Chapter 12 – Those Who Remember

"Memories are not chains that bind us to the past—they're weapons, forged in silence, waiting to be drawn."

The scent of burning wood still lingered in Kael's clothes as dawn broke through Theradune's smoky skyline. He hadn't slept after the dream. His mother's final words—"Find the one who remembers"—echoed in his mind like an unfinished symphony.

He sat alone on the rooftop of a crumbling watchtower overlooking the canal district, the rising sun throwing golden hues across the sleeping city. Below, early morning merchants dragged their carts, unaware of the war brewing beneath their feet.

Kael stared at the sketch he'd drawn hastily during the night: a faceless mask bearing the crescent moon and three dots. The same insignia that had been branded into his nightmares.

If someone remembers, he thought, then someone must have survived.

A flutter of wind drew his attention. Behind him, a young woman dropped down from the neighboring rooftop with the grace of a seasoned scout. She had short auburn hair, a crooked grin, and eyes too sharp for someone pretending to be carefree.

"Morning, Shadow Prince," she teased.

Kael didn't look at her. "You followed me again, Seris."

She plopped down beside him. "Correction: I tracked you. There's a difference."

He finally glanced at her. "What do you want?"

Seris shrugged. "Same as you. Answers. Maybe revenge. Definitely coffee."

Kael exhaled, faintly amused. "You said you had news?"

She pulled out a sealed parchment and tossed it to him. "From a monk I met during my last job up north. He recognized the symbol you've been chasing."

Kael tore the seal and skimmed the contents. A monastery. Forgotten. Ruins now. But the letter spoke of an Archivist—a blind woman once tasked with preserving forbidden knowledge from the Era of Silence.

"She might know what the crescent moon means," Seris said, watching his expression.

Kael nodded slowly. "Then we find her."

---

Two days of hard travel brought them to the mountains of Kharel. Once the sacred domain of old gods and ascended beings, now reduced to haunted crags where only the desperate and damned dared wander.

The monastery clung to the cliffs like a broken crown. Vines strangled its stone walls, and the wind howled through shattered stained glass windows. Crows circled its spires like mourners.

Kael stepped through the archway first, his hand resting near the hilt beneath his coat. Seris followed, humming to herself, one hand on the twin daggers strapped to her thighs.

Inside, the silence was thick—dust coated the air like ash, and each footstep echoed like thunder.

Then, from deep within the corridor, came a voice. Soft. Raspy. Tired.

"You should not have come here."

Kael stilled. "We're looking for the Archivist."

A woman emerged from the shadows. Elderly, blindfolded, but straight-backed and unshaken. Her silver hair cascaded like silk over her dark robes.

"I remember more than I should," she said. "But I do not share memory freely."

Kael stepped forward, voice steady. "My name is Kael. My family was killed ten years ago. This symbol—" he held out the sketch, "—was at the scene. I need to know who it belongs to."

The Archivist's lips trembled. She reached out, fingers brushing the parchment.

Her voice dropped. "That mark… belongs to the Shrouded Crescent."

Kael's heart froze.

"The what?" Seris asked, stepping closer.

"They were an order once. Hunters of secrets. Silencers of truths. They erased histories to control the present. When kings feared knowledge more than war, they hired the Crescent."

Kael's hands curled into fists. "Why would they kill a civilian family?"

The Archivist tilted her head. "Not civilian. Not meaningless."

She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a shard of mirror, its surface flickering with residual magic.

"Your mother… was one of us."

Kael's blood turned to ice.

"What?"

"Not a killer. Not a Crescent. But an Archivist. She was my sister in oath. She betrayed the order when she chose to save lives instead of erasing them. She protected truths meant to be destroyed."

Seris whispered, "Then they came for her."

Kael's world spiraled. The memories he clung to—the warmth of his mother's embrace, her quiet songs, the strange books she always kept locked away—twisted into something more.

"She knew," he breathed. "She knew they were coming."

The Archivist nodded. "And left behind one final message. For the one who could finish what she started."

Kael's voice cracked. "Then tell me what to do."

The old woman raised her hand, placing the shard of mirror into his palm. "You must go to the capital. Beneath the Library of Thrones lies the forbidden vault. Your mother's legacy waits there. But be warned… the Crescent watches all who remember."

As Kael stared into the mirror's surface, it shimmered—revealing a vision. A tower wrapped in iron chains, a sigil burning across its gate. And standing at its peak… a masked man with glowing red eyes.

Kael blinked, and the image vanished.

---

They left the monastery under the first stars of dusk.

Seris was unusually quiet. After an hour of walking in silence, she finally asked, "You okay?"

Kael didn't answer at first.

Then he said, "No. But I will be."

She smirked, trying to hide her worry. "Guess we're officially partners now."

He glanced at her. "You always this nosy?"

She winked. "Only when it gets me closer to powerful enemies and attractive men."

He let out a rare laugh—low and brief—but real.

---

That night, as they camped near a frozen river, Kael sat alone, gazing at the mirror shard.

His mother… had once been like him. A seeker. A keeper of truth. And the order that took her was still alive, still watching.

But now, he had names. A direction. A legacy.

And with every shadow he walked through, he moved closer to vengeance.