The storm had ceased, but Lengaza could still feel its remnants in the air, its pulse beneath the earth, thrumming like a heartbeat—unnatural and constant.
He stood at the heart of the ruins of the village, his chest tight, his mind a whirlwind of fractured memories. The obelisk towered before him, its dark stone unsettling and ominous. Its markings—those same alien symbols that kept appearing in his visions—were glowing faintly in the moonlight, as though the very earth beneath his feet was awakening to something far older than him.
Nyra stood a few steps away, her eyes locked onto the obelisk. The silence between them stretched on, heavy and thick, like a secret waiting to be unearthed.
Lengaza broke the silence.
"What happened here, Nyra? I don't even know where to start. I keep seeing flashes of it—the village, this place… but it feels like a nightmare."
Nyra's voice was quieter now, distant, her tone almost regretful. She walked toward the obelisk and knelt beside it, fingers brushing against the symbols.
"This is where it all began," she murmured, almost to herself. "Before they erased you… this was meant to be your starting point. But they—they twisted it, Lengaza. They twisted everything."
Lengaza stepped closer, his breath shallow, his mind racing with more questions than answers.
"Who are 'they'? And why am I here? Why did I wake up with nothing—no past, no memories?"
Nyra turned to face him, her eyes searching his face as if weighing whether to reveal more. The weight of unspoken truth was visible in her eyes.
"They were the ones who sought to control what you were supposed to become. They shaped you into a weapon—a tool for their agenda. But you were never meant to be that. You were... something else entirely."
Lengaza's pulse quickened.
"Something else? What does that even mean?"
Nyra straightened, her face drawn with quiet sorrow. She paused for a moment, her eyes flickering to the village ruins, as though contemplating whether to reveal something deeper, something that could fracture everything Lengaza thought he knew about himself.
"I wasn't the only one who tried to protect you, Lengaza," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "There were others... others like you. They tried to stop the people who erased you. But the world wasn't ready for that kind of truth."
The wind shifted, and Lengaza's mind began to race. He felt the weight of something pressing on him—the truth was right there, just beyond reach, yet every time he reached for it, it slipped away.
"What happened to them?" he asked, his voice tight with fear. "Where are they?"
Nyra's eyes darkened.
"Gone. One by one. The ones who knew the truth. They disappeared, erased just like the rest. And you—" She paused, swallowing hard, "You were meant to be the last. The one who could change it all. But they thought they could control you. Control your memories. And so they erased everything."
Lengaza felt the ground beneath him tremble. His chest tightened, the weight of the past crashing down on him. The Collector's words echoed in his mind.
"You were never supposed to remember…"
A distant cry echoed through the village. It was a sound like a low hum vibrating through his bones. Lengaza's eyes snapped open, and he turned to look at the ruins. He could see a faint figure in the distance, standing near what remained of the village gates.
"No…" Nyra whispered, her voice a warning. "It's happening again."
The figure—shadowed and indistinct—moved closer, walking with purpose toward them. Lengaza's heart raced as he tried to make sense of what was happening. It was like déjà vu. Like something was unfolding again, repeating itself.
Suddenly, the ground shifted. The earth beneath their feet cracked and trembled, the obelisk glowing brighter, sending a pulse of energy that knocked them both off their feet.
The figure revealed itself.
A tall, dark figure cloaked in shadows, its features hidden beneath a hood, standing at the edge of the ruin. It was neither human nor beast—something else. Something beyond.
The figure's voice was deep, a gravelly echo that seemed to reverberate from every corner of the village.
"Lengaza," it intoned, the name sounding almost ceremonial. "Do you finally understand? You were never meant to be a simple man."
Lengaza stood shakily, his mind still racing. His hand instinctively reached for the pulse of energy inside him, the same power that had burned through the storm, the power that surged when he faced the Collector.
"What do you want from me?" Lengaza demanded, his voice steadier now. "What are you?"
The figure stepped forward, its presence filling the air like a storm. The ground trembled beneath it.
"I am the Keeper of Lost Realms. I have watched over this place for eons. I am the one who sealed the truth beneath the earth. But you—you are the one who will break the seal."
Lengaza's pulse raced. "Break the seal?"
The Keeper's head tilted, as if considering him.
"Yes. You hold the key, Lengaza. You are the one who will unlock the truth. And when you do—when you reach that place—they will return. But be warned…" The Keeper's voice darkened. "The truth breaks everything. There will be no turning back."
Lengaza's vision blurred. He felt himself pulled toward the Keeper, drawn into the dark energy that swirled around the figure.
For a moment, he heard a voice—a voice he didn't recognize, calling out to him.
"Don't do it, Lengaza…"
He turned to find Nyra, her face a mask of concern, her eyes filled with something between fear and hope.
"You don't have to do this," she whispered, taking a step forward. "You don't have to face the truth yet. You're not ready."
But it was too late.
The Keeper raised its hand, and Lengaza felt the world shift around him. The air became thick, heavy with ancient power. He could feel the pulse of something rising beneath his feet, rising up from the ruins, from the place of forgotten memories.
The truth was close. And nothing would ever be the same again.