Beyond My Memory

The chamber was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of arcane orbs suspended in midair. Shelves lined with tomes and scrolls stretched high to the vaulted ceiling. Aleron stood at the center of the room, his hands poised over a shimmering glyph etched into a marble table. Across from him, his assistant, a young but brilliant spellcaster named Orivis, meticulously adjusted a cluster of focusing crystals, their edges catching the magical light and refracting it into a spectrum of colors. As he worked, faint lines of shimmering blue-and-silver light occasionally flickered across the skin of his forearm, the mark of his lineage briefly illuminated by the arcane glow.

“Just a moment more, Master Aleron,” Orivis said, his voice steady despite the complexity of their work and the dozen hours they had already spent on this project. “The weave is stabilizing.”

Aleron didn’t respond immediately. His mind buzzed with thoughts, and for reasons he could not yet articulate, an unease had settled deep in his chest. He felt it before it happened, a faint hum, like the tension before a storm, resonating in his bones. The room dimmed, and the magical orbs overhead flickered, their light sputtering unnaturally.

“Orivis,” Aleron said, his voice sharp. “Something’s—”

Before he could finish, the world around him warped. The glyphs on the table flared with blinding light, and a cold, unnatural wind swept through the room, extinguishing every source of light. The chamber plunged into darkness, pierced only by the faint, magical glow that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Aleron!” Orivis called, his voice distant and distorted, as though coming from underwater. But Aleron could no longer hear him.

Aleron’s sight was consumed by images.

He saw a sprawling city, its spires reaching toward a clear blue sky. But the vision fractured, the blue replaced by a cascade of snow that fell in eerie silence, blanketing the streets. The frost spread, creeping like a living thing, devouring the warmth of life.

Next, a sickening green overtook the scene, a creeping rot that spread faster than fire, consuming buildings, streets, and the people within. They screamed, their voices silenced as the decay swallowed them whole.

Finally, darkness, complete, suffocating, and eternal. It devoured even the decay, leaving nothing but void. The city crumbled into the abyss, its spires collapsing into nothingness.

And then a voice, a whisper that echoed louder than any shout.

“You alone see the truth. The others are blind. You must act.”

The images shifted again, now showing his colleagues, those that were once his friends —Theodore, Samosek, Malik, Vecna, and Targan. They stood in a circle, their expressions unreadable, their presence heavy with power. Slowly, they turned to ash, consumed by the same powers that had devoured the city. In the center of the devastation stood a towering, draconic figure wreathed in flame and light, its wings stretching wide like a divine eclipse, and with a roar it burned the corruption away.

Aleron gasped as the vision released him. He staggered back, clutching the edge of the marble table for support as he swayed. The chamber was dimly lit once more, the arcane orbs flickering weakly. Orivis stood frozen, his face pale, his hand extended toward Aleron.

“Master Aleron?” Orivis’s voice trembled. “What… what happened? Are you—”

Aleron didn’t answer. His mind raced, the vision seared into his consciousness. The city’s fall, the void, the voice’s command, it all felt undeniable. The whispers still lingered, urging him to act. He clenched his fists, staring down at the table, his heart pounding.

“Are you alright?” Orivis stepped closer, his concern genuine. “You looked… I’ve never seen—”

Aleron turned to him, and in that moment, something inside him shattered. The voice whispered again, louder this time.

“One life. Just one. The first step must be taken.”

Aleron’s breath quickened as the words burnt themselves into his mind. Orivis was not just his assistant; he was a brilliant mind, a loyal companion who had stood by him through countless trials. The young man’s potential was limitless, a future Father of Magic in his own right, perhaps.

But the vision. The city. The darkness. The silence. The void. It loomed over Aleron like a suffocating weight. If he did nothing, if he faltered, the end would come, and it would be his failure to do what had to be done that allowed it.

His gaze met Orivis’. “You’ve always trusted me, haven’t you, Orivis?”

Orivis nodded, though confusion clouded his expression. “Of course, Master. I would follow you anywhere.”

Aleron’s heart twisted. “Then forgive me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “For what I must do.”

Orivis’s eyes widened, but before he could react, Aleron’s hand moved with the precision of centuries of mastery. A spell erupted from his palm, a lance of arcane energy that struck Orivis square in the chest. The younger man staggered, his mouth opening in a silent cry of shock. He fell to his knees, his trembling hand reaching toward Aleron before collapsing completely.

The chamber was silent except for Aleron’s ragged breathing. He stood over Orivis’s lifeless body, his hands trembling, his vision blurred by unshed tears. He fell to his knees beside his fallen assistant, his voice a broken whisper.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

He reached out and called one of the floating gems to his hand. The gem pulsed faintly as he placed it against Orivis’s chest. It glowed, its magic absorbing the first soul to fuel Aleron’s grim task. The light faded, leaving the chamber colder, darker.

Aleron rose slowly, his face paled. His sorrow and guilt burned within him, but the vision’s whispers drowned them out.

“One step closer to salvation.”