Gods of the Forgotten Realm

Kaelen steadied himself, gripping the hilt of his dagger as his pulse thundered in his ears. The chamber around him pulsed as if the stone itself had a heartbeat, slow and deliberate. The basin at the center of the platform rippled again, though there was no wind, no movement but his own.

The voice had asked him if he remembered. But remembered what?

He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to push past the lingering ache behind his eyes. He had spent years preparing for this journey, deciphering fragments of forgotten texts, following whispers of lost travelers. Yet nothing could have prepared him for this. The city wasn't just ruins—it was alive.

And it knew him.

Kaelen took a cautious step toward the basin. The black liquid was impossibly still now, its surface smooth like polished obsidian. He hesitated, then knelt beside it, studying his reflection. His face, gaunt from weeks in the desert, stared back at him. The firelight from his lantern flickered in his amber eyes.

Then his reflection blinked.

Kaelen froze.

The image in the water did not move with him. His heart pounded as the reflection tilted its head slightly, studying him as if it were the real one—and he the illusion.

The mouth of his reflection moved, but no sound came out. Then, suddenly, the voice slithered into his mind again.

"You should not have come back."

Kaelen recoiled, nearly losing his balance. His grip on the dagger tightened.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low, steady.

No answer. The reflection only watched, its gaze unreadable.

He swallowed hard. The legends spoke of memory loss, of minds unraveling within these cursed streets. But he had been careful. He had prepared. The scar on his wrist was proof that he had anticipated the city's tricks.

But the reflection's words chilled him to his core.

Come back.

The way it had said it—as if this wasn't his first time here.

Kaelen's breath came slower now, his mind racing. He had always dismissed the warnings of the scholars, the cryptic messages scrawled in ancient ruins. But now, in the depths of this forgotten city, something inside him whispered that the warnings had not been myths.

He had been here before.

And he had forgotten.

The moment the realization struck, the reflection in the water began to change. Its features twisted, its eyes darkening into endless voids. Its skin cracked like shattered porcelain, and from within the fractures, something moved—something ancient, something hungry.

Kaelen stumbled backward just as the water in the basin erupted. A shadow burst forth, tendrils of darkness lashing toward him with unnatural speed. He threw himself to the ground, rolling as the inky tendrils slashed through the air where he had stood moments before.

The chamber trembled. The pillars groaned under an invisible weight. The voice returned, no longer a whisper but a chorus, echoing from the very walls of the city.

"You should not have come back."

Kaelen scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering. The shadow twisted, reshaping itself into something vaguely human—its form flickering, unstable, its head tilting as if amused by his terror.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it halted.

A new voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the chamber like a blade.

"Enough."

The darkness recoiled. The voice belonged to a woman.

Kaelen turned toward the source, his chest still heaving.

A figure stood at the platform's edge, shrouded in deep blue robes that shimmered like the night sky. Her eyes, piercing and unyielding, locked onto his.

She was not a mirage.

She was real.

And somehow, deep within his fragmented mind, he felt that he knew her.

 The chamber still trembled from the presence of the shadow, but the moment the woman spoke, the darkness recoiled like a wounded beast. Kaelen's breath was ragged as he straightened, keeping his dagger raised. His pulse hammered in his ears, but his focus was now entirely on the figure before him.

The woman's robes rippled as if caught in an unseen current. She moved with an eerie stillness, each step deliberate, as though she were walking through a world separate from his own. The glow of the arcane symbols lining the walls pulsed in rhythm with her movements.

Kaelen's grip on his weapon tightened. "Who are you?"

She ignored his question. Her gaze flickered to the basin, where the shadow still coiled, shifting restlessly. "It knows you," she said, her voice calm but edged with something he couldn't name.

Kaelen swallowed. "I don't know what it is."

Her eyes snapped back to him. "Don't you?"

A chill crawled down his spine. Something about her words—about the way she was looking at him—unsettled him. She spoke as if she knew him. As if she had been waiting for him.

Kaelen took a cautious step forward. "What is this place?"

She tilted her head slightly, considering him. Then she spoke again, and her words sent ice through his veins.

"You have been here before."

His breath hitched.

No. No, that wasn't possible.

"I would remember," he said, but the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

The woman gave him a look that was almost pitying. "Would you?"

The chamber pulsed again, and Kaelen's mind reeled with flashes of something—fragments of images too quick to grasp. A temple buried beneath the sand. Blood soaking into the stone. A name is spoken in desperation.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. "I don't understand."

The woman took another step toward him. "Elarion does not let go of those it has claimed."

Kaelen's chest tightened. The legends spoke of the city consuming the memories of those who entered. But if what she was saying was true, then that meant…

He had been here.

And he had forgotten.

He forced himself to meet her gaze. "If I've been here before," he said, his voice low, measured, "then tell me—who am I?"

For the first time, the woman hesitated.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she answered.

"You are the one who doomed us all."