Dawn of the Egios

Chapter 7: The Forgotten Ones

Ash stood on the edge of the ruined village, watching the last wisps of shadow evaporate into the cold, still air. His breath came in ragged gasps, the aftermath of the battle still coursing through his veins. The power from the tome, the crystal, and the tower had saved him, but he felt its lingering touch—like cold fingers wrapped around his mind, waiting for a moment of weakness.

The wasteland stretched before him, a barren, desolate expanse. But now, something was different. His senses were sharper, more attuned to the dark forces that pulsed beneath the surface. The whispers in his mind had quieted, but they hadn’t disappeared completely. They lingered in the back of his thoughts, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

With the village behind him and the path ahead uncertain, Ash knew he couldn’t stay here. He had gained knowledge, power, and a small taste of the ancient forces that ruled this forsaken land. But something told him he had only scratched the surface of a much larger, darker truth.

As he walked, the cold wind picked up, swirling dust and ash around him. The sky remained dark, heavy with a storm that never quite seemed to break. Ash kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, searching for any sign of where to go next. The tome in his pack felt warm against his back, as if it held answers, but opening it again wasn’t a choice he was eager to make—not after what he’d seen in the village.

Hours passed, the endless wasteland stretching on in every direction. The silence gnawed at Ash’s nerves, and his thoughts wandered. The vision of the monstrous creature, born of the shadows in the chasm, haunted him. How many more of those creatures lay hidden beneath the surface of this world? And what was their connection to the dark forces he now wielded?

Just as doubt began to creep into his mind, Ash spotted something in the distance. It was faint, almost indistinguishable from the landscape, but the flicker of movement caught his eye. He crouched low, squinting through the dust and gloom. Figures—humanoid but distant—were moving slowly, their shapes hazy in the dim light.

Ash tightened his grip on his dagger and moved cautiously toward them. As he drew closer, he could make out the details. A group of people, cloaked in ragged garments, trudging through the wasteland like shadows of their former selves. Their faces were pale, gaunt, their eyes hollow and haunted. They walked in a slow, deliberate procession, seemingly unaware of Ash’s presence.

He hesitated. These weren’t the twisted creatures of darkness he had faced before—these were people. But there was something unsettling about them. Their movements were slow, methodical, as though they were caught in a trance.

Ash approached cautiously, keeping his distance but close enough to call out. “Who are you?”

One of the figures at the front of the group stopped, their head turning slowly toward him. The others followed, all of them stopping in unison as they regarded Ash with a strange, detached curiosity.

“We are the Forgotten,” the figure said in a low, rasping voice, barely more than a whisper.

Ash frowned. “Forgotten by who?”

The figure didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it reached up, pulling back its hood to reveal a face that was both human and not. The skin was pale, almost translucent, and the eyes were dark voids, devoid of light. Ash felt a chill run down his spine.

“Forgotten by the world,” the figure finally said. “By time, by the gods, and by the land itself.”

Ash’s hand hovered near his dagger, his instincts screaming at him to be wary. “What happened to you?”

The figure stepped closer, and the others remained still, their hollow eyes fixed on Ash. “We sought power, as you do. We sought to understand the forces that govern this world, the dark forces that have claimed the wasteland. But we did not understand the cost.”

Ash’s heart raced. The words echoed the warnings he had heard from the voices in his mind, from the whispers that had followed him since he touched the crystal and the tome. “What do you mean by the cost?”

The figure smiled, a sad, bitter smile that made Ash’s blood run cold. “We were once like you—seekers of knowledge, of power. But the power we sought demanded more than we could give. It consumed us, hollowed us out until there was nothing left but the shell of what we once were.”

The group behind the figure moved forward slightly, as if to emphasize the point. Their eyes, dark and empty, stared at Ash with a kind of quiet resignation.

“You were like me?” Ash asked, his voice tight. “You touched the power of the wasteland?”

“We did,” the figure said. “But we were not strong enough to control it. We became its prisoners, forgotten by all except the forces we tried to master.”

Ash felt the weight of the tome in his pack grow heavier. He had felt the pull of that same power, the dark, seductive force that had nearly consumed him. These people—these “Forgotten”—were living proof of what could happen if he wasn’t careful.

“Why are you still here?” Ash asked. “Why didn’t you leave the wasteland?”

The figure’s smile faded. “There is no escape. Once you touch the power, it binds you. The wasteland becomes your home, your prison. We walk its paths endlessly, trapped between life and death, between power and ruin.”

Ash’s heart sank. Was this his future? Was he destined to become like them—another lost soul, wandering the wasteland, consumed by the dark forces he sought to control?

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I won’t let that happen to me.”

The figure’s gaze softened, as if pitying him. “You may think you are different. We all did. But the wasteland has a way of breaking even the strongest wills. You will find that out soon enough.”

Ash took a step back, his hand tightening on his dagger. “I’m not like you. I can control this power. I just need to understand it.”

The figure tilted its head, as if considering Ash’s words. “Perhaps. But know this: the more you seek, the more you will lose. The power you desire will strip away everything you hold dear—your memories, your humanity, your soul. And in the end, you will be forgotten, like us.”

Ash’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t let their words shake him. He had come too far, seen too much. He couldn’t turn back now.

Without another word, Ash turned and walked away from the group, leaving the Forgotten behind. He didn’t look back, but he could feel their hollow eyes watching him as he moved further into the wasteland.

The wind picked up again, carrying with it the faint sound of their voices—soft, broken whispers that echoed through the empty landscape. Ash quickened his pace, his mind racing with their warnings, their stories of failure and loss.

He had seen what the power of the wasteland could do, but he wasn’t like them. He wouldn’t be consumed, wouldn’t let the dark forces strip him of his will. The tome in his pack was a guide, a tool, and the crystal was a source of strength. He had come too far to fail now.

As the village disappeared into the distance, Ash felt a flicker of resolve burn within him. He would not become one of the Forgotten. He would not lose himself to the darkness.

The wasteland still held its secrets, and Ash would uncover them—no matter the cost.