Fragments of the Forgotten
By Dipendra Upadhayay
Prologue
The whispers of forgotten tales floated in the wind like scattered ash.
Deep within the heart of an ancient city, beneath layers of stone and time,
lay a vault no one dared to enter. It was called the Sanctum of the
Forgotten, a place rumored to house fragments of memories long erased
from existence. For centuries, its keepers had been mere shadows,
invisible to the world yet weaving its fate.
What happens to the stories the world chooses to forget? Where do lost
moments go? Few knew, and fewer dared to ask. But for Aelric Venn, a
historian disillusioned with his craft, the vault was no legend. It was his
last chance to uncover the truth—and himself.
Chapter One: The Invitation
Aelric Venn lived in the dust of forgotten knowledge. His home, a modest
chamber above the Hall of Records, was stacked high with tomes no one
read anymore. The people of Falrith had little use for the past; the future
was all they cared about. Aelric, however, found solace in the remnants of
yesteryears, searching for meaning in faded ink and crumbling
parchment.
One stormy evening, as lightning illuminated the cobblestone streets, a
courier knocked on his door. The messenger handed him a sealed
envelope bearing a peculiar sigil: an hourglass shattered at its center.
“From the Archiver of the Forgotten,” the courier said, vanishing into the
night.
Aelric’s hands trembled as he broke the seal. The letter was brief but
compelling:
To Aelric Venn, Keeper of Histories,
The vault stirs. Forgotten truths call for a witness. Meet at the Obsidian
Spire at dawn.
Chapter Two: The Obsidian Spire
The Obsidian Spire was a relic from a bygone era, a towering monument
of black stone that loomed over the city like a watchful sentinel. Few
dared approach it, for it was said to hum with the sorrow of forgotten
voices.
At dawn, Aelric stood at its base, clutching the letter tightly. A hooded
figure emerged from the shadows, their voice low and commanding.
“You’ve come. The vault has chosen you.”
“Chosen me for what?” Aelric asked, his voice steady despite the unease
crawling up his spine.
“To bear witness to what must not be lost,” the figure replied. “Follow
me.”
As they entered the Spire, Aelric felt an unnatural pull, as if the very air
inside was alive. The figure led him down a spiral staircase into a chamber
where shards of glowing light floated in suspended animation.
“These are fragments of the forgotten,” the figure explained. “Memories
erased from history, sealed here to protect or punish. Your task is to
uncover the truths they hold.”
Chapter Three: The First Fragment
Aelfricreached out hesitantly, his hand brushing against one of the
glowing shards. Instantly, his vision blurred, and he was transported into a
memory not his own.
He stood in a vibrant marketplace, the air filled with laughter and music.
But beneath the surface, something felt wrong. A child’s cry pierced the
air, and the scene shifted to chaos as soldiers stormed the square,
silencing voices and burning artifacts. This was no ordinary memory—it
was an event erased from Falrith’s official records.
When Aelric emerged from the fragment, his heart pounded with the
weight of the forgotten truth.
“Why was this memory erased?” he demanded.
“Not all truths are safe,” the hooded figure replied. “Your journey is to
decide which ones are worth remembering.”
Chapter Four: The Burden of Truth
As Aelric delved into more fragments, he uncovered a pattern: a history of
suppression, of rulers manipulating the past to control the future. The
vault’s keepers had long argued about their role—to preserve the truth or
protect the world from it.
But the more Aelric saw, the more he realized that forgetting came at a
cost. Each erased memory left behind a scar on the collective
consciousness, a void that festered into unrest.
The hooded figure revealed themselves to be Lyara, a former historian
who had once tried to expose the truth but failed. Together, they faced a
decision: release the fragments and risk chaos or keep them hidden and
let the world continue in blissful ignorance.
Epilogue
Aelric stood before the vault, its doors open wide. Behind him, the city
slept, unaware of the storm about to break. He held a single shard in his
hand, its light pulsating with the weight of a thousand forgotten voices.
“The truth cannot stay buried forever,” he whispered, releasing the
fragment into the air. As it ascended, the vault began to hum, its contents
spilling forth like a river breaking through a dam.
The past had returned, and the world would never be the same.
