THE LEGEND OF THE CITY
"Long ago, Koffion—the god who breathes in memories—descended from the sky and offered:
"Give me one happy memory… and I will give you mountains of gold."
One man accepted. Then another. Then an entire city.
They became rich. But not happy.
For without memories of joy… there is no such thing as happiness.
So they began to buy other people's memories. Just for a moment. Just for a flicker—just to feel joy again.
But those memories never stayed. They vanished like dreams at dawn.
And the people became addicted.
Now, Memento is a city of memories no one remembers.
Joy-junkies.
Filth, gold, poverty, and smiles bought for a coin.
And Koffion watches from above.
He remembers everything."
The city breathed like a beast. Loud. Ragged.
The streets twisted like intestines, each with its own stench, its own voice, its own ghostly imprint.
Ko'ony walked beside Cain, kicking debris, muttering under her breath.
"You know," she said at last, "doesn't that hood get hot? Or is it part of your whole broody-silent-warrior vibe?"
Cain didn't answer.
"Or maybe you're just scared someone'll see your face and scream, 'Monster!'"
His steps slowed just a bit.
"Oh, so you do have ears," she smirked. "Relax. These people are all so messed up, you could be a dragon in slippers and nobody would blink."
Cain kept walking.
"So what are you even doing in this place?" she asked a minute later. "You don't strike me as the 'crowds and chaos' type."
"I'm looking for someone," he said simply.
"A woman?"
He didn't reply.
"…A man?"
Cain shot her a look. Ko'ony snorted.
"Alright, alright. Doesn't matter. At least we're not here just for the sightseeing."
They reached the edge of the marketplace. In the shadows, among charred signs and vendors with empty eyes, sat an old man. His eyes were glazed white. Scrolls, scraps of burned cloth, jagged lines and ink stains were strewn beside him.
"Maps," he whispered. "Real ones. Not of streets. Of memory."
Cain stopped.
"I need the old residential quarter."
"Which one?" the blind man asked.
"Green Street District."
"Then you don't need it," the old man said. "There's nothing left there."
Cain remained silent.
"There's nothing to remember anymore. That place was wiped. Koffion has no power there. He took it all. Even the traces."
"Who did he take it from?"
The old man smiled.
"Those who refused to sell. They were erased. Forgetting became the price of pride."
He held out a bundle wrapped in string.
"Here. Your map. The last one drawn before it was cut out."
Cain placed a coin in the bowl.
The old man didn't touch it.
"You won't find who you're looking for. Only shadows."
"Uhh," Ko'ony narrowed her eyes, "he's blind. How does a blind man draw maps?"
"Not everyone in this city gave in to the promise of wealth," the old man replied. "I use memory to draw. Because I don't want to forget."
Cain nodded.
"Thank you."
They left.
By the time the sun had set, they'd found shelter in a half-collapsed building. An old inn. The floor cracked, ceiling stained with soot. Beyond the walls came screams. Groans. Sometimes laughter. Sometimes… howling.
Cain sat by the window. The map lay in front of him. Ko'ony, wrapped in a blanket, sat beside him, her eyes half-lidded.
"You really think you'll find someone in this place?" she asked.
"I believe in keeping promises," he replied.
"And what if they're already dead?"
Cain said nothing. Just turned to the window, where the city continued dying in silence beyond the fogged glass.
Ko'ony didn't press. She just drifted off.
The night was pitch black.
Cain didn't sleep. Still seated at the window. Something deep inside him ached—not pain. Not fear. Something else.
Like emptiness.
That breathed with him.
Then he heard it.
A rustle.
A crack.
A shadow.
On the rooftop across from them stood a figure. Black. Tall.
It was impossible to say—human or not.
The figure was watching them.
Cain didn't move. He simply stared back.
The figure didn't blink.
Then—it was gone.
Ko'ony stirred from the cold.
"You're still sitting at that window?"
He didn't answer.
Only said:
"…We need to go."