Whispers of the Forgotten

Echoes Beneath the Silence

The wind moved strangely through the ruins of Vareth. Not with the sharp whistle of winter or the warm sigh of summer, but with a hushed, almost reverent tone—like it feared to speak too loudly. Moss-covered stones, shattered archways, and broken spires stood as solemn witnesses to a world long gone. Nature had reclaimed what man had forsaken, but something else lingered—something older than the forest and darker than the shadowed skies above.

The Map That Shouldn’t Exist

Kaelen had found the map in a book that didn’t belong in any library. Bound in cracked black leather and hidden between volumes of forgotten poetry, the book practically hummed with a presence he couldn’t explain. The map within was drawn in red ink, impossibly detailed, and marked with a single word: *Vareth*. Every scholar he spoke to swore the place was legend, a fable meant to scare children or lure foolhardy adventurers. But Kaelen had seen the patterns in his dreams. Whispers in the night, impossible symbols flickering in candle flames—something was calling him, and it had never been so clear.

Crossing the Threshold

He journeyed for weeks through shifting terrain and silent forests, guided only by the map and the uneasy pull in his chest. The land grew colder the closer he got, and even the birds refused to sing near the city’s edge. When he first laid eyes on the broken walls of Vareth, a chill ran down his spine—not from fear, but from recognition. He’d been here before… not in waking life, but in dreams etched into his memory like scars.

The Hollow Heart of the City

Deeper into the city, Kaelen wandered through shattered marketplaces and collapsed towers, each one bearing marks that defied age and logic—symbols that pulsed faintly, as though breathing beneath the stone. He felt watched, though the streets were silent. Not watched in the usual sense, but studied. The way one might observe an experiment and wait patiently for the reaction to unfold. Something beneath the city, behind the walls of time, was aware of him.

The Murmuring Vault

He found the entrance beneath the broken spire of what once might have been a temple. The stairs spiraled down into the earth, impossibly deep, the air growing colder and heavier with every step. His lantern flickered even though there was no wind. And then—he heard it. A whisper, soft and splintered, not in any language he recognized, but full of meaning nonetheless. It didn’t come from ahead or behind but from everywhere at once. The vault opened into a chamber that defied explanation—walls curved in unnatural angles, carvings that shifted when not watched directly, and in the center, a dais with a black stone shard hovering inches above the ground.

The Forbidden Stone

Kaelen approached the shard slowly, breath shallow, heart pounding. The closer he came, the more the whispering intensified—layered voices, some frantic, some pleading, others laughing with cruel delight. He reached out, and as his fingers brushed the surface, the voices stopped. Silence fell like a guillotine. Then came a single voice, clear and piercing, echoing in the cavern of his skull:

You have been chosen to remember what should be forgotten.

The chamber erupted in visions. A city not ruined, but thriving—towers of crystal, skies filled with floating lights, people walking with purpose and pride. But beneath the beauty was rot. Horrors veiled in magic, experiments on minds and souls, the shattering of natural laws. Vareth had been a beacon, yes—but one that blinded the world with its arrogance. The stone was not a relic, but a prison, containing what should never be free.

The Choice He Never Had

Kaelen stumbled back, clutching his head. Blood dripped from his nose, and the shard pulsed with dark light. He realized now why the city had been erased from maps, why its name was spoken only in myths—it had to be forgotten. Not out of spite or fear, but necessity. Knowledge wasn’t always power. Sometimes, it was poison. But it was too late. The whispering had returned, louder now, outside the vault, outside his mind.

He tried to flee the chamber, but the path twisted behind him. The ruins of Vareth were alive, reshaping themselves with every choice he made. He was no longer an intruder, but part of its design. The moment he touched the shard, the city began to awaken.

The Sleeper Stirs

Storm clouds rolled over the horizon. Far beyond the ruined walls, the world stirred uneasily. People in distant lands shivered without knowing why. Dreams grew darker. Nightmares turned prophetic. The balance that had been held in place for centuries had begun to shift. The thing imprisoned beneath Vareth—the true heart of the city—stirred in its slumber.

And Kaelen? He wandered still, a vessel filled with memories not his own, whispering secrets to no one. The forest grew thicker around the city, as if trying to cage it again, but the damage had already been done.

Whispers of the Forgotten

They say that on moonless nights, the wind carries voices from the north. Whispers that curl around the ears of children and madmen. Most dismiss them as wind tricks or old folklore. But some listen. Some follow the sound. And some, like Kaelen, never return.

Because some secrets were never meant to be uncovered.