The city had no name. It never did—at least not anymore.
As Kale and the Outliers crossed the threshold into its ruins, they were met by silence. No voices. No footsteps. No wind. Just long rows of crumbling buildings and people sitting quietly in doorways, blinking slowly as if their thoughts had been scrubbed clean.
Torrin muttered, "Something's wrong with this place. It's too quiet."
Milo, holding tight to Kale's sleeve, whispered, "It's not quiet. It's muted. Like someone turned down the volume on their souls."
They continued deeper. There were no street signs, no shop names, no graffiti. Luma tried speaking to an old man slouched by a collapsed pillar. His eyes were kind but empty.
"Who are you?" she asked gently.
The man blinked slowly. Then, "I… I… used to be…" He frowned. "I don't know."
His voice broke.
Luma's hand trembled. "They've had their names erased."
"Erased how?" Kale asked.
"Not just forgotten," she said. "Ripped out. Like torn pages. It's memory vandalism."
They found a square where dozens sat around a fountain that no longer flowed. Each person wore a thin strip of paper around their wrist—blank. Luma knelt and tried to trace one with her finger. It disintegrated at her touch.
Torrin drew his gun instinctively. "This is the Observer's work, isn't it?"
Luma nodded. "Yes. But he's doing more than killing people. He's unmaking identity. Wiping them out of the timeline and memory."
Kale's Book pulsed. He opened it. The pages began flipping rapidly until stopping on a fresh, glowing line:
> "One name shall be returned."
Kale placed his palm on the page.
A name surfaced: Elaine Thryn.
The moment he spoke it aloud, a woman nearby gasped and clutched her head. Her eyes rolled back, then refocused. Tears flooded her cheeks.
"I remember!" she screamed. "I had a brother! A… violin! I… me!"
Others backed away from her as if she were a fire catching on dry wood. The ripple of awakening didn't spread—but it wanted to.
A low groan echoed through the city. From every corner, nameless guardians emerged—twisted figures made of faded parchment and forgotten ink. They sensed the disturbance.
"They're memory wardens!" Milo cried. "They're meant to stop recoveries!"
Kale slammed the Book shut, and the glow faded.
Torrin fired. Luma cast a net of glyphs to distort the attackers' perception. Milo tugged Kale through crumbling alleyways until they burst through a shattered archway that shimmered like glass.
They tumbled into an empty street just beyond the city border. Behind them, the skyline folded in on itself, like paper catching flame from the inside out.
Elaine stood, panting, the only soul they had saved.
"Why her?" Torrin asked.
Kale looked at the Book. "It only let me choose one."
Luma's voice was low. "That's the Observer's test. Limit the saves. Make you hesitate. Force you to choose who deserves memory."
Kale shut his eyes. "He wants me to carry guilt."
"No," Luma said. "He wants to teach you how to live with it. Because next time, the cost will be higher."
They pressed on, but none of them looked back.