The river wasn't green.
It was black.
The "green" came from the moss that clung to everything: the trees, the water, even the bones lodged in the banks. It pulsed faintly in the dusk light, bioluminescent and wrong. No birds. No frogs. Just the sound of water moving… and something underneath it that didn't quite move like water should.
Pedro Pao stood at the edge of the riverbank, frowning. The mirror fragment he'd salvaged from the tower now glowed faintly at his hip, humming like it recognized the place.
"This is it," he muttered.
Behind him, Sister Mara tightened her grip on her spear.
"This place feels… hollow."
"It is." Pedro knelt by the edge of the river, trailing a finger through the mud. It felt slick, almost oily. "Locals call this stretch of land Amnesia's Tongue. Used to be a pilgrimage route before the Fall. Now…" He pointed to the bent statue submerged in the shallows—half a saint, half consumed.
"Now it's where memories rot."
[WARNING: RESTRICTED KNOWLEDGE AHEAD]
Pedro's notebook trembled slightly as he opened it. He flipped past sketches of glyphs, family crests, and torn pages of theory. On one page was a symbol he had only recently begun to understand:
A seven-pointed wheel. The Monarch's Wheel.
He touched the one marked for Envy.
The ink shifted.
A line of script appeared beneath it—written in the hidden tongue of the world's law.
Do not speak the name etched here. To utter it is to be seen. To be seen is to be marked.
Pedro stared at the blank space that pulsed faintly under his fingers, the name hidden in invisible ink.
He closed the book.
"We're close to one of his mirror vaults."
"Mirror vaults?" Mara asked.
Pedro stood. "Anchors. Envy's agents use them to store memories they've stolen. Truths, emotions, entire identities. He hoards them like a dragon."
"Then why are we here?"
"Because he made a mistake." Pedro's eyes narrowed. "One of the stolen memories escaped."
They followed the river upstream, until the water thinned and the moss began to vanish. A rock face loomed ahead—split open like the cracked skull of the earth itself. A single tunnel led inside, guarded by a twisted stone statue of a blindfolded man with a mirror nailed into his chest.
Mara stopped cold.
"That's a Herald Marker."
Pedro nodded. "Zairan's. And behind it?" He tapped the stone with his rod. A faint echo. Hollow. "Vault."
Inside the tunnel, the air became cold—unnaturally so. Frost lined the walls in spirals, as if sculpted by a painter with too many fingers. The silence grew oppressive. Not peaceful—murderous.
They reached the first chamber.
It was circular. Mirrors lined the walls—dozens, hundreds. Some were clean. Others cracked. A few were shattered entirely. Each one whispered.
Faint voices. Fragments of memory. Laughter. Screams. Singing.
Pedro didn't hesitate. He pulled a spool of salt-thread from his coat and circled the room, wrapping the mirrors in runes.
Mara turned slowly, eyes wide.
"These are… people."
Pedro finished the circle. "They were. Memories stolen by Zairan. Envy's Heralds collect the best pieces of people—their pride, their love, their joy—and hide them here. Trapped forever."
Mara reached out to one.
"Don't." Pedro stopped her hand just before it touched the glass. "If it's active, you'll lose a piece of yourself. You won't even know it's gone."
She lowered her hand.
"So how do we find the escaped one?"
Pedro smiled faintly. "Easy. It'll be the only one that doesn't want to be here."
He approached a cracked mirror near the far end—unassuming. The frame was rusted. But as he stood before it, the mirror shook.
A soft voice whispered.
"Please… don't let him take me back…"
Pedro's breath caught.
A child's voice.
He drew a tiny carving knife and etched a circle on the glass, muttering an activation rite from the Pao archives.
The mirror flared—
—and then shattered.
From the shards rose a shape of light—vague, translucent. A boy, maybe eight. Pale. Eyes too wide.
"Who are you?" Pedro asked softly.
"He called me his favorite," the boy said. "He said I was pure. So he took me. But something broke when he tried to make me forget… and I slipped out."
Mara stepped closer. "Do you know where he is?"
The boy nodded.
He raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the back wall.
A hidden door cracked open, stone sliding with a groan.
"He's close. But he's not whole. He's… gathering pieces."
Pedro and Mara exchanged a glance.
"This was never about corrupting Drevos Hollow," Mara said. "He was feeding it to the vault."
Pedro's mouth was a tight line.
"And now he knows we're here."
The next chamber was empty—save for one mirror.
Tall.
Polished.
Alive.
Pedro didn't get closer.
"This one… is watching."
The reflection rippled.
And a shape emerged.
Not from the mirror.
From the walls.
A masked figure in green robes stepped into the chamber. No feet. No sound. Its mask was carved with envy's sigil—seven curved teeth, devouring a crown.
Pedro froze.
"Zairan."
The Herald's voice didn't echo. It infested.
"I see you, little Pao. I see what you fear… what you miss… what you hide from."
"Would you like me to take it away?"
Pedro drew three talismans and threw them.
Zairan dissolved into shadows.
Then reformed behind Mara.
"You're full of guilt," he hissed. "Let me have it."
She spun and drove her spear into his chest—but it passed through.
Pedro threw down a Law of Severance Glyph. The circle burst in white-blue light, cutting Zairan's form into fragments.
The fragments laughed.
"Say my name, little boy. Let me show you what I really am."
Pedro didn't move.
He spoke instead to Mara.
"Never speak their true names. If you do…" He glanced up.
"…They see you."
Zairan reformed, half-stable now.
"You're not ready, exorcist."
Pedro didn't answer.
He slammed the final sigil into the floor. The circle activated, binding the room in an old-world lock. A Pao family trap, meant to imprison echoes.
Zairan's form stiffened.
"This won't hold me."
"It doesn't need to," Pedro whispered.
"Just long enough for us to burn the vault."
He pulled the trigger on a hidden rune etched into the vault entrance.
The mirrors lit—then cracked—then shattered.
Zairan's scream wasn't sound. It was memory tearing apart.
The vault collapsed behind them.
Outside, under the poisoned stars, Pedro and Mara breathed in silence.
Mara finally asked, "What would've happened if you said his real name?"
Pedro didn't answer for a long time.
Then:
"He'd have followed me. Forever. And he wouldn't come alone."