Whispers echoed through the halls of Mnemosyne, carried on currents of magic that flowed like invisible rivers. In the grand archives, a shadow darker than the rest slipped between towering shelves.

As a group of junior Remembrancers rounded the corner, chattering excitedly about some newly discovered tome, Dusk melted into the shadow of a nearby statue. The students passed through him, oblivious to the chill that momentarily gripped their hearts. Dusk allowed himself a small, bitter smile as he looked at their corporeal forms with longing.

He paused at an intersection of aisles, his senses reaching out, probing for traces of the one he sought. A faint magical signature lingered in the air – Elden Vortis had passed this way, leaving behind an echo of power that sang to Dusk's otherworldly senses.

Dusk moved with the silence of a forgotten memory, his form flickering like a candle's flame in a storm. His first destination: the private chambers of Elden Vortis. As he phased through the solid oak door, Dusk paused, taking in the scene before him.

The room was a reflection of its occupant – orderly yet lived-in, with stacks of books on arcane theory piled high on every available surface.

Elden's presence lingered here, a complex tapestry of memory magic and something else – something that made Dusk's shadowy form shiver with recognition.

Leaving the chambers as undisturbed as he found them, Dusk made his way to the prison levels. The corridors here were darker, the air thick with the despair of the incarcerated. Guards patrolled at regular intervals, their eyes alert for any sign of trouble.

As a pair of guards rounded the corner, Dusk melted into the shadows cast by a guttering torch. The men passed through him, oblivious to the chill that momentarily gripped their hearts.

Once they were gone, Dusk allowed himself a small, bitter smile. His cursed existence had its advantages.

The cell where Elden had been held stood empty, its door hanging open like a gaping maw. Dusk slipped inside, his senses probing for any trace of the fugitive Remembrancer. At first glance, the cell appeared ordinary – a simple cot, a washbasin, nothing to indicate the presence of a powerful mage.

Acting on instinct, he reached deep into his well of shadow magic. The world around him shifted, colors inverting as he peered into a realm of magical residue.

There, glowing faintly in the darkness, were footprints. Elden's footprints, hidden by a masterful application of concealment magic. Dusk followed the trail, watching as it led to a weathered tapestry depicting the founding of Mnemosyne. He reached out, his shadowy hand passing through solid stone to reveal a hidden passage.

"Clever," Dusk murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the gloom.

The passage twisted and turned, leading deep into the bowels of Mnemosyne. Dusk moved swiftly, his shadowy form allowing him to navigate obstacles with ease. He passed through locked gates and slipped between the bars of forgotten cells, always following the fading trail of Elden's magic.

Dusk's form solidified slightly as he bent to examine a faint footprint. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the dirt path leading southeast. The Whispering Plains. Of course.

With a thought, Dusk melted into the shadows once more.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

As he materialized in Mnemion's private study, Dusk found the memory mage pacing restlessly among towering shelves of ancient tomes. Mnemion's fingers traced the spines of books, each one a repository of knowledge that he had once revered.

"You've returned," Mnemion said without turning, his voice carefully neutral. "What news do you bring of our young fugitive?"

Dusk's form flickered, hints of his past self showing through – a proud Nexian spymaster, now trapped between existence and oblivion. "He proves... elusive," Dusk replied, his voice like silk over steel. "I traced his path through a hidden passage. His trail leads southeast, towards the Whispering Plains. But his methods of concealment are... surprising."

Mnemion's eyes gleamed with interest as he finally faced Dusk. "Oh? Do tell."

"It's not just memory magic," Dusk continued, choosing his words carefully. "He's combining techniques in ways I've never encountered. It's as if..."

"As if the fragments are resonating with his Wellspring," a new voice interjected, rich with power and ancient knowledge.

Both Mnemion and Dusk turned, instinctively bowing their heads as a figure stepped out of a shimmering portal. The air itself seemed to bend around him, reality rippling in his wake.

"My lord," they said in unison, their voices tinged with a mixture of awe and fear.

Eternity's ageless eyes seemed to look through them, focused on some distant point in time. "Elden is proving to be a most interesting piece on our cosmic chessboard." he mused, his voice carrying the weight of eons.

Mnemion straightened, a hint of eagerness in his voice. "Shall we move against him more directly? With your power, surely we could—"

"No," Eternity said firmly, cutting him off. The single word seemed to freeze the very air in the room. "For now, we watch. We guide. But we do not intervene directly."

Dusk remained silent, his ever-shifting form betraying the conflict within. Eternity's gaze fell upon him, and Dusk felt as if his very soul was being laid bare.

"You have doubts, old ghost?" Eternity asked, his voice deceptively gentle.

Dusk's form flickered violently. "No, my lord. I merely... wonder about our methods sometimes."

A smile played at the corners of Eternity's lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Doubt is the shadow cast by hope." He turned back to Mnemion. "Prepare your forces. When the time comes, we will claim what is ours."

With those words, Eternity vanished, leaving behind a silence heavy with unspoken questions and growing tensions.

Mnemion broke the silence first, his voice sharp. "You heard our lord. Prepare a team. We'll cover all possible routes to the Whispering Plains."

Dusk hesitated, an uncharacteristic note of uncertainty in his voice. "Is such force truly necessary? Our lord just said—"

"We will claim what is ours," Mnemion snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Have you forgotten what was promised to you?"

The words hung in the air between them, charged with meaning. Dusk's form rippled, memories of his past life – of warmth, of solidity, of purpose – threatening to overwhelm him.

"I haven't forgotten," Dusk said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mnemion's eyes narrowed, studying the shadow-man intently. "Good. Then do as you're told. Find the boy, and bring him to me, discretely."

Without another word, Dusk melted back into the shadows, leaving Mnemion alone in his study. As he slipped through the walls of Mnemosyne, Dusk's mind raced. The promise of regaining his physical form pulled at him.

He emerged from the shadow of a great oak tree on the outskirts of the city, his form barely visible in the gathering twilight. Before him stretched the vast expanse of the Whispering Plains, a world still reeling from the aftermath of the Shattering. Somewhere out there, Elden Vortis was carving his own path through the chaos.