It began with a ripple in the sky.
Not a sound.
Not a storm.
Just a pause.
As if the world itself had forgotten to breathe.
Then came the crack.
Thin as a hairline fracture — across the heavens above Vel'thera — shimmering in hues no living eye had ever catalogued.
A line of unwritten space.
---
Darian was the first to spot it.
From the eastern tower, his sword halfway drawn, his mouth half-open.
Then the whisper came:
> "What's my name?"
He turned to the sentry beside him — Jorel, a steadfast man he had known since the third Unmaking.
But Jorel's eyes were blank.
Lost.
> "What's my name?" the man repeated, panicking now, clutching at his cloak. "I… I had a daughter, didn't I? I remember her laugh… but—"
And just like that, the man forgot himself.
Dissolved into stillness.
Not dead.
Not broken.
Just absent.
Like a skipped line in a poem.
---
Across the city, others followed.
Memories unraveled like loose threads from a coat.
Names vanished.
