Fragments of Oblivion: Lost Memories

The runes flared brighter as Elias stepped forward, the gate pulsing with an energy that felt alive. The whispers stopped abruptly, replaced by a single voice that seemed to vibrate in the air around him.

"You seek answers," the voice said, its tone calm yet commanding.

Elias froze, his fingers tightening around the makeshift weapon in his hand. "And you're going to give them to me?"

A figure emerged from the glowing runes, its form flickering like a broken hologram. It stood tall and humanoid, but its body was made of fragments—pieces of light and shadow that shifted and reformed constantly.

"I am the Gatekeeper," it said, its voice layered with countless others. "Answers are not given. They are earned."

Elias hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. "How?"

The Gatekeeper raised its hand, and the space around him shifted. The ground vanished, replaced by an endless void filled with swirling fragments of light. Each fragment carried a faint image—faces, places, moments that felt both alien and familiar.

"A trial," the Gatekeeper said simply. "Prove your worth, or leave this place with nothing."

The void solidified beneath Elias's feet, forming a jagged platform suspended in the swirling chaos. The images floating around him grew sharper, each one pulling at the edges of his mind.

"What kind of trial?" Elias asked, his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach.

"The only one that matters," the Gatekeeper replied. "The trial of memory."

Before Elias could respond, the platform beneath him split, and he fell.

He landed hard, the air knocked from his lungs. When he looked up, the void was gone. He was standing in a room—small, dimly lit, and painfully familiar.

A child's laughter echoed in the distance, soft and fleeting.

Elias's chest tightened. "What is this?" he muttered, shaking his head. "This isn't real."

"It is as real as you allow it to be," the Gatekeeper's voice said, distant and detached. "Face it, or it will consume you."

The laughter grew louder, and a door at the far end of the room creaked open. Beyond it, a figure waited—small, shadowed, and unmistakably human.

Elias hesitated, his body frozen between fear and instinct. "What the hell is this?"

The figure stepped forward, its features coming into focus. It was a child—a girl—with wide eyes and a hesitant smile. He looked up at Elias, his expression filled with quiet wonder.

"You let me go," the girl said, his voice soft.

Elias's heart clenched. He didn't recognize the girl, but something about her felt achingly familiar. "I didn't…"

"You did," the Gatekeeper's voice interrupted, its tone unyielding. "You let her slip away, as you have let so many others. And unless you learn, you will do it again."

The room began to dissolve, the girl's figure fading into the shadows. Elias reached out instinctively, but his hand passed through empty air.

"Stop!" he shouted, his voice breaking.

The Gatekeeper's voice surrounded him again, calm yet unrelenting and numerous. "This is your burden, Elias. To protect what you cannot keep. To fight for what you cannot hold. Will you carry it, or will you fall?"

The world reformed around him, the platform reappearing beneath his feet. The Gatekeeper stood before him, its fragmented form glowing faintly.

Elias was on his knees, his breath ragged. The weight of the trial pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.

"You have faced the past," the Gatekeeper said. "But the future is no less fragile."

Before it could continue, a burst of light shattered the space around them. Darius stepped through, his mana blade glowing in his hand.

"You've made your point," Darius said, his voice firm. "Let him go."

The Gatekeeper turned to Darius, its tone shifting. "You defy the laws of this world."

"And you talk too much," Darius shot back, stepping between Elias and the Gatekeeper.

The Gatekeeper's form flickered, its voice growing sharper. "He is not ready. And neither are you."

Darius smirked faintly. "Then maybe we're both wasting time."

The Gatekeeper raised its hand, and the world around them trembled. "Your trial is incomplete, Elias. But your time here is over."

The swirling fragments began to collapse, folding in on themselves as the platform beneath them cracked.

"You are a fracture," the Gatekeeper said, its voices echoing through the chaos. "And fractures are meant to break."

Elias felt the ground give way beneath him, the void pulling him downward. Darius grabbed his arm, holding him steady.

"Hold on, kid," Darius said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

The Gatekeeper's voice grew distant, fading as the light around them dimmed. "Remember this: your path will lead to ruin. But ruin is not the end."

Elias woke with a gasp, his body jerking upright. The fractured world was gone, replaced by the rain-soaked streets of Sector Twelve. The storm had quieted, leaving the air heavy and still.

The device in his hand pulsed faintly, its glow weak but steady. He stared at it, the Gatekeeper's words echoing in his mind.

Darius stood nearby, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was calm. "Welcome back."

Elias turned to him, his chest still tight with lingering fear. "What was that?"

Darius shrugged. "A warning. A lesson. Take your pick."

"And the Gatekeeper?"

Darius's gaze darkened. "It's not done with you. Not by a long shot."

Elias tightened his grip on the device, its faint glow casting long shadows on the rain-slicked ground. The Gatekeeper's final words echoed in his mind, each syllable a weight he couldn't ignore.

"Ruin is not the end."

"What does that mean?" Elias asked, his voice low but sharp.

Darius didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer, the faint glow of a streetlamp catching the weary lines on his face. "It means you're at the center of something bigger than you can imagine. And if you're not careful, you'll take everything else down with you."

Elias's stomach churned. "Why me? I didn't ask for this."

"Doesn't matter what you asked for," Darius replied, his tone cold. "The fractured world doesn't pick people at random. It picked you because you're already broken."

Elias looked down at the device, and for the first time, he began to understand that the fractured world isn't just a place—it's a consequence.