The night was long, marked by restless sleep. These were no longer the chaotic, scattered echoes of the past that had tormented me for years. Now, my dreams had a focal point—the blue-black sphere, the Prime Echo, which the Collector had hidden within his clay heart. It swirled in the darkness of my mind, simultaneously creating and devouring stars, birthing and annihilating entire Eons. I saw in it the beginning and the end, intertwining into a single, terrifying paradox. My mind, though enriched by the Book of Signs, desperately tried to reject this knowledge, to forget it, as if it were poison. But at the same time, from the depths of my newly recovered consciousness, emerged a desire to understand, to break it down, to unmask its mystery. It was a battle that exhausted me more than any physical skirmish.
I woke with a scream that caught in my throat, leaving only a raspy breath. The hut was bathed in pale, morning light. The two orange suns were just rising, casting long shadows through the cracks in the window shutters. The Collector sat in the corner, motionless, as if he had never left his spot. His obsidian eye was fixed on the open doorway, through which a fresh, though still salty, breeze entered. I rose, feeling every age in my bones, but this time the pain was a dull echo, not a piercing agony. I remembered everything that had happened yesterday. The Architect's Shadow. The Void Whisperers. The Book of Signs. And... the Prime Echo. Knowledge was a burden, but also a guidepost.
I walked to the open door. The air was crisp, but it carried a subtle scent of something... decaying. Not rot, but something that was simply ceasing to exist. I looked towards the Village of the Last Echo. Smoke rose from a few chimneys, and I heard distant voices. People. They were alive. But did they remember? Then I noticed it. On the path leading to the village, just behind my hut, lay an old, rotten tree trunk. It hadn't been there yesterday. It was the trunk of a tree that had vanished. Completely. Leaving only this single, dead piece. This was the Architect's work. His dispersed Erasure. It was working. Slowly, but effectively.
"I must stop this," I whispered. The Collector scraped softly. "But how?" I asked, directing the words at the Golem. "The Book of Signs gives me knowledge, but it doesn't give me the way. It doesn't give me... the power to stop it." The Golem raised his clay hand. Within him, where he had hidden the Prime Echo, nothing was visible. But his fingers, with surprising precision, began to arrange crystals on the ground. Not in intricate patterns, as before, but in a simple, clear line. A line that indicated a direction. East. Deeper into the Echo Blight, towards the forgotten lands. "There?" I asked, feeling my heart beat faster. "What's there?" The Collector did not answer with words. His obsidian eye gleamed, and within it, as if for a fraction of a second, I saw an image. Massive, rusted gates, covered in ancient symbols. And behind them... darkness. But not an empty darkness. A darkness that pulsed with energy. The Soul Foundry.
The flash was brief, but intense. I remembered this place. I remembered being there. Creating. Distilling Archetypes. It was one of those places where the boundaries between Eons were thinnest. Where Truth and Lie intertwined. "The Soul Foundry," I whispered. "There I will find answers. There I will find... power." The Collector scraped again, this time with a hint of satisfaction. But then, from within my mind, another voice emerged. The one with the scars. The one who said that "Memory is a Lie." "Fool. You walk straight into a trap. The Soul Foundry is where madness is born. Where Truth is distorted. There you will find only more Lies. And more oblivion." I fought against this voice. It was convincing. Too convincing. But the Book of Signs in my heart pulsed, confirming that the Soul Foundry was the key.
I clenched my fists. I could no longer stay in this hut, waiting for the Erasure to consume everything, and for the Void Whisperers to return for my memories. I had to act. I had to understand the Prime Echo. I had to find a way to stop the Architect. "Let's go, Collector," I said, my voice firm. The Golem, reluctantly, stood up. His clay body emitted a series of scrapes, as if protesting, yet obediently. Before leaving the hut, I looked at the casket I had left on the table. Empty. But in its emptiness, I saw a promise. A promise that what was inside it was now within me. And that I was the key.
We stepped out. The air was cold, and the two suns were already starting to warm. In the distance, towards the Village of the Last Echo, I saw movement. A few silhouettes. Not villagers. They were too fast. Too silent. Too... hidden. The Void Whisperers. They knew. They knew I was going there. Was this a trap? Did they want me to go there? Perhaps. But I had the Book of Signs. And I had the Collector. And I had the Prime Echo, pulsating deep within my mind, waiting to be understood. We walked east, towards the forgotten lands, towards the Soul Foundry. Each step was a step into the unknown, deeper into the labyrinth that was both the world and my own mind. I felt my memory, though recovered, was still fragile, like a thin layer of ice over deep water. But now I had a purpose. And I had hope. Hope that the Truth I would find would be worth the risk.