The city loomed ahead.

  High walls of dark stone. Towers stretching toward the evening sky.

  Darius and Ais stood at the crest of a hill, overlooking its massive gates.

  Solmaria was gone.

  But the world had rewritten itself without it. This city—Vaelmoor—had taken its pce. Ais crossed her arms. "You're sure about this?" Darius exhaled. "No." Ais arched an eyebrow. "That's comforting." But neither of them turned back. Because this was the first test.

  Darius had already been erased from this world. Now, he had to force it to remember.

  The streets of Vaelmoor were alive.

  Merchants called out their wares. Soldiers patrolled the roads. The scent of roasted meats and sweetbread drifted from the markets.

  It was just like any other city.

  And that was the problem.

  Because it should not have been here. Darius moved through the crowds, heart hammering. The people—they didn't look at him strangely. They didn't react to him at all. As if he was just another nameless traveler. As if he had never been part of this world.

  This was the Thanatarchy's true power. They did not erase with war. They erased by making people forget.

  Darius clenched his fists. Not this time. He would not be forgotten.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  They reached a busy tavern near the city's center—The Rusted Crown.

  Ais pushed open the door, stepping into the warmth of flickering nterns and quiet conversation.

  Darius followed, scanning the room.

  Soldiers. Merchants. Travelers.

  People with voices.

  People who could remember.

  If they could just force one person—one soul—to recall his name, then this would work.

  But how?

  How do you make someone remember something that has already been erased?

  Ais moved first, stepping toward the bar.

  The innkeeper—a gruff, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard—looked up.

  "Rooms?" he asked.

  Ais's voice was casual. "Not yet. We were hoping for information."

  The man leaned on the counter. "Depends on what you're looking for."

  Darius stepped forward, forcing his voice steady.

  "I'm looking for someone who used to live here."

  The innkeeper frowned. "Who?" Now. Now was the moment. Darius spoke his name. "Darius Vaelthorne."

  Silence. The innkeeper's face was bnk. His brow furrowed—as if the name meant nothing. As if it had never existed. Darius' pulse quickened. "Do you remember me?"

  The innkeeper hesitated.

  Then—he shook his head. "Never heard of him." The erasure was still holding.

  But Darius refused to accept it. Ais moved instantly.

  She turned to the nearest soldier—a man seated near the bar, drinking from a wooden mug. "Vaelthorne," she said sharply. "You must have heard that name before." The soldier frowned. "Who?" Ais's voice was firm. "Darius Vaelthorne."

  The soldier blinked.

  A flicker of something passed through his eyes—not recognition, but... hesitation.

  For a moment, it was as if something was struggling to surface. A name. A thought.

  A memory.

  But then—he shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell." Ais cursed under her breath.

  The Thanatarchy's rewriting was too strong. Just saying the name was not enough.

  They needed something more.

  Something stronger.

  And then—

  Darius realized. It was not just about speaking the name. It was about making them believe it.

  Darius turned back to the innkeeper. He stepped forward, forcing their eyes to meet.

  And then—he spoke. "You know my name."

  The innkeeper frowned. "I already told you—"

  Darius did not let him finish. "You know my name."

  Something shifted.

  The innkeeper hesitated.

  Darius could see it now—the way his mind was fighting against the rewrite.

  Because the name was still there. Buried. Hidden. But not gone.

  The Thanatarchy had erased him.

  But they had not destroyed the memory completely.

  And that meant— It could be restored.

  Darius pressed forward. "Say my name."

  The innkeeper tensed.

  He exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't know you."

  But his voice was weaker now. The memory was fighting back.

  Darius leaned closer. His voice was steady. "Say it."

  The innkeeper shuddered.

  His hands clenched into fists.

  His mind was breaking under the weight of the rewrite.

  Then finally— He whispered it.

  "Darius... Vaelthorne."

  The moment the words left his lips—the world shifted.

  The erasure stumbled.

  The Thanatarchy felt it.

  DARIUS VAELTHORNE WAS REMEMBERED.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The soldier at the bar jerked upright.

  His brow furrowed—as if something had just snapped into pce.

  His breath hitched.

  "Darius..."

  Ais saw it too. The soldier's mind was remembering. The rewrite was cracking.

  They had done it. They had forced the world to remember.

  Darius exhaled sharply.

  But then— The nterns flickered.

  The air grew heavy.

  Ais's eyes widened.

  "Darius—" He turned. And saw it. Standing in the doorway.

  A figure. Faceless. Unmoving. Watching.

  The Inquisition had arrived.