"They were really hiding it—" Marguerite's voice expressed disbelief, almost accusing the air around them, "beneath Solthar's land!?"

  A deep vibration rolled under their feet. The crowd's chatter dimmed into an uneasy silence. Somewhere far below the arena, something stirred. Something so vast like as abyss. The silence from the crowd was split by a deep roar, and it did not belong to anything familiar.

  Marguerite leaned in, her voice barely audible over the echo. "That's not your next opponent, Sol. It's something that shouldn't be anyone's opponent!"

  Another roar shook the air, this time it was closer. The attendants shouted for the crowd to stay, and no one moved. As if under a spell, they remained seated. Marguerite's spell circle flared beneath their feet, and it took all her effort to fight it off. The hazy spell of the chant coiled through the air, and she feared she will be swept away by the waves of hallucinations.

  And deep in Sol's chest, the phantom pull returned. He stepped forward, slipping from Marguerite's grip and she called for him, but she couldn't leave after him.

  "No, Sol! You must resist it!" She reached out for him, but he had escaped their circle of protection beneath their feet.

  "He cannot hear you. Whatever it is; it seems to have marked him," Silvanus added, "That's what I had been worried about. That boy—"

  The bell tolled, signaling the commencing of the next trial. The crowd, completely possessed by the spell beneath the arch, faintly cheered in anticipation.

  "—He is not just anyone."

  The air crackled with tension as Sol stepped into the arena beneath the dome. He carried with him only a gun held in his hand, hood blown off by the angry wind. The gun's surface and runes gleamed, like the resolve within him to resist whatever called for him. Yet, his flicker of a resolve was completely obscured by a daze cast upon by the abyssal-wraith before him.

  The creature waited; it loomed. The thing appeared close to something that was once a human. It's form and limbs too long to compare it to anything normal, joints bent in places they shouldn't, and the torso stretching and contracting like something breathing underwater. It'd skin was slick with a darkness, rippling as if shadows themselves were sentient, crawling all over it and onto the dusty earth.

  A low hum pressed into Sol's skull, almost a voice yet too far from human to be understood.

  The abyss was speaking.

  · ? ·

  The sun was harsh on the eyes. He was not used to of waking in the sun, especially not outdoors. And so he winced, covering his eyes with his palm to get used to the light that threatened to blind him. How strange it was, to feel the presence of the sun, and to feel the warmth cascade onto his skin.

  It took him a while to gather his thoughts. The boy sat up in a rush, heart pounding. What he comes to face with is a grassland. He can see the endless fields, stretching eternally—forever in all directions, and rolling away into a horizon too bright to look at.

  He stood, boots sinking slightly into the soft earth.

  In a distance, lies a path, as if some invisible hand was drawing a line toward him.

  Sol swallowed. His legs moved before he told them to, letting each step carry him closer to the pathway. And so he walked, observing the serene surroundings. It was a place he had never imagined before—he had no memory of waking outdoors either—Sol wondered if he had ever seen the sky so clear before.

  Grass swayed in all directions, stretching to a horizon that shimmered white with brightness. No walls. No alleys. No rooftops blotting out the sky. Only viridescent and blue—endless and alive.

  The sky is so... blue, Sol whispered in his mind. His gaze swept across the emerald fields, lending upon a figure walking towards him. He appeared closer with every step they took to each other. When the stranger was close enough, Sol observed him clearly now.

  The older man smiled as though the sun itself had carved it onto his face like a physcial manifestation of a blessing; so was warm, dazzling, yet utterly strange to the young boy. His light hair was long enough to reach his shoulders, tied together to rest on one of his shoulders, caressed by the gentle hum of the wind.

  "Beautiful day, isn't it?" The man commented, "It feels as if it has been so long since I last saw the sun, or felt the breeze."

  "...Yeah. Too beautiful." His voice caught in his throat, but he forced it out, so vary at the unnatural place before him.

  With a coat thrown over his shoulder, the man began to walk beside the quiet boy.

  "The knights training takes all the will from me."

  Sol glanced at him, brow furrowing. "Training?" Sol repeated, the word was spoken like it was strange on his tongue. Well, everything about the situation was—he felt alien.

  "For the knights of the Church of the Sun. Their training regime is rather… unforgiving," the man said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. "Still, it is a great honor though a heavy one. Protecting others... It is the only fight worth having. Don't you think?" His sigh lingered in the air, but he didn't ask the young boy, exactly.

  Ahead of them, the path widened, and a town rose on the horizon. It's rooftops shimmered like heat-haze. The smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and voices carried faintly through the air with laughter, signaling the soft hum of life.

  Sol slowed, staring with wide eyes, wonder and unease tangling in his chest. "Is... is that home?" he asked, the word on his tongue settled akin to something strange and foreign.

  "Perhaps," the man replied in an unreadable tone, before he tilted his head, signaling Sol to follow. "Come on."

  As they crossed into the main road, voices began to stir nearby. A woman was tending a market stall froze mid-motion. A pair of children chasing each other through the dust skidded to a halt with their eyes widening. Then came the sound alerting Sol mid-step: a call bursting from someone in the crowd that spoke of a strange name.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Alistair!"

  The name hit Sol like a realization. Alistair. The man's name. The one walking beside him.

  The children dashed forward with their faces lit with joy.

  "Alistair's back!" One young boy shouted with glee and admiration. "He's returned!"

  Sol blinked rapidly as he glanced at the man, Alistair, whose smile had softened into something as he patted a little kids head who clung to his legs, greeting the rest of the crowd along.

  "Hero," someone whispered nearby. "Protector of the fields," another mumbled aloud with a fond expression.

  Alistair raised a hand in acknowledgment. It was not boastful, nor prideful, but just present, as if this moment was a duty no less than bearing a shield.

  He tugged gently at Alistair's sleeve. "Why do they... why do they look at you like that?" Sol's voice cracked despite himself. Then he wondered aloud, "Do they... know me too?"

  "No," Alistair replied quietly. "Not yet."

  He stepped forward into the town with the cheers and greetings continuing to rise around him, swallowing Sol in a tide of sound.

  He silently followed. Deeper into the town, the air smelled of bread and smoke and the sharp tang of something he couldn't place. His head throbbed with the effort of remembering, but all he had was a name echoing in his chest, not his own.

  Alistair.

  As they rounded a corner, Sol saw a woman kneeling beside a flower patch by a small cottage. Her hands were dirt-stained, her gray hair tucked into a neat bun. She looked up and smiled. Her gaze stopped on Alistair first, then lingered briefly on Sol as the odd boy no one really was familiar with.

  "Ah! Alistair," she called, voice warm and so welcoming. "And... the young one you walk with?"

  Alistair inclined his head. "Yes. This is Sol. He'll be staying with us a while. Be kind to him as well."

  Sol swallowed, unsure whether to wave, nod, or speak. Alistair knew his name, but he hadn't known the man, exactly… Sol decided to frown.

  The woman chuckled softly.

  "I'm Maria," she introduced herself, "I keep the gardens and the herbs. Welcome, Sol."

  Sol let his gaze drift elsewhere, accompanied with a faint nod, letting his eyes lend on the rows of bright, blooming flowers. The air around them carried an extra sweetness, to suggest that beauty still thrived here by choice. He recognized a few by name, not because he had seen them often, but he had seen them once and remembered them. The small, unassuming, blue enough with a contrasting sunburst in their center were the forget-me-not; a refusal to vanish cleanly, to remain a persistent memory, to linger even, in the heart and the mind.

  As they continued down the street, Alistair pointed out others.

  "That's Bram," he said, gesturing to a burly man stacking crates. "He handles repairs of anything that breaks. Very reliable"

  They passed children playing near the fountain, laughter ringing in the air. "Those are Till and Ozzy," Alistair said. "They've got more energy than anyone I've seen. Keep an eye on them if you want to survive their mischief." He chuckled recalling their antics. Till vaulted the fountain’s edge with recklessness, and the other followed, both laughing to their heart's content.

  "And over there, near the fountain," Alistair continued, "is Granny Lenna. She bakes bread every morning. The tastiest bread you would ever have the honor of eating!"

  "Hello, dear Alistair," she greeted as they got closer, and in a very warm tone rippled through Sol's chest. Something about the way she spoke felt familiar, but the memory slipped away before it could form. "And who is this little one?" Her gaze fell upon Sol.

  "This is Sol," Alistair said. "He'll be staying for a while."

  Sol nodded, unsure how to respond. His voice felt small, swallowed by the warmth of the street.

  "Well, Sol, it's good to see you," Granny Lenna said before turning back to the man, "My daughter is expecting soon. If it's a girl... we've already decided to name her."

  "Is that so?" Alistair smiled as he asked. "What have you decided, Granny?"

  "Lethea."

  The third froze for a moment, staring at the two strangers with wide eyes. "Lethea," he whispered, tasting the familiarity of it.

  Granny Lenna laughed softly. "Yes, my dear. Lethea. Such a beautiful name, isn't it? I hope she grows strong, clever, and kind."

  Sol nodded again, though his mind was whirling. He couldn't place why the name felt so significant, only that it did, as an anchor in the swirl of confusion that surrounded him.

  Alistair gave a small, approving nod. "See, Sol? Even here, names hold power. Remembering them helps the town—" He paused, "and perhaps, yourself."

  Sol swallowed hard.

  "Where are we?"

  Alistair's calm smile never wavered. "Follow me," he simply signalled, and began walking towards a gentle incline at the edge of the town. Sol's boots sank slightly into the soft grass as he followed. His eyes drifted from the cobblestone streets to the cottages with their smoke curling from chimneys, and to the children playing near the fountain. It all looked so alive, so vibrant, so... impossibly normal, so real.

  When they reached the top of the hill, Alistair gestured expansively to the town sprawled below them. "It's a beautiful, peaceful place, isn't it?" He asked that question again.

  Sol let his eyes wander over the town. He felt a strange pang of fondness, a pull in his chest he couldn't explain. "Yeah," he murmured, almost unconsciously, "It's... beautiful." He repeated the same response once more.

  Alistair's gaze softened as he watched Sol. "This is the town of Old Solthar," he said, voice low but clear. "What Solthar is built on."

  Something in Sol's chest lurched violently, and he knelt. The name hit him like a hammer. Solthar. The very syllables reverberated through him, unlocking memories he hadn't realized were buried.

  "They're... gone in the present," Sol gasped. His vision blurred as the sunlight now stabbed at him, mocking his recollections. "All of them... destroyed..."

  Alistair knelt beside him, hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Yes," he said softly, though his expression betrayed no cruelty, only a quiet understanding. "It was never meant to last, Sol. But that doesn't mean the memory dies. You carry it with you."

  He turned back. "I once strived to protect this land. I lost a battle against the Gods, those names that are lost to history, along with the name of my people."

  And yet, in the midst of his despair, the name Lethea whispered in his mind yet again like a tether. Something real he could hold onto.

  Granny Lethea.

  "Tell me, Sol... when the time comes, will you give your everything to protect what you wish to keep?" Hearing this, Sol halted in shock.

  Those words seemed to hang in the air far longer than they should have. The grass no longer swayed in the wind, it bent towards something as if pulled by some invisible tide. It bowed to an entity.

  Sol blinked, and the light shifted. to a deep, arterial red. The sky no longer blue, the town no longer alive. The warmth on his skin was sucked by the cold air around him. Now, Alistair was not talking to him, he was showing Sol.

  He stood several paces ahead now, coat that hung on his shoulders, billowing in a wind Sol couldn't feel. The light in his once blue eyes had hardened, his gaze fixed on something beyond the crest of a hill. His fingers curled tight around his sword hilt, ready to strike.

  From the darkness, shapes stirred to form limbs and too many eyes. The eyes that encircled Alistair did not look at him. Instead, they looked at the boy who stood far.

  They stared at Sol, unblinking.

  "To protect... is to surrender all that you are." It spoke in many voices all at once, because that was no longer Alistair speaking. "Your breath. Your blood. Your name. Your soul."

  The field trembled underfoot and black veins bloomed among the grass, all slithering towards him. Sol ran, but the illusions did not let him escape. The ground wobbled. No matter how hard he drove himself forward, the ground continued to curl under him. As if the entity had decided he would not leave, and the earth beneath bowed at the command.

  The tendrils wrapped around his body to hold him back. Sol threw himself forward with all his effort to break free and he fell. The moment his head hit the ground, the horizon surged forward in a rush of black and the roar of the arena.

  It left Sol gasping, the phantom taste of dirt still on his tongue. The tendrils were holding his body as he resisted, feet firm on the ground.

  "Sol!" He heard Marguerite call, haze slowly, yet finally leaving his mind. Burned away by his resolve to escape.

  "Damn you! Alistair!" He gritted his teeth as he called for the man, attempting to reach for his fallen gun.

  Instead, the abyss replied, "You will give everything."