Story 978: Echoes of the Forgotten

The train howled through the night, a spectral serpent slicing through the fog. Inside, the dim lanterns flickered, casting long shadows across the rusted walls. The weight of loss pressed against Mira’s chest—Draven didn’t remember her.

She studied him carefully. His fingers still curled around his revolver, his stance still sharp with the instincts of a survivor, but his eyes were empty. The Draven she knew—the man hardened by vengeance, bound by purpose—was slipping away.

Zara placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “You okay, boss?”

Draven blinked. “I don’t… I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse, uncertain. His gaze flickered toward Mira, then to Elias, then back to his own hands as if trying to place himself in this moment.

Mira turned to Elias. “How much did we lose?”