Meet the Legion

"Interesting. The records show a commanding officer existed. And a soldier. It also shows a mission—one either for the destruction or extraction of a unique Fractured who entered Historia."

Another replied, "Well, since they no longer exist, the mission clearly failed. Seems internal, not an international security breach. But for a temporal enforcer to disappear—and a frontline soldier too? If this is internal, then maybe they showed up."

"We should report this to the relevant Provincial Archivist. This is clearly a case of unlawful amnesia."

"Right..."

"…But who was the Fractured?"

"I don't know. I don't have clearance for that information. And I don't want to remember. Lest I meet a terrible fate."

Elsewhere, Beatrix Hecate had just lost Thales again. Or perhaps he had been taken.

She stood in a rare location—a realm inaccessible to most—her hands clenched behind her back.

"I humble myself before the Great Council of Oblivion, as a guest of House Miray. Nihilo ex nihilo. Praise the forgotten rot. I've come to ask you about another guest. Perhaps one not yet entered into the records."

"Halt. Execute your speech, young one."

"We know who you speak of: Thales Miray, of House Miray."

Beatrix stiffened. So they knew already.

"…He's preserved then?"

"Preserved? We cannot say. But in your terms, he is most definitely alive. And as long as he is alive, our dealings with House Miray extend only to that standard."

"We've already sent an Oblivion Blade that aided the boy. I suggest you keep him on a leash."

"…Wait. You don't know where he is?"

"That is not our department. Farewell, Beatrix Hecate. For both our sake, we hope we do not meet again."

Another voice echoed.

"Do not waste our time with diplomatic privileges. We will forget this encounter. But a record has been made."

Beatrix exhaled.

She wasn't sure if she felt relief, or dread.

Oblivion Blade…? That wasn't a guard. That was a weapon. That means...

She paled. And then forced herself not to think too hard.

Thales awoke—or returned.

He had been dragged through somewhere by a figure whose voice was neither clearly male nor female, cloaked in shadow, features unreadable. The fabric they wore shimmered with something like dusk woven into form.

They did not speak much.

Instead, they moved with certainty—across a world unlike any he had seen.

The floor was like fractured obsidian glass—but living. Glowing threads ran like veins between the cracks, soft pulsations of liquid memory moving like thought through neural roots.

It should've disturbed him.

But it didn't.

It felt familiar.

"Where am I?" Thales asked.

The guide did not answer directly.

"You're awake?" they said at last. "You can see the world clearly, I mean?"

"I've been wondering that my whole life."

"No need to get philosophical. We already have a preacher in camp."

"I have a foreign currency," Thales said, half-defensive.

They gave a soft laugh—genderless, ghostly.

"You'll do well here."

They led him past cracked walls and derelict statues—bodies of history, eroded names.

Two bounty posters hung on an old terminal.

The first had no face—just a symbol that blurred when stared at too long.

"Information on the man known as Kaiser of the Underground.

Reward: 3 peta-crystals."

The second was even more cryptic.

"Information on The Lost Legion.

Verified intelligence:

100 million

and ¾ synthesized synaptic crystals for each piece recalled."

Synaptic…? Is that neuroscience? Or some post-memory economy? Thales wondered.

Then the figure turned, and gestured.

"In here."

He was guided into a bar carved into the molten stone, where memory ran like whiskey and every seat was a confession booth.

A void-like presence pressed against his skin.

Thales shivered. It felt like losing your reflection.

His gaze was pulled forward—toward the man at the centre.

No—not a man. Not quite.

A figure sat on a throne of fused memory-shards, their body adorned in a blackened cloak fraying into entropy.

Their mask was half-missing, revealing skin torn like parchment—and beneath it:

Nothing.

"You're not an Oblivion-Walker," the figure said with quiet curiosity. "You feel real."

"I don't feel like I should be here."

"That makes two of us," the figure replied.

They rose slowly.

"I am Sima Carlyle. Kaiser of the Underground. The one who took in the ones this world forgets."

"You may call me Kaiser. Titles are easier to wear than names."

Thales swallowed. His mind was racing.

He remembered the pale attacker—the sudden disappearance—the time loop.

"Why am I here?"

"We don't take strays without purpose," Sima said. "Tell me: What's your name?"

Thales hesitated.

He remembered Beatrix's warnings. The fragility of identity. The price of being known.

"…Zagreus," he said.

The lie settled strangely. But it felt real enough to pass.

"Zagreus. Beautiful name, son."

Sima tilted his head, and his shadow contorted like a liquid stain.

"Do you have a father?"

"Yes."

"Surname?"

"We're foreign. You wouldn't know it."

"Well covered," the Kaiser nodded.

"You were targeted by state-run agents. That means you either possess paradoxical memories—or you are the paradox."

"I'm in a time loop."

"Do you understand the trigger?"

"Yes. But it's best I don't tell you."

Sima laughed.

"Wise. Memory is leverage."

"You'll find that around here, value isn't measured in gold, or fame."

"It's measured in crystallized remembrance."

"The higher the Time you can hold—the greater your status."

"And the most vile manifestation of this injustice is the Eternal Records."

"I was once rich," he continued, "once powerful. Then I was… edited."

"Now I rule from the cracks."

Thales nodded cautiously.

"If it's survival you want—join our Legion's Grand Purge. We fight for the forgotten. Not the righteous."

"I'll think about it."

"We're not a cult," Sima smirked. "You'll have time."

He gestured to a boy seated nearby—drinking something silvery from a shattered goblet.

"That's Wolfgang Kael."

"He looks young. But don't be fooled."

"He's the only one brave enough to keep his face. The others wore theirs too long."

"And he's loyal. Violent. And very... very hungry."

Thales shuddered, recalling the monster that had saved—and devoured—on his behalf.

"Thank you, Kaiser."

"When you leave," Sima said, "don't take the normal route."

"Walk into the stream. The memorystream. You'll lose something."

"But if you remember what you lose... you'll always be able to return."

"Not all who leave do."

"I hope we speak again, Zagreus. Or perhaps we already have."

Thales walked to the edge.

Watched the current pulse—glowing, humming.

Then—without hesitation—

He jumped into oblivion.