the Inheart of the Obsidian Wastes, where time forgot to move, there stood a lone tower. The Tower of Yshara, forged from the bones of fallen stars, housed the last Memory Keeper—a being neither mortal nor divine, known as Veylen. He was the sole guardian of the world's forgotten past, a historian of lost truths, and a prisoner of eternity.
The sky was painted in swirls of violet and amber, a twilight hue that never faded. The wind carried whispers of forgotten names, brushing against the tower's hollow windows like ghosts seeking refuge. Veylen sat within the vast chamber of Echoing Scrolls, where memories manifested as silver threads. Each thread, when held, unraveled the truth of an era lost to time.
On this day, as he traced his fingers over the threads, one of them pulsed—a thing unheard of in all his years of solitude. A memory was reawakening.
Curious, Veylen lifted the shimmering strand, and the world around him blurred. Images danced before his eyes—a kingdom swallowed by the sands, a weeping queen, and a dark-winged figure standing amidst the ruin. The memory was incomplete, as though something had torn its edges, leaving only glimpses of a forgotten tragedy.
Veylen knew what this meant. Someone, somewhere, remembered. And that was dangerous.
Summoning his staff, he wove a portal of woven light, stepping into the unknown world beyond the tower's safety. The Obsidian Wastes faded behind him as he emerged into the city of Uldoren, where memory was currency and forgetting was survival. The people of this land could trade away their past for power, erase their sins, and reshape their histories at will. But there was one law above all others: the Memory Keepers must never leave the tower.
The moment Veylen stepped onto the cobbled streets, silence rippled through the air. Eyes filled with fear and awe locked onto him.
"The Last Keeper walks among us," a voice whispered.
In the royal palace of Uldoren, Queen Aelira sat before the Mirror of Unseen Truths. She was the most powerful ruler the city had ever known, yet she could not recall her own childhood. She had erased it willingly, they told her. Yet, in her dreams, she saw flashes of a life she never lived—a sister she did not remember, a betrayal that had no place in her history.
And now, as her advisors whispered of the Keeper's arrival, a chill gripped her heart.
Veylen was coming. And with him, the past she had buried.
The city trembled as shadows stirred. The dark-winged figure from the lost memory had returned, an ancient force known as the Hollow Prince. He was the collector of forsaken pasts, a devourer of erased souls. His hunger had grown insatiable, and Uldoren, the city of lost truths, was his greatest feast.
As Veylen reached the palace gates, Aelira stood waiting, her hands trembling.
"You know what I have forgotten," she whispered.
Veylen met her gaze, his silver eyes reflecting the weight of eons. "Your past is the key to saving us all."
And as the Hollow Prince descended upon the city, his laughter like the cracking of ancient stone, Veylen unraveled the final thread. The truth would no longer be forgotten.
The battle for memory had begun.
The weight of history pressed upon Veylen's shoulders as he stepped into the throne room, its marble walls veined with gold, its high ceilings depicting forgotten wars. Aelira stood tall, yet the flicker of uncertainty in her emerald eyes betrayed the truth—she feared what lay hidden in her past.
"Tell me," she commanded, though her voice wavered. "What have I forgotten?"
Veylen closed his eyes, the silver thread of her memory pulsating in his grasp. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of centuries.
"You were not meant to be queen."
The chamber grew deathly silent. The court members exchanged glances, uncertain whether to gasp or remain still.
"What do you mean?" Aelira whispered, her fingers tightening on the armrests of her throne.
"You had a sister," Veylen said. "She was the rightful heir. But she was erased."
Aelira's breath hitched. Visions flooded her mind—images of a girl with the same emerald eyes, a laughter she could almost recall, a promise she had once made and forgotten. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Who did this?" she demanded, her voice now filled with rage.
"The Hollow Prince," Veylen said. "He feeds on stolen pasts. And your sister... she is not dead. She is lost within his realm."
Aelira rose to her feet. "Then we must find her."
But Veylen shook his head. "The price of truth is steep, Your Majesty. If you retrieve your past, you may lose the kingdom you built upon its absence."
Aelira's fingers trembled, but she clenched them into fists. "A kingdom built on lies is no kingdom at all."
Outside, the Hollow Prince's shadow loomed ever closer. And in the depths of the city, those who had long traded away their pasts felt the stirrings of something dangerous—a longing for the truth.
The war for memory was no longer just Aelira's. It was Uldoren's reckoning.