Chapter 17
The snow came early that year.
In the northern reaches, where the sun rarely touched and the trees stood like silent sentinels, something ancient awakened beneath the frost. Long forgotten by the kingdoms of men, The Pale Crest—a sect of arcane purists—had begun to gather once more.
Not to conquer.
But to erase.
🧊 North of Silence
High atop the Ivril Peaks, where air froze in the lungs and time moved like molasses, a cloaked figure stood before a stone monolith etched with symbols.
A voice echoed from within the rock.
"The Ashen Crown is broken. She remembers now."
The figure knelt. "Then we begin the Unwriting."
A second voice joined, older and colder. "And the Seraph's blood?"
The figure rose, revealing silver eyes.
"Soon, it will be as if she never existed."
🏛️ Whispers in the Capital
Back in Kelmire, Seraphina held open court within The Commons.
The people had started calling it the New Hall, a place where any citizen could speak. No guards. No chains. Only voices.
Today, it was an elder from the northern border—a woman with trembling hands and a frostbite-scarred cheek.
"They came from the mists," she whispered. "White masks. Speaking no words. They took my son. Said he was 'tainted by history.'"
Seraphina's blood chilled.
Lucien frowned. "Tainted?"
Evelyn stepped forward. "That's Pale Crest language. They don't kill with blades. They kill with forgetting."
🧬 The Memorybane
In the war archives, Cedric laid out a forbidden scroll.
"This was sealed by your mother," he said. "Project: Memorybane."
It detailed a terrifying device—a relic that could unravel memory strands tied to specific bloodlines. Erase a person from thoughts, records, even history itself. Only the strongest minds would resist it.
And the Pale Crest had found it.
"They don't want her dead," Evelyn said quietly. "They want her unborn in thought."
Lucien slammed the table. "We're not letting that happen."
🕊️ An Unlikely Visitor
That night, as the moon bled red over the courtyard, a surprise visitor arrived:
Kael.
Alive. Alone. Unarmed.
He came not as a threat—but a bearer of truth.
"I saw their temple," he said, eyes hollow. "I walked through its ruins and heard names spoken backwards until they vanished."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "Why warn me?"
Kael looked up.
"Because you were right," he said. "This world needs to grow, not rewind. And if they erase you, they'll erase everything we've tried to change."
Cedric growled, "And why should we trust a butcher?"
Kael didn't argue. He simply stepped aside and revealed what he carried:
A child.
Sleeping. Marked with the sigil of the Pale Crest.
"They've started testing Memorybane… on children."
🛡️ Forging the Mindwall
Seraphina wasted no time.
She summoned mages from the Ember Guild, scholars from the Outer Ring, and survivors of the HERALD experiments. Together, they began constructing the Mindwall—a spell fortress meant to shield thoughts from erasure.
"My name must not be my weakness," she said during its casting, "but my anchor."
As the Mindwall shimmered into existence, thousands across the realm whispered her name like a warding spell:
"Seraphina. Seraphina. Seraphina."
It echoed like prayer. Like defiance.
🏹 The Arrow and the Mask
On the tenth day, the Pale Crest struck.
Masked agents infiltrated the eastern library and triggered a burst of Memorybane. Books went blank. Names disappeared from walls.
And one guard—an orphan named Rynn—forgot who Seraphina was entirely.
But when he looked at her, standing between him and the flames, he didn't need memory.
He believed in her.
He raised his bow and shot the Pale agent through the eye.
That night, Seraphina called him the "First Flamekeeper."
🌌 Dreams of the Forgotten
That evening, Seraphina dreamed.
Of snow swallowing her throne.
Of her own reflection refusing to recognize her.
Of Kael standing in a storm, whispering, "Not even death forgets you now."
She awoke drenched in sweat—and yet, a small flower had bloomed by her window. From the garden she had planted.
It remembered.
Even the soil, even the roots.
Memory lived not just in mind—but in everything we touched.
End of Chapter 17