THE MEMORY THIEF Chapter 2: The Empty Tomb
THE MEMORY THIEF
Chapter 2: The Empty Tomb
The Royal Tomb had never been opened.
Not in living memory.
Not in recorded history.
For eight hundred years, every Royal Mage had been buried beneath the White Citadel.
Their bodies sealed behind enchanted stone.
Their spirits preserved within the Chain of Memory.
The ritual was sacred.
Untouchable.
Absolute.
Until tonight.
Rain hammered the capital.
Lightning flashed above the towers of Highreach.
Corin followed the royal guards through the lower halls beneath the castle.
The deeper they descended, the colder the air became.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody needed to.
The fear was already visible on every face.
Even the veterans looked uneasy.
Because everyone understood the same thing.
If someone had entered the Royal Tomb...
Then someone had broken magic older than the kingdom itself.
The massive stone doors stood open.
Corin stopped walking.
For a moment, he simply stared.
The doors weighed hundreds of tons.
Protected by ancient runes.
Protected by spells he himself now remembered creating centuries ago.
Opening them should have been impossible.
Yet here they stood.
Wide open.
As if someone had casually walked through.
The King waited inside.
King Alaric III.
A powerful ruler.
A feared commander.
A man who never showed weakness.
Tonight he looked terrified.
When he saw Corin, relief crossed his face.
"Thank the gods."
Corin glanced toward the tomb.
"What happened?"
The king swallowed.
Then pointed.
"See for yourself."
Corin entered.
Rows of stone coffins stretched into darkness.
Hundreds of them.
Every Royal Mage.
Every generation.
Every life.
Every memory.
Or at least...
They should have been there.
The coffins were empty.
All of them.
Every single one.
A cold sensation crawled through Corin's spine.
The memories inside him reacted immediately.
Fragments surfaced.
Fear.
Panic.
Ancient warnings.
Something hidden.
Something forgotten.
Something connected to the missing Night of Ashes.
He knelt beside the nearest coffin.
The stone lid lay shattered on the floor.
There were no signs of force.
No evidence of struggle.
Only one thing remained.
A symbol.
Carved into the stone from the inside.
Not outside.
Inside.
As if someone trapped within the coffin had carved it before escaping.
Corin froze.
Because he recognized the symbol.
Not from his own life.
From the missing memories.
A black circle crossed by a silver line.
The Mark of Silence.
A forbidden symbol erased from history centuries ago.
The moment he saw it, another fragment returned.
A voice.
A desperate voice.
One of the ancient mages.
Speaking directly to him.
Or perhaps to whoever inherited the memories.
"If the mark returns, we're already too late."
Then the memory vanished.
Cut off.
Like all the others.
The king noticed his expression.
"What is it?"
Corin hesitated.
He didn't know how much to reveal.
Finally he said:
"I've seen this symbol before."
The king frowned.
"Where?"
Corin looked at the empty coffins.
"I don't know."
The answer sounded ridiculous.
Yet it was true.
The memory existed.
But someone had stolen the part that explained it.
A sudden scream echoed through the tomb.
Everyone spun around.
One of the guards had fallen.
His torch rolled across the floor.
The man pointed toward the darkness.
His face white with terror.
"Something moved."
The room fell silent.
Even the rain outside seemed distant.
Then another sound emerged.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming from deep within the tomb.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Someone was walking toward them.
From the darkness.
From the section where the oldest mages had been buried.
The section no one had entered in centuries.
The guards drew swords.
The king stepped back.
Corin felt ancient instincts awaken inside him.
Magic surged through his veins.
Silver light gathered around his hands.
The footsteps grew closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Then a figure emerged from the shadows.
A man.
Wearing ancient robes.
Pale skin.
Silver eyes.
And around his neck hung the symbol of the Royal Mage.
The same symbol Corin now wore.
The guards stared in horror.
The king whispered:
"No..."
Because everyone recognized the face.
Portraits of the man hung throughout the kingdom.
Every child knew his name.
He was the First Royal Mage.
The founder of the Chain of Memory.
The man who had died eight hundred years ago.
Yet here he stood.
Alive.
The ancient mage looked directly at Corin.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
As though he had been expecting him.
For a long moment neither spoke.
Then the dead mage smiled.
A sad smile.
The smile of someone carrying an unbearable burden.
Finally he said:
"Tell me, Corin..."
His voice echoed through the tomb.
"...how much of your memory has he stolen?"
Silence.
Nobody understood the question.
Nobody except Corin.
Because deep inside the missing gap within his mind...
Something moved.
Something listening.
May you like
Something that did not want him to remember.
To be continued in Chapter 3: The First Mage
