rastq12

A world ruled by Sovereigns, beings of absolute power bound by an eternal cycle. Every 1,000 years, reality resets, and history is rewritten. The strong ascend, the weak are erased, and none remember what came before.

Except for one.

When he awakens in a shattered battlefield, marked as “Forsaken,” he knows something is wrong. Fragments of past cycles burn in his mind. He remembers dying—again and again—fighting against a fate he could never escape. But this time, something is different.

His power is corrupted, broken beyond recognition. His existence is an anomaly, rejected by the world itself. The cycle should have erased him, but he remains.

Now, hunted by immortals who do not remember their crimes, he must uncover the truth behind the Pantheon of Sovereigns, the Architect who designed this prison, and the lost history of those who defied fate before him.

For the first time in eternity, the cycle is fracturing.

And he is the one breaking it.

Sovereign of the Forsaken Realm

The air remained heavy, the echoes of the Forgotten's whispers lingering in his mind.

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, his pulse still racing. Whatever had just happened—it had been real.

The stranger studied him, their golden eyes glinting with something unreadable. "You're adapting quickly."

He exhaled sharply, flexing his fingers. The warmth of that strange power still pulsed beneath his skin, but it wasn't just strength—it was recognition.

Like it had always been there, buried deep.

"What were they trying to do to me?" he asked.

The stranger crossed their arms. "Erase you."

His stomach twisted. Erase. Not kill. Something worse.

The stranger tilted their head. "Because you are an anomaly in the cycle. A flaw."

He gritted his teeth. "And what does that mean?"

The stranger's smirk was almost amused. "It means you shouldn't exist."

Before he could respond, a sharp tremor shook the ruins.

A pulse of dark energy rippled outward.

The Forgotten had withdrawn, but something else had awakened.

A deeper presence. Older. Hungrier.

The stranger's expression darkened. "Looks like we don't have time for explanations."

From the shadows, something moved.

A figure stepped into view—not like the Forgotten. This one was different.

It had shape. Definition. And it was looking right at him.

Chapter 9: The Weight of Memory