Prophecy of Reflective Memories

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

In Cirmol, a city where mourning bells toll, no one even noticed. Their queen, beloved by her people and guardian of the ancient seals, had vanished—her existence removed from the minds of those under the bells’ sway.

But here, in Ul’tin, the remote lands where the River of Reflection meets the dark woods, her absence was. Here, the ground itself seemed to exhale, stretching from a century-long slumber, gentle hills and glades askew as though reality had trembled.

Devin felt it too—the shifting of winds. Rising before dawn, he leaned against the door frame, staring across the glade, an unease gnawing at his spine. His wife, Bria, lay peacefully behind him, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Sipping his coffee, his mind filled with images, moments from their wedding by the river. Her laughter mimicked the playful ripples as the sunlight danced across glittering waters. He smiled again before placing his cup on the table and stepping into the morning’s rays. As beautiful as the morning was, an ominous silence shaded the plain.

Something was off about the river. Sprites no longer flitted about, and frogs had ceased their jovial chirping. Even birds’ warblings were absent. Devin Galis’s home stood not far from the river but was set back enough to provide fair warning in case of flood. However, the river had not flooded in over a century—not since the late King Bulfe took Queen Reina to wed. It was said that their union sealed the waters for all eternity. Devin chuckled at the thought. Indeed, that was what the masses were informed, but he knew differently.

Reaching the riverbank, he froze. Thoughts and memories flickered, slipping like sand through his fingers. The river… it was wrong. Kneeling in incredulity, he watched.

Was the water running backwards? No, that couldn’t be—that was silly. Or was it?

Devin placed a hand in the river, splaying his fingers to catch any loose flotsam. As he did, reeds and silt, normally dragged down to the sandbars in Trolbin a few miles away, slowly built a dam across his fingers. It couldn’t be real, could it? The river—his river—couldn’t betray him like this. And yet, as the silt built up across his fingers, he knew better. He had been raised with stories of strange happenings in times of upheaval, yet he had never truly believed them. Now, they were breathing down his neck.

As dawn finally broke, the fact was undeniable: the river was running backwards. That once-gnawing ache in his spine surged forth, a flash-freeze of emotion and memories attacking his mind. Only once in the Scrolls of Clezan—historical tomes of his ancestry—had such an event been mentioned: the Prophecies of the Sea Reaper. Hidden from modern historic channels, this was known only to his family, the Guardians of the River of Reflection.

A prophecy tied to a creature so vile, so dangerous, it had to be separated into pieces to seal.

And with the Queen now gone…

The Scrolls’ warning had been cryptic:

When the river flows against the grain, the memories of the many now lost again.

When the river’s flow becomes dead as night, then comes the blood, debts paid by rite.

Devin had studied enough to know at least part of its meaning.

Ixiros, the Devourer of Memory, had been released.

Devin’s stomach twisted as he turned back toward his cabin. Tucked among the oaks and sycamores, shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally now. As he approached his door, the shadows formed a figure, silent, devoid of light, lingering as if one with the darkness. But after a few quick blinks, it was gone.

“Devin?” Bria’s voice sounded faint, like a whisper carried from some other town on the winds. He stepped into their room, hand instinctively reaching toward her side of the bed. The warmth was there—her warmth—but her rhythmic breaths were missing. Drawing back, a deep, viscous crimson tainted the tips of his fingers.

A whisper of the prophecy buzzed in his ear.

“…then comes the blood, debts paid by rite.”

Eyes wide with horror, he staggered closer, his gaze darting to the half-open closet door. A voice drifted from within, ominous and duplicitous, as though spoken from the depths of some ancient abyss.

“We have returned. We have found you. We will find the others. We will have what is ours.”

The doors burst from their hinges, flying across the room as the miasma of some unknown entity filled the space. In seconds, the room was filled with laughter and darkness, and then it was gone. With the summer sun’s rays now reaching the nooks of the small cabin’s corners, Devin fell to his knees, fingers still steeped in Bria’s blood.

The words and laughter seeped into his bones. He tried to think, but to no avail. He grasped desperately at thoughts of Bria, her smile, her voice, but each slipped away, leaving only shadowy echoes. It was as if Ixiros was reaching into his mind, prying away everything dear to him, piece by piece. Suddenly a memory, faint at first, then blossoming from the rote repetition of his youthful training with his father. He remembered tales of Ixiros, the Devourer of Memory—a creature sealed by the Galis bloodline centuries ago. Devin attempted to stand, fingertips staining what remained pure of the white sheets.

The river flowed backwards, which meant the Queen was no longer with them, and though merely a specter, a monster had been freed. In his anger, Devin felt the memories of his loving Bria stripped from him, her laughter contorting into wails of agony.

Converg Latimus. A single phrase fought its way through the multitude of murderous intent vying for his attention. What little of his memory still functioned through the frustration and rage, he tried to focus on the annals of history surrounding the phrase. It was a place where the world’s five rivers converged. Where the seals’ origin began.

He could feel the emptiness tightening, memories tearing away as he clung to what little he could still recall. But he couldn’t stop, not here—not while the world awaited the return of monsters they’d long forgotten.

Looking down, he scooped Bria’s limp frame, holding her one last time.

“No more.”

With tears, he headed toward the door.

“No more.”