The air was heavier here. Not with mist or smoke, but with something more ancient—something alive. Mara's breath caught in her throat as she opened her eyes to darkness that wasn't entirely dark. Above her, stars twisted unnaturally, forming shapes that faded before she could name them.

She was lying on stone. Cold, cracked stone that stretched endlessly in all directions, broken only by the skeletal remains of buildings swallowed by giant roots. Trees, impossibly large, coiled around towers and arches as if the forest had grown up from the earth to choke the city.

Mara sat up slowly. Her head pounded, and her limbs felt distant, like they didn't belong to her.

Who am I?

No answer came.

A whisper drifted through the air. Soft. Faint.

Mara.

She flinched and spun around. No one.

Her name dissolved into the silence.

The wind didn't move here. The air was still, but something unseen circled her—watching. She pulled the edges of her torn cloak tighter around herself. Where had she gotten it? She didn't know.

Ahead, a flicker of light.

Mara hesitated, then moved toward it, careful not to make a sound. Each step echoed too loudly, swallowed by the stillness. The light pulsed behind a crumbling archway, casting shadows that danced and disappeared.

She reached the entrance and peered inside.

Candles. Hundreds of them. They floated in midair, forming a path deeper into the ruins. Their flames didn't flicker, frozen in time.

At the end of the path stood a figure.

Tall. Motionless.

A mask of smooth porcelain hid its face, expressionless and cold. The mask's surface shimmered faintly, as if it were breathing.

Mara took a step back.

"You've returned," the figure spoke, voice barely more than a breath.

Returned?

The figure tilted its head slowly. "Do you not remember?"

"I—" Mara's throat tightened. She shook her head.

A pause. Then, a soft chuckle, like the cracking of old wood.

"Good."

The candles extinguished all at once.

Darkness swallowed her.

A hand clamped over her mouth from behind.

Before she could scream, the world tilted and vanished.

When Mara woke, she was somewhere else.

Stone walls loomed close, covered in symbols she couldn't understand. The air was colder here. Damp.

A single candle burned beside her.

A boy sat across the small room, watching her. His face was sharp, pale, and his eyes glimmered like glass.

"You're awake," he said.

Mara didn't speak.

He leaned forward. "They think you're one of us."

"One of who?"

"The Echoes."

The word meant nothing to her.

But the way he said it made her blood run cold.

"They're going to hunt you now," he said softly. "And if you don't remember why… you won't survive."

Outside, faint whispers slid through the cracks in the walls.

Mara.

The voices knew her name.

And they were getting closer.

Mara turned her eyes back to the boy, searching his face for answers. But the glassy eyes and sharp features gave nothing away. He watched her with a strange, unreadable calm, as though this was nothing new to him.

"Who are you?" Mara whispered, her voice barely audible against the rising hum of the air.

"I'm not sure anymore," the boy replied. "But I do know this: You've already crossed the point of no return. There's no escaping what you're meant to do here."

The room seemed to narrow, the walls pushing in on them. Her thoughts raced, trying to piece together what was happening, but the fragments slipped through her fingers like sand. All she had were fleeting impressions—strange visions of a city she didn't recognize, flickers of faces she couldn't place, and the feeling that something dark was watching her.

The boy's gaze softened, though his expression remained as cold as stone. "The Silent Court will come for you soon."

Mara frowned. "The Silent Court?"

"You'll know them when you see them," he said, his tone even more somber. "They're the ones who erase memories. They're the reason you don't remember anything."

The words struck her like lightning. The thought of someone stealing her memories, robbing her of who she was, made her stomach turn. But why had they left her with nothing? Why had they left her here, in this strange city, in this cursed place?

"Who—who am I, then?" she asked, voice shaking.

The boy shook his head slowly. "That's something you'll have to find out for yourself. But trust me, Mara—if you don't figure it out soon, you won't survive the truth."

A cold shiver ran down her spine as the shadows in the room began to deepen, and the whispering grew louder. The walls seemed to close in tighter, and the air hummed with an electric charge, as though the city itself was alive and aware of her presence.

Mara didn't understand. She didn't know who she was or why she was here—but she knew one thing for certain: She was never meant to remember.

And whatever she had forgotten, it was hunting her.

The boy's voice broke through the rising tension. "The Silent Court doesn't take kindly to those who stray from their path. You'll be caught in their web, and once you are… it's over."

He stood abruptly, pacing across the stone floor in hurried steps. His boots tapped lightly against the stone, sending faint vibrations through the ground. The silence that had once enveloped the room now crackled with a low, disturbing hum.

"I know this place," Mara murmured, though she didn't know why she said it. "I've seen it before."

He stopped and turned his gaze back to her, eyebrows raised. "You have?"

She nodded slowly, though the images in her mind were fragmented. She saw the city—the ruined, forgotten city beneath the roots. There were faces, too, though they were blurred by time or memory. She couldn't quite place them, but the sense of loss was unmistakable.

Her thoughts drifted to the mask—the porcelain face of the figure she had seen earlier. Something about it lingered in her mind, sharp and cutting, like a forgotten song she couldn't quite remember.

The boy stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as if studying her. "The roots… they carry the weight of all that's lost. All those forgotten."

Mara stared at him, a chill creeping through her chest. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"The roots," he repeated, his voice lower, as if afraid to say more. "They hold memories. They hold everything. But not for long."

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because things change. Things… disappear. Like people. Like places. Like the truth."

Mara's mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle slipping further away with each passing second.

"I don't understand."

He stared at her, unblinking. "No. You don't. Not yet."

Mara's heart beat erratically. The words felt like a puzzle she couldn't piece together, and the way he said it, so matter-of-factly, sent a cold shiver down her spine. He was young, but there was something old in his eyes, something ancient and knowing.

"Not yet?" she echoed, her voice thick with confusion. "What does that mean? How can I not know when I don't even know where I am?"

He took a slow breath, his gaze softening just slightly. "Because if you knew, you wouldn't be able to stop it."

Mara frowned, her mind still struggling to catch up. "Stop what?"

The boy's lips twitched into a slight, almost imperceptible smile. But it didn't reach his eyes. "The change. You're not just here for your safety, Mara. You're part of something much bigger, something older than the city itself."

"Something bigger?" She shook her head, her thoughts spiraling. "Are you telling me I'm… special? A part of some ancient prophecy?"

He shook his head, his expression turning serious again. "It's not about prophecy. It's about survival." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The truth about this place, the truth about what's really happening here… You're not supposed to know yet. The city isn't ready for you."

Mara felt a pang of frustration. She opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. There was something in his demeanor that suggested he wasn't just hiding information from her—he was trying to protect her from it.

"What is it you're not telling me?" she demanded. Her hand clenched into a fist at her side. "What's going to happen?"

He exhaled slowly, as if the weight of the question was something he had anticipated. "There's a reason the city is silent, Mara. There's a reason it hasn't shown itself to you in full."

Mara felt a strange tug inside her, as if a door had creaked open in her mind. A nagging feeling, like a shadow at the edge of her vision, told her that something—someone—was watching her, waiting. The feeling was faint, but undeniable.

"What do you mean by silent?" she asked. "The city's alive, isn't it?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "In a way, yes. But the city doesn't let its full presence be known to outsiders. To people like you."

"People like me?"

"People who were meant to find the city," he said simply. "People who belong here. But not yet. Not until you've crossed the threshold."

Mara's mind reeled. "Threshold? What do you mean?"

The boy stood still for a moment, his posture tense, as if listening to something only he could hear. "I can't explain it all now. But I'll help you. I'll show you the way to understand it—when the time comes."

A soft rumble echoed through the ground, and Mara felt a strange pull at the base of her spine, like the earth was shifting beneath her feet. The boy's eyes flickered in the direction of the sound, and his expression darkened.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his jaw set. "It's them. They've come."

"Who?" Mara stepped back, instinctively scanning the room for any sign of movement.

"The Watchers," he said, the word laced with a note of urgency. "They've found us. We don't have much time."

Mara felt a chill crawl up her spine. The Watchers? Who were they? What did they want?

She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could speak, the boy grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the far side of the room.

"We need to go," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Now."

He moved with surprising speed, dragging her through the winding corridors of the city. The walls seemed to pulse with a strange energy, their dark surfaces flickering as though they were alive. The air thickened, heavy with a sense of impending danger.

"Why are they after us?" Mara managed to ask, her breath coming faster as she struggled to keep up with his pace.

"Because they're the ones keeping the truth from you," he replied. "The truth about this place. About the city. And about you."

A loud thud echoed behind them, followed by a scraping sound as if something—or someone—was chasing them.

Mara's heart raced, and she stumbled slightly, barely managing to keep up. "What truth? What is this place?"

He didn't answer right away, his focus entirely on the path ahead. They turned a corner, and suddenly the floor beneath them seemed to give way. The walls around them seemed to close in, their stone surfaces shifting in ways that made the entire space feel alive.

"You'll see it soon enough," he said, his voice now more distant. "When the time comes."

Before Mara could say anything else, they entered a vast chamber, larger than any room she had seen before. The ceiling soared high above them, stretching beyond what her eyes could see. The walls of the room seemed to shimmer, as if the very air within it held secrets.

In the center of the room stood a pedestal, glowing faintly. On top of it rested a strange, crystalline orb, its surface smooth and reflecting the faint light in a way that made Mara dizzy.

The boy led her toward it, his footsteps echoing in the vast space. As they approached, he stopped, his face becoming solemn.

"You have to touch it," he said, his voice barely audible. "It will show you everything."

Mara hesitated. She had no idea what the orb was, or what it could do. But something in her—something deep within—urged her to do it. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of the crystal.

As soon as her skin made contact, a sharp surge of energy shot through her body, and the world around her went black.