Requiem of the Forgotten

The first thing I notice is the silence.

Not the calm kind. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that comes when everyone in a room realizes, at the same time, that they're completely and utterly fucked.

I hear breathing. Some heavy, some panicked. A few muffled sobs from somewhere in the crowd. But no one speaks.

Because when the angel vanished, it left behind something else.

Something inside my head.

A pressure. A weight.

And then, suddenly—

Words.

Clear, perfect words. From people who shouldn't be speaking the same language as me.

I turn to the left. A man—probably late forties, military haircut, wide shoulders—whispers something under his breath.

I understand it.

I look to the right. An elf—tall, sharp features, golden eyes that seem to glow faintly—mutters something to another one of its kind.

I understand that too.

No, wait. That's wrong. They're not speaking my language. I'm not speaking theirs. We're just… understanding each other. Like our brains got rewired without permission.

And that's when everything really goes to shit.

"What the hell did it do to us?"

"Are we cursed?"

"This is unnatural! This is an abomination!"

"Shut up!"

I wince at the sheer volume of noise as everyone in the gathering decides, all at once, to lose their goddamn minds. Some are panicking, some are furious, and others are just frozen in stunned silence. The elves have retreated slightly, their expressions unreadable. The dwarves—short, broad, stocky figures with runic carvings glowing faintly on their skin—are already muttering among themselves, calculating something.

And the orcs… well, they're just standing there, arms crossed, watching with a mix of amusement and boredom.

Classic.

"Enough."

The voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.

Strong. Clear. Controlled.

And, most surprisingly… human.

I turn toward the source.

A woman stands at the center of it all. Tall. Confident. Sharp blue eyes that hold the kind of intensity that makes you feel like she can see right through your bullshit. Dark brown hair tied into a messy braid, streaked with strands of silver, even though she doesn't look much older than her late twenties.

She's wearing a mix of modern clothing and something that looks… stitched together. Like she's been adapting. Surviving.

"Lydia," someone whispers. "That's Lydia."

Oh. So she's important.

Lydia steps forward, gaze sweeping across the assembled chaos. "You can fight each other. You can panic. You can pretend you have some control over what's happening to you. But that won't change reality."

She raises a hand, gesturing toward the land around us.

"Look at where we are."

And, for the first time, I actually do.

Wide, open plains stretch into the distance, meeting dense forests in some directions and rocky mountains in others. The sky is clearer than I've ever seen before—no pollution, no city lights, just endless blue and the faintest traces of celestial bodies lingering from whatever event just brought us here.

It's beautiful.

And terrifying.

"This is our new world," Lydia continues, voice steady. "The angel said we have six months before we're wiped out. Six months to prepare for something we don't even understand."

She looks at the elves, then the dwarves, then the orcs and reptilian beings standing at the edges of the gathering.

"So tell me," she says. "Are we really going to spend that time fighting over who gets to be in charge?"

A beat of silence.

Then, predictably, someone says, "Yes."

I sigh.

The arguing goes on for what feels like hours.

The humans want their own territory. The elves refuse to be governed by "barbarians." The dwarves won't commit to anything unless there's some kind of clear resource benefit. The orcs and reptilians? They're just waiting, watching, letting everyone else tear themselves apart first.

Lydia tries. She really does. She argues for unity, for a single nation where all species can stand together against the coming threat.

But not everyone agrees.

And in the end, compromises have to be made.

By sundown, the map is drawn.

Humans → Northwest. Their own kingdom, their own rules, their own problems.

Elves → Northeast. Untouched forests, ancient ruins, an empire waiting to be reborn.

Dwarves → Southeast. Mountains filled with promise, stone and steel, tunnels leading deeper than anyone dares to go.

Lydia & her followers → Southwest. A mixed land, a new society. A risk, but a chance at something better.

Orcs & Reptilians → The Center. A neutral zone, a crossroads for trade, power, and whatever the hell they're planning.

The first nations of this world are born.

And yet…

As everyone begins to move toward their new homes, something feels off.

Like this was too easy.

Like this was exactly what something wanted to happen.

"Where are you going?"

The question catches me off guard.

I turn. Lydia is standing there, arms crossed, watching me with that sharp gaze of hers.

And, suddenly, I realize—I haven't moved.

I'm still standing in the center of it all, watching the groups split apart. Watching the future take shape around me.

And I have no idea where I belong.

The humans? My people, technically, but… something about them feels wrong. Too much pride. Too much desperation. Like they're already setting themselves up for failure.

Lydia's group? A mix of everything. Uncertain. Unstable. But something about them feels… new.

Two choices.

Two futures.

I open my mouth.

I don't know what I was about to say.

Because right then, at that exact moment—

The sun finally sets.

And the sky turns red.