A Good Man Awakens

Chapter 11: The Weight of Memory

The water lay perfectly still, like a vast mirror reflecting the moon and stars with such precision that it felt unnatural, almost unsettling. Its surface was so smooth, so flawless, it seemed wrong—as if nature itself had abandoned this place, leaving something else in charge. The silence wasn't peaceful, though; it was heavy, oppressive, as though something ancient and unseen lurked just beneath, watching, waiting. The vastness of the lake stretched endlessly before us, blurring into the dark horizon until water and sky became one seamless void. I shivered—not from the cold, but from the growing sense that this lake was far from calm.

Trying to shake off the unease creeping up my spine, I turned back to Elbar. "Why a bridge, Elbar? Why not just row across? The moon's out, the night's quiet... it could've been pleasant."

Elbar's gaze stayed locked on the water, his expression hardening as though he were seeing something far deeper than the glassy surface. A moment ago, he'd been warm and talkative, but now his face was drawn tight, his voice dropping into something sharp and unsettling. "Disturbing the forgotten is the last thing you want to do," he said quietly, his words carrying a weight that made me straighten instinctively. "These waters... they're the dreams that even time has forgotten, old and timeless."

I frowned, not understanding. "The forgotten? What do you mean? Is it so bad to be remembered?"

He turned to me, his face half-obscured by shadow, his eyes distant, haunted by something too terrible to put into words. "The forgotten... They're more than just memories. Imagine the worst moment of your life—the deepest pain, the most crushing despair. Now imagine that moment, buried in darkness for centuries, suddenly stirring, waking. It's not just you remembering it... it's the memory itself, alive, craving to be felt again. It feeds on fear, on agony, and it spreads like a disease."

A cold shiver ran down my spine, deeper this time. "So... it's alive?"

Elbar nodded grimly, his eyes flicking back to the water. "In a way. It's pure fear, pure torment, and it will do anything to be felt again. When someone touches that fear—when they feel it—it grows stronger. It consumes everything until all that's left is the hunger to be remembered."

I swallowed hard, glancing uneasily at the still, mirrored lake. "But... what about good memories? Love? Joy? Wouldn't something like that want to spread too?"

Elbar sighed, his wings drooping slightly as though weighed down by the truth of what he was about to say. "Maybe. But these aren't just any memories. They're the forgotten ones. The ones that linger—those are often born from pain. And once they awaken, they don't let go. Are you willing to risk unleashing something that could destroy everything just for a glimpse of happiness? Some memories are meant to stay buried. The risk... it's too great."

His words sank into me like stones plunging into the dark depths of the lake, each one heavier than the last. I stared at the water, trying to imagine what lay beneath—forgotten dreams swirling just below the surface, waiting, hungry. "And if someone touches the water?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, afraid of the answer.

Elbar's eyes darkened, hardening with a gravity that made my breath catch. "They forget everything," he said, each word sharp as glass. "Their memories fade, bit by bit, until they're nothing but an empty shell. And those memories—good or bad—become part of the forgotten. Lost forever."

The weight of his words pressed against my chest, a cold lump forming in my throat. The thought of losing everything—of becoming no one, nothing—was terrifying. I swallowed, but my mind drifted to a memory that flickered at the edges of my thoughts: a yellow flower, vivid and painful, yet impossible to ignore.