Elias locked his door and wedged a chair beneath the handle for good measure. The encounter with Sera Lin had left him unsettled. If she could find him so easily, others might as well—whether Brass Tiger debt collectors seeking revenge or this mysterious "Hidden Hand" she claimed to represent.
He placed the memory crystal on his small table and stared at it in the fading evening light. The old woman had said his bloodline would know how to use it, but no intuitive knowledge had surfaced yet. He turned it in his fingers, feeling its weight, studying the fractures that webbed its surface.
An idea occurred to him. If the Mnemonic Meridian allowed him to perceive memory-traces, perhaps direct contact would work here as well. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and focused on the crystal in his palm.
At first, nothing happened. The crystal remained inert, just a piece of clouded quartz in his hand. Then, gradually, he became aware of a subtle vibration—not physical, but mental. The crystal was responding to something within him.
Following instinct, Elias directed his awareness into the crystal, the same way he might follow a memory-trace. The vibration intensified. The crystal grew warm in his palm.
Memory access initiating.
The thought wasn't his own, yet it didn't come from the System either. It was the crystal itself, designed to interface with minds like his.
Light flared behind his closed eyelids—not blinding but enveloping. When it faded, Elias was no longer in his room.
He stood on a balcony overlooking a vast city unlike anything in his world. Crystalline towers stretched toward a purple sky where two suns hung—one golden, one crimson. Flying vehicles moved between the towers in orderly patterns. Below, people walked streets paved with luminous stone.
"Recording begins," said a voice beside him.
Elias turned to see a tall man in robes of shifting blue. His face bore a striking resemblance to Elias's own—the same jawline, similar eyes, though this man's had far more pronounced golden flecks.
"My name is Kaelen Thorne, Memory Keeper of the Walker Enclave," the man said, apparently addressing someone Elias couldn't see. "This will be my final recording before the evacuation. The Coalition forces have breached the outer defenses. Our time on this world ends today."
Kaelen gestured toward the city. "For ten thousand years, the Memory Walkers have preserved the collective knowledge of our civilization. Our bloodline's gift allowed us to extract, store, and transfer memories with perfect fidelity. We were the living archives, the unbroken chain of experience stretching back to our world's first awakening."
He sighed, his expression grave. "But power breeds fear. When the Cultivation Paradigm arose, merging technology with spiritual practice, many saw our abilities as a threat. Memory is power—the power to know what others wish hidden, to learn techniques by witnessing them once, to preserve wisdom that others wish forgotten."
Kaelen turned, seeming to look directly at Elias. "If you're viewing this, you carry our bloodline. You are the legacy of the Memory Walkers, perhaps the last of our kind. Our final act was to seed our bloodline throughout the cosmos, hidden within ordinary genetic structures, dormant until awakened by specific triggers."
He reached into his robe and withdrew a small device—a metallic cube with glowing blue lines. "This contains all I can salvage of our collective memory. Our history, our techniques, our understanding of the cosmos. I've encoded it into the deepest structures of our bloodline. As your abilities grow, these memories will surface, piece by piece."
In the distance, explosions bloomed against the skyline. Sirens wailed.
"I must be brief," Kaelen continued. "Remember these truths: The Memory Walkers never sought dominion, only preservation. We were scholars, not conquerors. Our greatest power lies not in taking memories, but in understanding their interconnections."
He pressed the cube to his forehead. It glowed intensely.
"One final warning: Beware the System. It is not what it appears to be. I cannot say more—they're watching. But remember: no gift comes without purpose, no power without price."
The recording abruptly terminated as another explosion rocked the building. The vision shattered like glass, fragmenting into swirling colors before dissolving entirely.
Elias gasped, returning to his small room in Whitebrand. The memory crystal in his hand had turned to dust, its purpose fulfilled. He stared at the gray powder trickling between his fingers, mind reeling from what he'd witnessed.
Another world. Two suns. A civilization destroyed. And at the center of it all, a man named Kaelen Thorne—a name too similar to his own to be coincidence.
But most disturbing was the warning: Beware the System. It is not what it appears to be.
What was the System then? Why had it chosen him? Was it connected to this lost civilization of Memory Walkers?
As if responding to his thoughts, a new awareness bloomed in his mind.
Trial complete. Neural Pathway Reinforcement successful.Memory Access Protocols enhanced. Bloodline activation: 12%.
Twelve percent. Such a small fraction, yet already he could perceive memory-traces and access stored memories. What would happen at twenty percent? Fifty? One hundred?
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Thorne!" Wei Lin's voice, urgent and hushed. "Open up!"
Elias quickly brushed the crystal dust from his hands and removed the chair from beneath the doorknob. Wei Lin burst in the moment the lock turned.
"Brass Tigers," the old man hissed. "A full squad. They're going door to door in the Ashlands, looking for you."
Elias's heart sank. He had expected retaliation, but not so soon, and not in such force. "How many?"
"Eight cultivators. Bronze-rank or higher. Led by Kallen's brother, Darius Reed." Wei Lin shook his head grimly. "They're not here to collect a debt, boy. They're here for blood."
Eight cultivators. Even with his enhanced body and the knowledge gained from his awakening bloodline, Elias knew he couldn't face such odds. Not yet.
"I need to leave," he said, reaching for his meager possessions.
Wei Lin grabbed his wrist. "No time. They're three buildings away and closing. There's only one option."
The old man hurried to the center of the room and knelt, prying up a loose floorboard. Beneath it was a dark hole leading to a narrow crawlspace.
"The buildings in this block are connected below ground," Wei Lin explained. "Old smuggling routes from before the Northern Expansion. Follow the red markings on the left wall. They'll lead you to the river docks."
Elias stared at his landlord in confusion. "You're a smuggler?"
Wei Lin smiled thinly. "Was. Now I make noodles and keep my head down. But old habits and old routes remain useful." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small pouch. "Take this. Enough silver for a week if you're careful."
"Why are you helping me?" Elias asked, accepting the pouch.
"Because you remind me of my son," Wei Lin said softly. "He had that same look in his eyes—like the world had never given him anything, but he'd find a way to take what he needed anyway."
Voices and heavy footsteps sounded from the street below.
"Go!" Wei Lin urged. "I'll delay them."
Elias descended into the crawlspace, the sword awkward at his side in the confined space. Wei Lin replaced the floorboard, casting him into darkness.
For a moment, Elias couldn't see anything. Then, gradually, the darkness gave way to faint luminescence—the red markings Wei Lin had mentioned, glowing with some kind of phosphorescent fungus.
He began crawling, following the markers as instructed. The passage was narrow and damp, smelling of mold and stagnant water. Above, he could hear muffled voices as the Brass Tigers entered the building.
Wei Lin would face them alone. The realization twisted in Elias's gut. The old man had no cultivation, no power beyond his wits. But he had chosen to help, to put himself at risk for someone who was little more than a tenant.
Such kindness was rare in Whitebrand. Most people looked out only for themselves, turning away from others' suffering as a matter of survival. Wei Lin was different.
Elias swore silently that he would repay this debt, whatever it took.
The passage widened slightly as it continued beneath adjacent buildings. Occasionally, he passed other branches, but he kept to the path marked by red symbols. After what felt like hours but was likely only twenty minutes, he detected fresh air ahead.
The passage eventually opened into a larger chamber with multiple exits. Unlike the crude tunnel he'd traversed, this space showed signs of deliberate construction—brick walls, a stone floor, even a few pieces of abandoned furniture covered in dust.
An old smugglers' den, just as Wei Lin had described.
One exit was larger than the others, reinforced with rotting timber. The red markings led directly to it. Elias approached cautiously, listening for any sound from beyond. Hearing nothing, he pushed against the door. It resisted, then gave way with a groan of protesting wood.
Beyond lay the river docks, shrouded in pre-dawn mist. The massive waterway that served as Whitebrand's commercial lifeline stretched before him, its far shore barely visible. Barges and smaller craft were moored along wooden piers, their lanterns glowing softly in the gloom.
Elias emerged onto a small, debris-strewn beach beneath the main dockworks. Above him, stevedores were already beginning their day's work, loading and unloading cargo by lantern light.
He had escaped the Brass Tigers, but his situation remained precarious. He couldn't return to the Ashlands—not with eight cultivators hunting him. He needed a new hiding place, somewhere to gather his strength and understand his awakening abilities.
Most urgently, he needed to find a way to contact Wei Lin and ensure the old man had survived the encounter with the Brass Tigers.
A new path lay before him, as uncertain as the mist-shrouded river. But one thing was clear: there was no going back to his old life. The visions from the memory crystal had confirmed what he'd already suspected—he was changing into something unprecedented in Whitebrand. Something both ancient and new.
Memory Walker. System bearer. Fugitive.
As the first light of dawn began to disperse the river mist, Elias Thorne pulled his cloak tighter and moved along the shoreline, seeking shadows deep enough to hide a man being reborn through pain.