The transition from the Citadel to the Forgotten Plains was not instantaneous—it was a plunge, a descent into something that felt less like a place and more like an unravelling of time and space itself.
Thales's sigil burned brighter as they moved, its chaotic energy thrumming in sync with the distortion around him.
When they arrived, Velara Nost stood before him, her fragmented robe catching faint glimmers of the spectral horizon. The Plains stretched out like a broken mirror, shards of ruins scattered across an ashen landscape. Rivers of liquid memory flowed in jagged, unnatural patterns, their molten glow illuminating figures drifting aimlessly—spectres of what once was.
"This," Velara said, her voice soft but commanding, "is where memory comes to die. The Forgotten Plains are no place for the faint-hearted. Yet here you are, Miray, clinging to your defiance. I wonder—will it carry you through, or will the Plains claim you?"
Thales met her gaze; his jaw set in determination.
"I didn't come here to be claimed."
A flicker of amusement crossed her veiled face.
"Spoken like one who hasn't yet faced the weight of oblivion."
Velara gestured to the ruins in the distance, their edges blurred by the chaotic flux of the Plains.
"Your task begins there. The Mnemonics cling to a stronghold within those ruins—a desperate attempt to preserve what should be forgotten. You will dismantle their defences and prove your loyalty to the Legion."
Thales hesitated, the weight of her words settling over him.
"And if I don't?"
Velara's robe flickered with a faint, ominous light.
"Then you will join the names etched into these Plains. Forgotten, like so many before you."
As Thales, with a dark calling, strode through the Plains toward the stronghold, he almost felt his own suppressed memories burst out of the swamp like broken frogs of thought, with a terrible croak.
He walked as his head pounded, as if abyssal chains were desperately trying to escape his Umwelt.
He saw the very landscape twisting, beckoning him forward and testing his resolve—but after what he had lived through—his original trials of the Verdant Nectare, the Labyrinth of Echoes, and most recently, the Spire—a mere living trail could not torment him.
He soon arrived.
The ruins of the Mnemonic stronghold rose like jagged teeth from the fractured landscape. Velara's presence lingered as Thales approached the entrance, her words echoing faintly in his mind:
Memory is a weight you must learn to bear—or let go.
The moment Thales crossed the threshold, the world around him shifted. The ruins dissolved into swirling fragments, reshaping into a labyrinth of shadow and light.
The walls were insubstantial, flickering with fragments of memory—some familiar, others foreign. Each step he took seemed to stretch time, his Umwelt straining to keep up with the labyrinth's ever-changing form.
As he moved deeper into the labyrinth, the walls flickered with faint images. His Umwelt strained against the chaotic distortions, but even it could not fully shield him from what came next.
The first figure emerged from the shadows—a woman with an air of quiet wisdom, her gaze reflective, as though she could see infinite timelines unfolding within.
It was Aletheia, her presence radiating a familiar warmth now tinged with accusation.
"You betrayed us," she said, her voice steady yet cutting.
"After everything I taught you, everything we fought for—you chose them." Her gaze bore into him, unyielding.
"Do you even know who you are anymore?"
Thales froze, the weight of her words pulling at him.
"You're not real," he said, though his voice wavered.
"This is just another trick."
Aletheia stepped closer, her form flickering like a candle in the wind.
"And what if I am? Does it make my words any less true? You've abandoned everything, Thales. You're no better than the chaos you claim to resist."
Before he could respond, her form dissolved—replaced by another figure.
A younger woman, with fierce determination in her eyes. Hypatia, her stance protective yet tinged with sorrow, gazed at him as if searching for an answer.
"Why did you leave us?" Hypatia asked, her voice trembling.
"We needed you. I needed you. And you just… walked away."
Thales clenched his fists, his Umwelt sparking faintly as he tried to ground himself in the present.
"You're not real. Hypatia would never—"
"Never what?" she interrupted, stepping forward.
"Never doubt you? Never feel abandoned? Tell me, Thales—did you even think about us when you chose to follow the Legion?"
The walls of the labyrinth shifted violently, the flickering images of Aletheia and Hypatia merging into a swirling vortex of fragmented memories.
Thales staggered, the sigil on his chest flaring as it fought against the pull of the illusions.
"I didn't choose this," Thales muttered, his voice barely audible.
"I didn't…"
The vortex collapsed, leaving him gasping for air in the centre of the labyrinth.
The crystalline shard hovered before him, pulsing faintly.
As he reached out to touch it, Velara's voice echoed in the void:
"Well done, Miray. But the truth you seek will demand more than defiance."
The labyrinth grew darker and colder as Thales pressed on. The walls around him shifted into jagged edges that reflected distorted versions of himself.
His Umwelt flickered erratically, struggling to keep pace with the instability of the labyrinth.
Then, from the shadows, two figures emerged.
The first stood atop a crumbling throne made of shattered memories and fractured timelines. His armour was sleek and dark, his eyes burning with chaotic light. The Conqueror—a version of Thales who had embraced chaos fully—regarded him with a sneer.
Around him, his Umwelt swirled like a storm, a vortex of destruction that devoured everything it touched.
"Look at you," the Conqueror said, voice dripping with disdain.
"Still clinging to meaning, to purpose. Do you not see? Power is its own truth. Chaos has no need for chains, no need for memory. Forget them all. Obliteration is the only truth."
Before Thales could respond, the second figure stepped forward.
Clad in tattered robes and bearing the weight of countless glowing fragments suspended around him. The Preserver—a version of Thales who had devoted himself to the Mnemonics—stared at him with weary eyes.
"And what will power leave you with?" the Preserver countered, voice heavy with sorrow.
"An empty world. A graveyard of ash and silence. What are you without memory, without purpose? Nothing. A ghost."
The Conqueror laughed, the sound sharp and cutting.
"A ghost is better than a slave. Memory binds you, Miray. It keeps you shackled to pain, to weakness. Burn it all, and you'll be free."
The Preserver shook his head, expression grim.
"Freedom without meaning is no freedom at all. Chaos will consume you. And when it does, you'll be nothing but a husk—forgotten even by yourself."
Thales felt the weight of their words pressing down on him. His sigil flared, his Umwelt struggling to stabilize.
He stepped forward, his voice steady despite the storm raging around him.
"You're both wrong," Thales said, his gaze shifting between them.
"I'm not a conqueror. I'm not a preserver. I'm neither of you."
The Conqueror's sneer deepened, his Umwelt surging outward in defiance.
"Then what are you? A coward who stands in the middle, afraid to choose?"
The Preserver's fragments flickered, his expression softening with pity.
"Or a fool who thinks he can hold onto both memory and chaos without breaking?"
Thales's Umwelt sparked with clarity, cutting through the suffocating pressure of the labyrinth.
"I'll find my own path. One that isn't bound by destruction or preservation."
The labyrinth trembled violently as his words echoed through the space. The walls cracked, the illusions shattering like glass.
The Conqueror dissolved into ash, his final words a venomous whisper:
"We'll see, Miray. We'll see."
The Preserver faded into light, his voice lingering like a faint echo:
"Then make your path worth remembering."
Thales stood alone in the centre of the labyrinth, the air thick with silence.
Before him hovered a crystalline shard, its faint light pulsing rhythmically. He reached out, his fingers brushing against its surface.
The shard flared brightly.
And in an instant, the labyrinth collapsed, leaving him standing amidst the ruins of the Forgotten Plains.
Velara's voice echoed faintly, her tone laced with something akin to amusement.
"Well done, Miray. But the Plains are far from finished with you."