---
The sun was rising behind the hills, casting soft golden light across the broken lands. Chirag, Siya, and Kuro stood on a ridge, staring at the road ahead. It was quiet—too quiet. No winds. No birds. No signs of life. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was empty, like the world itself had forgotten this place.
This was where the scroll had guided them. The final mark on the map. The resting place of the god of memories.
But there was nothing in sight. No temple. No cave. Just a cracked valley filled with mist and silence.
Chirag took a slow breath. "This is it."
Siya stepped beside him, confused. "But where's the god?"
Kuro narrowed his eyes. "Maybe that's the trick. It's the god of memories. Maybe the entrance isn't something we see… maybe it's something we remember."
Chirag turned to the scroll one more time. The last line glowed faintly: "To find what is lost, offer what you hold dearest."
He read the words out loud. The moment he finished, the ground trembled.
Siya looked at him, worried. "What does it mean? What do you have to offer?"
Chirag's eyes lowered. He knew what it meant. His dearest memory wasn't a weapon, or a victory, or even his power. It was her. The memory of the first time Siya smiled at him—the moment he felt like he finally had someone.
He turned to her and held her hand gently.
"I may have to forget something… something important to enter," he said. "If I come back and don't remember you—"
She gripped his hand tighter. "I'll make you fall in love with me again."
Chirag smiled softly, then stepped into the valley.
---
The mist swallowed him instantly. He couldn't hear Siya or Kuro anymore. Just the soft sound of his own footsteps.
Then the world shifted.
One second he was walking through the valley, and the next, he was back in his childhood village. The sun was shining, and the smell of food filled the air. He looked down and saw his hands—small again. He was a child. Powerless. Alone.
"Chirag! Come help with the buckets!"
A woman's voice—his mother's.
He turned, and there she was, alive and smiling. His father was there too, working in the fields.
Everything felt so real. Like time had turned backward.
He knew it was a memory. But it felt too warm. Too tempting.
"You don't have to go back," a voice whispered behind him.
Chirag turned.
A figure in white stood there, calm and gentle. No eyes, no face—just a soft glow where a head should be.
"I am Mnairos, the god of memories," it said. "You came looking for me, but you've already found what you truly seek. The memory of love. The memory of home. Stay here, and you'll never be hurt again."
Chirag shook his head slowly. "This isn't real. My parents abandoned me. This place—these smiles—they're lies."
Mnairos tilted its head. "Are they? A memory is still real to the heart."
Chirag looked at his parents again. His heart ached. For a moment, he wanted to run into his mother's arms and forget everything. The pain. The loss. The war.
But then, another memory pushed through the illusion—Siya, holding his hand. Smiling through tears. Bleeding for him. Living for him.
"I don't need this," he said, turning away. "I'd rather remember the truth. Even if it hurts."
Mnairos didn't stop him this time. The illusion broke like glass, and the world returned to the empty valley.
But the god still stood before him—no longer hidden in memory, but visible now in the real world. A being made of threads, light, and swirling shadows of memories. Its form changed constantly, like it was built from every person who ever lived.
"You passed," the god said. "Most who come here lose themselves in the past. You chose the present."
"I didn't come to forget," Chirag said. "I came to fight. I need your help."
Mnairos studied him. "You already carry fire and storm. Why should I give you the power of memory?"
Chirag looked him straight in the face. "Because the gods fear memory more than fire. If people remember who they were—what was taken from them—they'll stop kneeling. They'll rise."
Mnairos was silent for a long time. Then he lifted a hand, and a silver light floated toward Chirag.
"You now carry the weight of all memory. The pain of history, the joy of love, the truth the gods buried."
The light entered Chirag's chest. His body didn't burn or glow—this power didn't roar like fire or crack like thunder. It was quiet. Deep. Eternal.
And it changed him.
---
When Chirag walked back through the mist, Siya gasped. His eyes had changed—one burned like flame, the other shimmered like lightning, and a third mark, shaped like an ancient symbol, glowed faintly on his forehead.
"You… you did it," she whispered.
Kuro looked impressed. "You got all three. Fire. Storm. Memory."
Chirag nodded. "Now I'm ready."
"Ready for what?" Siya asked.
Chirag looked at the sky, where the stars were shifting, and a strange golden light began to form far above the world.
"The gods know I'm coming. And they've started preparing."
Kuro tightened his blade. "Then so do we."
Chirag looked down at the scroll one last time. The words had vanished. All three gods had given him their gift. And now, his path was clear.
The war wasn't coming.
It had already begun.
---