Those who remember

The evening falls heavy over Narrowridge.

It's not just dark it's thick, like dusk is being poured over the rooftops. Lamps flicker without wind. The cobbles seem to absorb sound. A dog barks once, then stops mid-howl.

People walk faster.

Not hurried just… anxious. Like something behind them is catching up.

When I reach my street, it doesn't feel like mine.

Same doors. Same cracked archway. Same iron gutter that drips even when it doesn't rain.

But the air's changed. The space between steps feels longer. My Fragment pulses not warning, not afraid. Almost… eager.

Someone waits at my door.

Still as shadow. A tall figure, wrapped in smoke dark fabric. Their face is hidden behind a veil not like the Veilbound, no cracked porcelain or mirrored glass. Just cloth. Soft. Quiet.

They kneel.

And with one gloved finger, trace a line in the ash that clings to the doorstep.

A circle, split by a single stroke.

The same symbol carved beneath the bone figurine.

The same shape burned in memory.

They look up. No words.

Then slowly deliberately they point:

To me.

Then to my chest.

To the Fragment.

A whisper follows, not their voice, but mine, echoed oddly:

"You opened it."

Then they speak, so softly I almost miss it:

"Now some will remember you."

They stand. Walk past me without a sound. By the time I turn, they're already gone vanished into fog that wasn't there a moment before.

That night, I try to sleep.

But it's not me dreaming.

The city dreams through me.

Stone shifts. Buildings uncurl like old roots stretching. I see the bones of Narrowridge: older streets, vanished squares, fires never put out. I walk through a market made of echo. Names hung in the air like smoke.

And everywhere them.

The Veilbound.

But not the ones I've seen. These wear faces. Still whole. Still becoming. One stares at me with wide, wet eyes and asks:

"Did it change you too?"

I wake in the half-light.

Not morning. Not night.

The room is colder than it should be. The air smells faintly of bone dust and ink.

Then I see it.

On the windowsill.

The figurine.

The bone bird I left beneath the stone chamber.

Or something like it.

It stands silent. Still missing its right eye.

From the hollow, a thin wisp of mist spills coiling downward in slow spirals. It spreads across the floor, forming shapes.

Symbols.

I recognize them.

From the Scribe Arch. From Oldroot. From dreams.

I don't move.

Because it's not a vision. It's not a memory.

It's contact.

The Fragment in my chest stirs. Not in fear in response.

Like it recognizes what the bird is showing me.

Like it's glad.

This isn't about witnessing anymore.

I'm not outside this.

The Fragment is echoing through me. And others feel it.

I sit, staring at the figurine until the mist fades and the symbols vanish.

And in the quiet, a name enters my mind.

Not spoken aloud.

Not mine.

But I remember it.

"Some will remember you."

I need to see Ena Varis again.

But this time,

I won't just be asking questions.

I might be one.