The night was too silent, as if the wind itself was holding its breath. I sat beneath the fractured sky, my thoughts drawn to the fragments of memory that had begun to surface over the past days. They came without warning—like shards of a broken mirror drifting through my mind—scenes of unfamiliar corridors, voices speaking in codes I somehow understood, faces of people who looked at me as if I had once belonged among them.
For years, I believed I was nothing more than a father searching for his lost child. But as the memories seeped back, I felt the weight of something larger—something tied to The Primordial Memory Map. Each image carried the taste of conflict, of ancient vows and hidden wars fought in silence across the worlds.
That was when I first heard the whispers.
At the edges of ruined outposts and abandoned gates, the survivors spoke of a faction moving in shadows. They said these were not the loyal Custodians I might have once served, nor the reckless ones seeking to break the balance for power. This was something else—an unnamed force gathering pieces of the Map, as if tracing the veins of reality toward a single, forbidden destination.
I tried to dismiss the rumors, yet deep inside, a cold recognition stirred. My memories were aligning like stars in a forgotten constellation, and I began to see the fractures in the system I once trusted. The Custodians were no longer one order but a splintered brotherhood, each side hiding its own truths, its own betrayals.
And somewhere in the middle of it all—though I could not yet grasp why—was me.
The wind finally returned, carrying the distant echoes of collapsing Gates. As I stood among the drifting ash, one thought crystallized with painful clarity:
The factions were moving toward war. And the sealed memories inside me might be the reason why.
