The Guild stood at the end of a road no map dared mark. It rose not from earth or stone but memory—a place built on recollection, on purpose, and on a promise whispered to the world long before it knew how to listen. To enter it was to forget your name at the door—and to remember it only when spoken by another.
Its doors were open tonight.
They came in twos. Masters and Servants. Unknowing of each other. Unaware they had been walking the same spiral path all along.
Auren'thal and Seren arrived first—always early, always measured. The greatcoat he wore swept behind him like a storm held in fabric, and Seren kept exactly two steps behind, silent but watching everything with the eyes of someone who'd seen things collapse from the inside.
Auren'thal: "This place... it shouldn't exist."
Seren: "Yet it remembers us."
Auren'thal: "Or remembers what we're about to become."
They stepped through the threshold.
Moments later came Velkharis and Nyrix. The dark wind that accompanied them was not weather—it was will. Shadows curved unnaturally around Velkharis' boots, while Nyrix trailed behind like an echo of mischief too ancient to laugh out loud.
Velkharis(half-smiling): "An entrance without fire? Someone's slipping."
Nyrix(grinning): "Maybe we're the fire this time."
Velkharis: "No. Fire remembers its name. This place forgets ours."
They entered, amused.
Third, came Myreon and Eiloen—like starlight and snowfall. They did not speak for some time, not because they lacked words but because everything said here would matter. Myreon touched the threshold with two fingers.
Eiloen: "Do you feel it?"
Myreon: "A gathering. Or an unraveling."
Eiloen: "Maybe both."
They stepped in, as if drawn by something not quite light. The doors opened again before they had time to settle.
Kaelith stormed in like a flame too arrogant to burn out, dragging Veyth behind—sharp-eyed, arms crossed, already annoyed to be here.
Kaelith: "Now this is what I expected. High ceilings, mood lighting, existential dread. You'd think they were trying to impress me."
Veyth(dryly): "Don't flatter yourself. The walls were cracked before we arrived."
Kaelith: "But now they have style."
Veyth: "They had silence. Until you walked in."
And lastly, long after the others had gathered, came Thalorim and Ruell. Quiet as the last line in a long-forgotten song. Thalorim stepped into the hall like it hurt to remember, and Ruell's eyes were wide, but not with fear—with recognition.
Ruell: "It's just like the dream. The hall with no time."
Thalorim: "Then don't wake up."
The doors closed of their own accord. Six pairs. Twelve paths. One room.
They faced each other not in hostility, but in the kind of quiet weight reserved for stories that had yet to be told. At the center of the hall was a long table carved from starwood—each chair marked not by name, but by emblem. Emblems none of them remembered choosing, yet all instinctively claimed.
The air shifted. And from nowhere—and everywhere—he was there.
The Gamesmaster.
Hooded. Faceless. Ageless. A voice that didn't echo because it was already in the air before he spoke.
Gamesmaster: "Which of you knows why you've come?"
No one answered.
Gamesmaster: "Which of you knows what you carry?"
Velkharis(leaning forward): "Ask something that has an answer."
Gamesmaster(tilting head): "Does knowing an answer make it true?"
Kaelith(laughing): "Depends who's lying."
Gamesmaster: "And who listens?"
Myreon: "You brought us here. Why not speak plainly?"
Gamesmaster: "Why ruin the only truth you haven't abandoned?"
Thalorim: "You play at wisdom. But what's the game?"
Gamesmaster: "What isn't?"
There was a hush. Then:
Seren(quietly): "Why us?"
Gamesmaster: "Because you were willing to ask."
He walked slowly around the table, hands behind his back, pausing at each of them.
Gamesmaster: "One who remembers too well… one who refuses to.
One who laughs at the dark… one who drinks from it.
One who watches through others' eyes… and one who saw too much, too soon.
One who should not have survived… and one who's been waiting since before beginnings.
One who walks with flame… and one who's only ever burned.
One who is lost… and one who was never found."
The hall dimmed.
Gamesmaster: "What happens now depends on where you go... and why you keep going."
He turned to leave—then paused.
Gamesmaster: "Will you remember this moment…or will it remember you?"
And then he was gone. Just silence. Twelve left with the weight of a question that would not leave.
And somewhere, beyond the hall, beyond the known, in a chamber lit by the still-burning coals of ancient stars, the Keeper waited.
Watched.
And listened.
[The Keeper's Watch]
The passage to the Watch did not exist. Not truly. It shifted, not just in space, but in meaning. The Gamesmaster walked through it anyway—cloak trailing like dusk pulling shut behind a day no one knew had ended.
The chamber pulsed with silence. A silence that wasn't empty, but attentive. Waiting.
In the center: a circle of cracked marble, veined with light that wasn't quite light. At its heart stood the Keeper—hood lowered, arms behind his back, gaze turned upward toward the ceiling where no stars burned, yet every constellation hung in stillness. The Gamesmaster stopped just outside the circle.
Gamesmaster(calmly): "They've all arrived."
Keeper(without turning): "On time?"
Gamesmaster: "As always. Each wearing their masks a little tighter. Each believing it's still just theirs to wear."
Keeper(softly): "Good." A pause. Long enough to feel deliberate.
Gamesmaster: "You watched. You could've spoken. Guided. Even warned them."
Keeper(turning now, eyes unreadable): "I could've. But I won't."
Gamesmaster: "Still too early?"
Keeper(nodding): "They've yet to collide. Collision is what binds. Without it, the truth slips through."
Gamesmaster(stepping closer): "They don't know what's beneath the sites. What's sleeping there. What they're becoming."
Keeper(quietly): "And that is mercy, Gamesmaster." The Gamesmaster tilted his head. His tone became a whisper woven with curiosity.
Gamesmaster: "Do you still believe in them?"
Keeper(with the faintest smile): "More than I believe in the end." Another pause.
Gamesmaster: "And when they ask the wrong question?"
Keeper: "They always do."
Gamesmaster: "Then what happens?"
Keeper(eyes narrowing, voice low): "Then we begin again." The lights above flickered—constellations shifting subtly, rearranging themselves in silence.
Gamesmaster: "They're close to remembering."
Keeper: "Let them forget a little longer. Let the game speak before I do."
Gamesmaster: "And when you do?" The Keeper stepped forward. For the first time, he looked tired. Not weak. Not old. Just endlessly patient.
Keeper: "Then it won't be the game anymore. It will be the choice." And with that, the Watch dimmed.
Far above, the twelve lingered in the hall they could not name. And far below, the two who had shaped the board stood in its center—watching pieces stir toward something ancient, unfinished, and inevitable.