Mohamed returned to the library at dusk, the sky painted in bruised purples and deep reds. The streets were quieter than usual, almost too quiet, as if the city itself held its breath. Every neon reflection shimmered in puddles like shards of broken glass, and every shadow seemed to linger just a little too long.
Something's wrong, he thought. It feels… off.
The heavy doors of the library creaked open under his touch. Inside, the familiar scent of old paper and dust was tainted by something acrid, something metallic. His pulse quickened. Books lay strewn across the floor, shelves toppled, the air thick with residual energy—memory energy, corrupted and unstable.
They were here.
Selene emerged from the shadows of a collapsed shelf, her violet eyes calm but serious. "The library was partially attacked," she said softly, almost mournfully. "Not by physical force alone, but by memory manipulation. Someone—or something—was probing your sanctum."
Mohamed's stomach churned. "Ryoto?" he asked, voice tight.
Selene's lips curved faintly, unreadable. "Perhaps. Or someone aligned with him. Whoever it was… they were looking for you. Testing your strength, your control… and perhaps your mind."
He swallowed hard. So they are always watching… always waiting…
He stepped carefully over toppled books and shards of glass. Shadows flickered at the edges of his vision, distorted and twitching, as though the library itself were alive and uneasy. Every fragment of memory he had anchored pulsed weakly, reacting to the lingering corruption.
I have to repair this… stabilize it…
Mohamed focused, drawing upon his memory energy. He called forth fragments of the library as he remembered it: the towering shelves, the hidden alcoves, the smell of ink and dust. Slowly, painstakingly, he reconstructed the space, sealing the corrupted energy in small pockets of spectral light.
Selene watched silently. "Good. But repair is not mastery. You can mend, but you cannot fully erase what has been touched. Memories… once twisted… leave traces."
Mohamed shivered. Traces… shadows…
A chill ran down his spine. The air shifted. The shadows in the corners began to converge, forming a tall, cloaked figure with eyes that glimmered red. Ryoto.
"You are persistent," Ryoto said softly, voice echoing unnaturally. "But do you understand yet? Your awakening was never accidental. Every fragment you reclaimed, every memory you wielded… we predicted. Decades of observation led to this moment."
Mohamed's hands trembled. "You… knew? All this time? My powers… everything?"
Ryoto tilted his head. "Yes. And now, you face a choice. Master your power… or be mastered by it. The future is not fixed, Mohamed. But the shadows you embrace—or reject—will shape reality."
Then the vision came.
Mohamed's mind fractured as memory and reality collided. He saw himself in the future: older, scarred, standing atop a ruined city. Shadows walked like humans, eyes glowing red. He held a weapon—a sword forged of memory energy—blood dripping from hands that he barely recognized as his own. The city burned. People he once loved screamed. And yet… there was another vision, a glimmer of hope: the same city, vibrant and alive, with Mohamed standing as a guardian, controlling the shadows rather than being consumed by them.
Destroyer… or savior… he whispered, voice trembling. Which will I be?
Ryoto's laughter echoed in his mind. "The choice is yours. But remember: the line between savior and destroyer is thinner than you think. One misstep… one lapse in control… and all you love becomes ash."
Mohamed staggered, dropping to his knees, sweat and blood from small cuts mixing on his hands. He felt the residual corruption in the library pressing at his mind. Memories twisted, whispering promises of absolute power, of vengeance, of the ability to erase threats before they exist.
No… I must not…
Selene knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The vision is a warning, not a prophecy. You are not bound to it—yet. What you choose, how you wield your memories, how you anchor your will… that will decide the path."
Mohamed closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He felt the weight of choice, of morality, of responsibility pressing into every fiber of his being. The city outside, the library, the shadows—they all waited. And so did Ryoto.
When he opened his eyes, the library was still, calm, but the lingering energy of corrupted memories pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Mohamed rose, hands trembling but resolve hardening.
I will control this. I will master it. And I will choose… wisely.
Ryoto's voice, distant but clear, echoed in his mind:
"The boy awakens… but will he rise… or fall?"
Mohamed clenched his fists. "I will rise. I will not fall. No matter what it takes."
The shadows in the corners twitched, the city outside hummed with hidden eyes, and the war between memory and reality battle for Mohamed's mind and power was only just beginning.