They traveled in silence—Nima and the lanternless pilgrims—across a sea so still it reflected not just the sky, but memory itself.
Each night, they moored without anchor, drifting near mist-covered islets. No fire was lit. No songs were sung. Only the soft chime of unlit lanterns, swaying like prayers caught in a breathless wind.
Nima tried to ask questions. Who they were. Where they were going. Why her.
But the old woman—who called herself Morya—only said:
"You will understand when you no longer need to ask."
She hated how familiar that sounded. Her mother had spoken like that—Amira, whose gaze always seemed to stretch past the moment.
And yet, the farther they drifted, the more Nima began to feel it too—a humming beneath her skin, like something buried long ago was beginning to awaken. It wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
On the seventh night, they arrived.
A shore of black sand stretched before them, and above it, cliffs towered like the spines of sleeping beasts. No trees. No birds. Only the ruins of a city carved directly into stone—its architecture stark and angular, like a language never meant to be spoken aloud.
Morya whispered:
"Welcome to Oranu—the City of Forgotten Names."
As they entered the hollow city, Nima noticed carvings on the walls: half-faces, broken scripts, and symbols that bled into one another like wounds stitched too tightly.
But what caught her breath was this:
A mural of her mother.
Not as she remembered her—laughing in the gardens—but dressed in mourning robes, holding a shattered lantern in her arms, and kneeling before a masked figure with no eyes.
Beneath the image, a single word was carved over and over:
"Oathbreaker."
Nima turned to Morya. "Why is she here? What does it mean?"
Morya's face was unreadable.
"You must understand, child. The lanterns your people lit were meant to guide the dead home. But long ago—before your mother—there were those of us who… never received their light."
Her voice dropped, a tremor beneath the surface.
"We wandered too far.
We became echoes.
And in time… we forgot our names."
A door opened at the end of the hall. Inside it pulsed a low violet glow—not alive, not dead. Waiting.
"You carry the shard," Morya said softly. "Now you must place it where it was first broken. Only then will the truth begin to show itself."
Nima swallowed hard.
And stepped into the heart of the forgotten city.