"There are places that heal.
And others… that erase."
Lengaza walked into town as he did every week, but something was different this time. The bakery still stood. The clock tower still rang. Children still played near the fountain. But when he passed by the fruit seller—old man Goro—something twisted in his chest.
"Back again, young man?" Goro asked kindly, wiping his hands.
"First time seeing you around here."
Lengaza froze.
"You say that every time."
Goro laughed. "Do I? Guess my memory's slipping."
Lengaza's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
It wasn't Goro's fault. No one ever remembered him for more than a day. Not even the kind ones.
He stopped at the bookstore next. Pages smelled of ink and time. The lady behind the counter, Miss Leira, was humming softly to herself.
"Oh! Hello there," she said cheerfully. "Looking for something specific?"
Lengaza stared at her, puzzled.
"You lent me a book yesterday. About ancient voices. It had a silver feather on the cover."
She tilted her head.
"I've never seen you before."
Of course.
The town reset itself.
Memories here were like sand in a storm.
They blew away too fast to hold.
But Lengaza—he remembered.
And that was the curse.
Later that evening, he sat at the edge of the field again. Wind brushed past like an old friend too tired to stay. His eyes stared at the sky, but his heart listened underground.
"This town," he whispered, "it forgets everything."
"Not everything," came a voice.
He turned sharply.
It was a boy this time.
Not much older than him.
Ragged clothes, a wooden slingshot at his side, and eyes that shimmered like lakewater under moonlight.
"Who are you?" Lengaza asked.
"You forgot me already?" the boy grinned. "Good. Means it's working."
"What's working?"
"This place. This curse. This protection. Whatever you want to call it."
Lengaza frowned. "You're saying it's meant to be like this?"
"Not everything broken is a mistake," the boy said. "Some things are broken on purpose—to hide them."
Lengaza stared. "Hide what?"
The boy pointed behind him.
At the sky.
At the cracks in it.
They weren't clouds. They were fractures—barely visible in daylight.
"You're waking up," the boy whispered. "And that means they'll come soon."
"Who?"
"The ones who don't forget."
Lengaza's breath hitched.
"What do I do?"
"Find her," the boy said, fading like a memory slipping through fingers.
"Find Nyra before the reset becomes permanent."
Lengaza blinked—and the boy was gone.
Only the slingshot remained in the grass.
And above him…
a silver feather floated down from the sky.