewhere.

The barkeeper gave me a look—less curious now, more… thoughtful.

“You got a name, kid?”

“Aleks,” I said.

She reached over the bar and offered her hand.

“Marra.”

I shook it.

“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it. “For the food. And the talk.”

She grinned. “Anytime. ”

I stood up from the bar, legs still stiff, heart pounding in my ears. Behind me, the guild bustled on—people shouting, laughing, planning their next hunt. The others were probably still at the desk, arranging whatever back-alley orphanage they could dump me into.

But I wasn’t waiting around anymore.

I had something now.

A direction.

A name.

Cealith.

If he was still out there... if he was still alive...

Then maybe this world hadn’t taken everything from me yet.

Maybe there was still someone who remembered.

Someone who could tell me the truth.