The First Memory

Chapter 11 - Into the Memory Storm(Kai)

The first thing I noticed was the smell. Not earth, rain, or smoke but memory itself. A metallic tang, sharp and electric, clinging to the back of my throat like warning. I wanted to taste it, just once, to see if it would make me remember what had been buried. The streets of the lower city were silent in a way that felt unnatural, as if the ruins themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something long overdue. Shadows draped themselves across the fractured cobblestones like old ghosts leaning toward me, drawn to the hum that vibrated beneath the soles of my boots.

The Mnemos towers glimmered faintly in the mist, fractured glass refracting the sparse light into jagged rainbows that danced over empty streets. Graffiti in languages I couldn't name crawled across walls, twisting and reshaping like living script, daring me to read it, daring me to remember. Somewhere behind me, a loose shutter banged in the wind, and I flinched. The hum surged, threading between my ribs, settling in my teeth. Not sound. Memory. Alive. Insistent. Pulling at me.

I paused at the ruined fountain in the plaza, its basin cracked and etched with spirals and concentric glyphs that seemed to writhe beneath the faint golden light. Shadows flickered beneath the stone, faces opening mouths in silent pleas. I blinked. That wasn't real. It couldn't be. And yet... it felt like recognition.

A hand pressed lightly to my shoulder. Knife raised, muscles coiled, I spun. Lira. Her hair caught the dim light like embers, her eyes sharp and precise. Alive. Alert. I'd lost track of how long I'd needed to see her like this.

"You're late," she said, voice clipped, scanning me as though measuring my worth.

"I... got distracted," I said, throat dry. The hum inside me surged, a flicker that made my knees tremble.

"By what?" Her gaze narrowed, sharp, piercing, pulling my attention back from the shadows behind my eyes.

I didn't answer. Images surfaced unbidden burning cities, faceless crowds, a soldier's hand pressing mine to a body I didn't recognize. Whispers, screams, laughter. I was drowning in echoes of lives that weren't mine, and yet somehow, I knew them all.

"Stop it. Focus. We're moving," Lira said, exasperated but steady. Her hand on my shoulder anchored me, tethering me to the present.

Control was a luxury I hadn't had in years. I clenched my fists and stepped forward.

The hum rose as we moved through the streets, thrumming in time with my heartbeat, pulsing like the city itself was alive beneath us, alive with memory. My boots struck shards of glass, sending crystalline echoes rattling through narrow alleyways. Buildings leaned inward, warped by time, their surfaces flickering between ruin and the way they might have been decades ago.

"Do you feel it too?" I asked, voice low, almost swallowed by the vibration.

Lira tilted her head, listening as if the air itself had a language. Then she nodded. "It's the Vault," she said. "Always calling."

A shiver ran up my spine. The Vault. Its name alone tightened my chest, pulled my thoughts inward. I had glimpsed it in fragments before dreams, flashes, visions but never like this. Now, walking beneath its shadow, feeling the golden pulse pressing against my chest, it wasn't warning, it was demand.

We turned a corner, entering a plaza I couldn't place, yet felt I had always known. A fractured fountain jutted upward like skeletal fingers, the spiraled glyphs etched deep enough to catch the light in their grooves. The hum intensified, coiling around my ribs and threading into my teeth.

"It's stronger here," I admitted. Swallowing hard, I felt my pulse quicken.

Lira's hand found mine. "Then don't fight it. Not yet. Just stay with me," she said. Her voice steady, unwavering.