The rain never stopped in Ardhmoor.

  It drizzled like a whisper—soft, constant, a secret the sky refused to bury. Mist crawled over the cobbled streets, brushing past lanterns and shuttered windows like cold breath. Shadows hung unnaturally long under flickering streetlamps, and not a single soul walked past them.

  Not anymore.

  Zayd al-Nadir walked barefoot through the silence, the broken chain on his ankle trailing behind him. The links scraped lightly against stone, a soft metallic whisper with every step. His long coat, soaked and fraying at the edges, clung to his frame. Rain dripped from his hair, from his chin, but his expression never changed.

  He wasn’t here by accident.

  He was never anywhere by accident.

  Something had called him.

  It always did.

  The town square appeared like a ghost from within the mist—buildings crumbling with rot, signs faded, shop doors hanging on rusted hinges. A dry fountain stood at the center, filled not with water but with smooth black stones.

  Zayd paused, pulling a worn, blackened marble from his coat. He stared at it—perfectly round, polished, but cold. A fragment. A broken echo of someone else’s mind.

  He dropped it back into the pouch at his waist.

  The air shifted.

  Then came the sound—soft, deep, unnatural.

  Toll.

  A single bell rang from the chapel at the edge of the square. But no wind had moved it. No rope had swung.

  Zayd turned toward it.

  Too early. It wasn’t midnight yet.

  He stepped toward the chapel, hand brushing the hilt of his blade. The building loomed with broken stained glass and crooked walls, yet the bell above rang like it still mattered. The old stone beneath his feet hummed faintly—like a pulse.

  And then—

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  The voice was calm. Young.

  Zayd turned, hand still on the hilt.

  A girl stood a few feet away. Thin, small, maybe fifteen. She wore a white dress without a speck of rain, untouched by the storm. Her eyes—gray, flat, impossibly deep—locked onto his.

  “I could say the same,” he replied.

  “I live here.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “No one lives here,” Zayd said. “They only forget.”

  The girl smiled, faint and wistful. “Then I suppose I’ve forgotten how to die.”

  Inside the chapel, candlelight glowed despite the broken roof. Pews sat in near-perfect rows, dust settled gently across them, as though untouched for decades—yet undisturbed.

  “You light these candles?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “But they light themselves. Every night. Same time.”

  “You’ve seen them light?”

  “No,” she said again, voice distant. “But I always see them lit.”

  Zayd stepped further in, fingers trailing the cracked wood of a pew.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “I had one once.”

  “Do you want it back?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think it matters?”

  He crouched, pulled a small metal disk from his coat, etched with silver runes. It hummed faintly in his palm.

  “This is a key,” he said. “For minds like yours. I can unlock what you forgot. But it might hurt.”

  She didn’t flinch. “Good.”

  The bell tolled again.

  Toll.

  Zayd’s shoulders tensed.

  “Three more. That’s the rule.”

  “Whose rule?” she asked.

  “The veil’s.”

  She blinked. “The what?”

  He stood, brushing rain from his sleeve. “You forgot too much.”

  He turned toward the altar and set the disk down. It shimmered faintly. The spell began to hum—low and rhythmic.

  “I’ve seen this before,” he muttered. “Whole towns locked in silence. No memories, no screams. Just... holes where people used to be.”

  “And you came to unlock them?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, almost bitter. “I came to find the one who locked them.”

  Outside, the town had begun to shift. The fog wasn’t just fog anymore. Shapes moved in it—not fast, not loud, but with weight. Like echoes of people trying to remember how to walk.

  Zayd and the girl walked toward the fountain. Dozens of black memory-stones filled it.

  “Memories,” she whispered. “Someone put them here.”

  Zayd crouched, picked one up. The moment his fingers closed around it—

  Screaming.

  A burning building.

  A mother shouting a name—Lena!

  Then darkness.

  He dropped the stone into his pouch.

  “Did you see it?” she asked softly.

  “I felt it.”

  “Was it yours?”

  “No,” he said. “But maybe... it was once.”

  Toll.

  The third bell rang.

  Zayd turned slowly. “It’s coming.”

  “What is?”

  He looked into the fog, where shapes began to become people. Hollow faces. Pale eyes. They walked without purpose. Whispered without sound.

  “The forgotten,” Zayd murmured. “People whose minds were locked so tightly they lost the will to be.”

  The girl stepped back. “Will they hurt us?”

  “They don’t know what pain is,” he said. “They don’t know what they are.”

  He pulled another device from his coat—a small metallic rod with glowing script. He pressed it against his temple. Energy surged around him.

  His voice changed—deepened.

  “Zayd al-Nadir,” he whispered. “Permission to break.”

  The chain on his ankle glowed.

  Time slowed.

  The fog stopped moving.

  Zayd exhaled.

  From his eyes, threads of black energy burst outward, connecting to the approaching figures. One by one, their heads tilted, as if hearing something distant. Their mouths opened, not in screams, but in realization.

  “Who... am I?” one croaked.

  Another fell to their knees. “My son. Where is my—?”

  Memories—fragmented, scattered—began to return.

  And pain came with them.

  Zayd gritted his teeth. His breath grew shallow. His vision blurred.

  The girl screamed.

  “ZAYD!”

  He collapsed.

  When he woke, the chapel’s bell had stopped. The girl was at his side, holding the chain on his ankle.

  “I warned you,” he muttered.

  “I didn’t think it would kill you.”

  “It didn’t,” he groaned. “But it’s trying.”

  He sat up. The fog had retreated. The town was still again.

  But not silent.

  Crying echoed from the homes. Real voices. Real pain.

  “You broke something,” she said.

  “I broke through something,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

  The girl looked at the horizon. “Will they be okay?”

  “No,” he said. “But they’ll remember why they aren’t. That’s the first step.”

  She was quiet for a long moment.

  “Will you stay?”

  Zayd stood, brushing dirt from his coat. “I never do.”

  She nodded. “Then... will you take my memory with you?”

  He turned. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to forget again. Even if it hurts.”

  Zayd looked down at the chain on his ankle.

  Then he smiled—soft, tired.

  “I’ll keep it locked inside,” he said. “Until it’s safe to let it out.”

  And as he walked back into the mist, the final bell tolled behind him.

  Toll.

  But this time, it rang with hope.