Town of the Forgotten

The snow didn't fall gently during White Winter—it came sideways, driven by a biting wind that scraped like wire. The ridgeline was as open as it could get, curving around the shoulder of the mountain and offering no cover from the relentless gusts.

Luciel walked in silence. Each step was careful and measured. Slipping here wouldn't mean just injury—it would mean vanishing into oblivion.

Loose, snow-dusted stone and brittle grass made the path increasingly treacherous, but Luciel pressed forward without pause, his footing adjusted with exact precision.

The flame pulsed faintly, coiled beneath his skin as if it was watching the wonders of the Outlands with him. It didn't offer much help or comfort. But at least it made the cold tolerable. The puffer jacket even seemed unnecessary now.

A few hours passed just like that. Eventually, the ridge narrowed, and hollowed trees began to appear. They looked twisted and unsettling—the bark peeled and blackened, while the leaves burned to a crisp and turned purple.

It was a classic sign of Hollow corruption. That meant Aurelleth was within reach.

One of the main reasons he hadn't visited Aurelleth was because of Hollow corruption. He was only a mortal back then and not a Resonator. One whiff of its mist and his soul would have been evaporated.

Luciel continued the path for fifteen minutes before the slope finally began to drop.

Below, in the hollow between the mountains, was a basin. And there, Aurelleth waited solemnly.

From his vantage point, he could see almost the entire valley basin below, where the rotting remains of Aurelleth were scattered under a layer of snow.

Tree roots slithered between the cracks of the concrete pavement. Rusted signs dangled by a single bolt. Wells covered by blackened moss. Collapsed homes sat like shattered ribs. The town square was nothing but a hollow of cracked stone and darkened mud. The crops in the farmland twisted unnaturally like veins in a deceased body.

Luciel took it all in, solemn eyes moving without pause, quiet and meticulous.

He spotted the remnants of the town hall, the tattered banner still clung to the front. The collapsed arch that marked the school's entrance. Even what might've been his own house, now half-buried beneath frozen debris.

There wasn't a body anymore. Just silence.

What had once been the most prosperous town in the Outlands now remained only a remnant of its glory. That nostalgic feeling tugged at his chest with a dull ache—but it wasn't grief nor warmth. Just fragmented memory trying to swim its way up.

Luciel stood there for a while, letting the image of Aurelleth settle into him. The longer he stared, the more unreal it all seemed. Time hadn't just passed here but decayed, thoroughly and ruthlessly. And yet the flame inside him pulsed wildly, as if it had been waiting for this moment longer than he had.

But then his eyes noticed a faint shimmer in the heart of the town, warping the air and pulsing inward.

'So you never closed, huh? Figures.'

His lips pressed together. Of course it hadn't.

The same Distortion that tore Aurelleth apart still lingered and feeding on its remains.

The pulse in his chest wasn't from fear. The flame had been swirling in his soul, rejecting the deep corruption of this land.

Years of accumulation had made the air extremely unstable and twisted. Even rookie Resonants would've found it hard to breathe, let alone Dormants.

Luciel then began his descent.

The slope was precarious. Half-snow, half-black frost cracked beneath his boots.

The closer he came to the heart, the more distorted the air became. The ripple in the center was swelling and pulsing like a heart of a demon. The flame pulsed faster as the thick Hollow Energy pressed against his soul.

Soon as he entered the outskirts, he slowed down, low hums from the air pressure buzzing at the base of his ears.

His objective was to close off the Distortion, and to do so, he needed to find its tether to cut off its connection to Arkheim.

Every Distortion was anchored by one—an invisible root driven straight into the soul of the land. Most Resonators wouldn't be able to see because a tether didn't manifest physically—it took a spiritual form.

Normally, Resonators would be trained to close off Distortions using technology or brute force on the tether, but Luciel hadn't had any formal education on how to even find it. All he knew was that the closer you get to the tether, the heavier and more erratic your Echo Essence felt.

Maybe his flame would react as well.

'A blind goose chase, huh.'

He quietly passed the remains of the old bakery, then a garden fence splintered in half and covered by black snow.

'Oh... this place.'

He remembered the scene.

This was where Mira's family used to hang laundry on strings. Every day he'd visit her porch, lingering just long enough to catch the scent of burnt sugar from the bakery.

It was just an ordinary memory, but it felt precious. Yet he'd forgotten that.

Mira, her parents, the old baker with the crooked smile—all gone in a single breath.

No one got to say goodbye to each other. They just swiftly vanished.

Luciel stood still. He knew that if he moved too quickly, he might bury this feeling again.

The flame responded—not with fire, but stillness.

'You want me to remember this, don't you.' He laughed inwardly, hollow and quiet.

His smile then faded. 'Fine.'

And he remembered.

It wasn't out of guilt. It wasn't out of sadness.

But because if he didn't, then no one would.

Suddenly, the Voice echoed through the deafening silence.

[Your flame remembers with you.]

[A Smoldering Cinder settles within your soul.]

Luciel stiffened.

Another Cinder? Again, not from battle but from something quieter. Something the world would've called meaningless.

The stillness lingered longer this time, like the flame wasn't pushing him but just... watching. 

He honestly didn't know how to feel about that. 'So memory counts too?'

The Cinder had settled in his soul. Its weight felt incomparably smaller than the Charred Cinder, but its meaning weighed a thousand times more.

The flame could truly resonate with him. It wasn't just a foreign force—it was familiar, patient, almost like a friend returning to walk beside him again.

He didn't look at his hand. He didn't bother summoning the runes.

He just stood there, watching snow fall through dead branches.

Then—

Crunch.

A soft shift in the snow, but it wasn't his footstep.

Luciel stopped.

The world held still for a beat.

He heard another crunch, behind him this time. It wasn't a normal footstep. It was inhuman weight crushing the soft snow beneath.

Luciel didn't turn around.

He reached for the flame instead—and the flame answered back.