Ciaran woke up to a bright afternoon sun and the usual silence and emptiness he was accustomed to.

  The young girl was nowhere to be seen or heard. He wondered if, in his exhaustion, he had already fallen asleep and dreamed the encounter but hadn’t realized it himself at the time. He had a feeling that wasn’t the case, however. Somehow, he’d run into another ghost. Never before had he ever seen or spoken to ghosts, so this new development was confusing.

  Ciaran rubbed his face with his hands while feeling the cold breeze. It was a little cooler than the last few days. He wondered how he’d survive the cold when winter set in — he had no coat, and there was no place he could get or buy one. He sighed, burdened by all the things he had to do to survive.

  [Kid, you’re awake? Good to hear. Have something to eat and then warm up. You’re going to be running to the lake today. You can only stop when I say you can. Otherwise, don’t even think about slowing down.]

  Ciaran hummed an agreement and ate some fruit and drank some water. It didn’t fill his stomach, as was the case with every “meal” he had since coming here, but it had to do. He thought about the forest, all of the possible wildlife that could be in it. Even if the outskirts were barren because of the disaster that took place here, he was sure that he could find life if he ventured deep enough. A picture of him eating meat and making the furs of animals into coats he can wear to last through winter motivated him. His body was sore in places it hadn’t been before, likely because of the different way he used the sword the previous night. He moved his aching arms and legs and began to warm up for a long run.

  He used his spare shirt to tie his sword around his back and slung his bag across his shoulder. As he walked down the stone steps, ready to take off, something he’d forgotten popped into his mind. Yesterday, right before the sun set, he’d found a ring in the lake. He rummaged through his pockets and found it, taking it out to take a look at it. It was a silver ring with a dull, nondescript clear gem in the center. As he observed the inner band, he found someone inscribed a few words, but it wasn’t in a language he could read.

  After looking at the words closely, he heard Envil say, [I don’t know what it says, but that is definitely the language of an ancient kingdom that was once famous for its focus on magic.]

  “Did your sister study it?”

  [No, when she began to study under a mentor after graduating from the secondary academy, she began to focus on elemental combat magic. It was someone else I knew who studied it, but… why can’t I remember them? We attended the primary academy together, but… I can’t picture their face or remember their name.]

  “Do you think your memory of them is spotty for the same reason you can’t remember what happened when you died? Maybe if I kill more ghouls and you absorb more of them, you can slowly remember.”

  [I hope so. I hate not knowing how I died. But it’s weirder to not remember someone from when I was a kid… whatever. I can’t solve the problem right now, anyway. Hey, what are you doing?]

  Ciaran, instead of running, was distracted when he inspected the ring and began to wonder if the material it was made of was strong enough to withstand the heavy-duty dimensional inscription magic. He took the pen out of the bag and directed his mana into it, waiting until the tip glowed to connect the mana thread to the ring. He made a circle in the air and began the tedious process of a space magic inscription.

  Inscription magic, at its core, was simple in concept but difficult to execute. Using a mana thread and a small magic circle connected to an object, he directly allowed the mana to interact with the object and carry out different instructions that were written into the inscription’s magic circle. Inscription magic was a discipline with a few basic classes that students at secondary academies had to take to graduate, from what he has heard, but it wasn’t a popular choice for post-graduation specialization. Inscriptions had to be small and precise, accurate to the smallest, step-by-step detail.

  When Ciaran first told people about his interest in it, they would frown and ask him why he chose something so difficult and tedious, before telling him about how it wasn’t a very popular field to pursue unless one was naturally talented. It was only his mother who hadn’t made a strange face when he told her about it. He remembered the moment he showed her the first tool he made with inscription magic — a much more basic version of the firestarter he carried with him right now. She laughed to herself and rubbed his head before encouraging him to pursue it. He never understood the expression she made at the time, but the memory was a warm one nonetheless.

  Ciaran never answered Envil. By the time Envil asked him about what he was doing, he’d already begun inscribing and was too focused to hear anything else.

  Ciaran sat down on the stone steps leading up to the library, having completely forgotten his previous plans. It didn’t take long to reach the point in the inscription that caused the other rings and jewelry to break. He smoothly completed the step without the ring cracking or breaking at all, his eyebrows unfurling in relief before he continued.

  A long time passed. By the time he had finished a quarter of the inscription, a remarkably fast pace for the complex task, the sun had made it’s way across the sky a little more. Envil finished another small circle of instructions in the ring and breathed out, the tension he’d accumulated releasing. As he relaxed and prepared to continue, he heard Envil say, [Hey, so, are you ever planning on leaving? What are you doing? Didn’t you say you’re not a mage?]

  Ciaran snapped out of his focused state and remembered that he’d been planning to go to the forest earlier. “Oh, I totally forgot. I finally found a ring strong enough to withstand a dimensional pocket, so I just began working on it right away.” Ciaran put the ring in his pocket, planning to continue again later, and then stuffed the pen into his bag.

  “Right, you died 300 years ago, so you wouldn’t know what this was. About 150 years ago, there was this mage that pioneered a new field of magical engineering. He created a tool, a more basic version of the pen I just used, that would weave someone’s mana into a thread without the person themselves having to be a mage. Before this, only mages could create magic tools, and it was a lot more difficult, but after this invention, people that weren’t mages began to make magic tools, and many new things were invented since then. I’ve been wanting to make a dimensional pocket for myself lately, so I can store things I don’t want to carry. You don’t have to use rings, of course, but they’re the most practical choice for dimensional pocket tools, alongside necklaces, brooches, and bracelets.”

  [Dimensional storage? Wow. In my day, those existed, but only grand mages and their direct apprentices could use them because of how difficult they were to make. Are they easier to make now that this tool exists?]

  Ciaran laughed. “No. I just studied a lot and have more talent for this field than the average person. The pen allows me to create mana threads without having to become a mage, but it doesn’t do more than that. Creating magic circles and different tools is still dependent on the skill of the person themselves. Inscription magic had always come pretty naturally to me, and I like it, so I practiced and studied a lot.”

  [Well, good thing you won’t have to drag all this stuff around for much longer. No matter how much you want to work on that ring, though, you have to complete my training regimen for you first. No more dawdling. Get to running!]

  Ciaran felt a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it dropped again. How could he smile when everyone in his family died in such a horrible way?

  He had to avenge them, and he had to break the curse that allowed this situation to happen. Ciaran, after warming up again, began to run at a steady pace, heading towards the lush forest in the distance while avoiding the square he’d first arrived in. The memory of that wyvern, and the ritual that occurred in the square, wasn’t a pleasant one.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  ~|(+)|~

  Ciaran didn’t run the entire way. He would run for a while then walk until Envil told him to start running again. The time he spent running was always at least double the time he would walk in between his running. Sometimes, while he was running or walking, Envil would tell him to stop and do a few muscle strengthening exercises before having him set off into a run again without a second’s break. By the time the city gate’s were in sight, the sun had already started to set.

  [Okay, that’s enough for today. Just walk the rest of the way.]

  From a distance, Ciaran could see that these city gates were not the primary ones leading into the city. They were small and thick wooden doors that were tall enough to wheel a small supply cart through but not a carriage. As the sun touched the horizon, the remnants of the past appeared. He spotted two guards with loose armor leaning against the open doors of the gate, covering their mouth as they yawned and nodded towards the people walking in and out of the gate. Along the street, there were a few stalls set up with people selling not fruits and vegetables but furs, horns, claws, and other such things.

  He spotted a man walking into the city, dressed in furs and boots with a bow and arrow across his bag while dragging in a dead boar by a rope that was tied to its feet. Behind him was a young woman in brown pants and boots with bundles of herbs hanging from a belt around her waist, carrying a basket of various plants. Talking to her was another woman, a little taller than her, who was a hunter that’d caught a deer and a few rabbits, a spear poking out from behind her shoulder.

  As they walked past him, Ciaran stopped and inspected looked at the scene around him, then to wards the gates of the city. He could see people stepping out into the forest, out of the borders that marked the edge of the city, making him think about what he’d wondered the night before — did his ability to see these recorded fragments of the past really have anything to do with the Lost Empire and how it was destroyed? He couldn’t say for sure.

  It wasn’t a question he had to answer with any urgency, so he put it to the back of his mind and began to walk closer to the city gate, taking in the lively scene while saying, “Why do you think that mage decided to cast that spell? You can’t see it, Envil, but there are people everywhere, and they all live such great lives. They’re just… so happy. The holy emperor may be a bastard that takes part in such cruel and barbaric rituals, but these people don’t have anything to do with that. Did he have a reason, or did he just feel like destroying a nation?”

  [I can sort of imagine the twisted mindset that mage may have had. Maybe he wanted to destroy the Lost Empire’s evil nature all the way down to its roots. Or maybe he had a personal grudge, and just didn’t care about the collateral damage he’d cause by casting such a spell. Maybe it was a completely different reason that the two of us can’t begin to imagine. If anything, I’m wondering why the public, if your description of them is true, is so happy when the next person that is sacrificed could be themselves or their loves ones. Do they all look happy to you? It doesn’t really make any sense. If it were me, and I were just a commoner with no special ability, I’d always be worried that me or my sister or someone else I cared about would be chosen for that ritual one day.]

  After Envil pointed it out, Ciaran looked at everyone’s expressions and body language more closely, remembering how they people in other parts of the city had acted. Without fail, not a single one of them seemed fearful or worried. They weren’t just happy — they were carefree. Just as Envil said — if Ciaran had been living here as just an average person, he’d be always fearful that him or someone close to him would be chosen for that ritual and he’d have no way to stop it. Yet no one here seemed to carry that sort of worry.

  The realization sent chills down his spine and he couldn’t see the people around him in the same way anymore. Even if the criteria for choosing a sacrifice was so specific that many people here wouldn’t need to worry about themselves or their loved ones being chosen, their carefree nature still couldn’t be explained. How could they carry about their day, laughing and chatting with wide smiles and joyful eyes, while knowing that their fellow citizens were being brutally killed for the sake of the holy emperor’s vanity and ego?

  He remembered the ritual he’d witnessed the first night he came here, the screams of the girl tied to the altar as the molten gold was poured all over her body. How could they ignore the weight of the corpses their happiness was built on? Ciaran was glad they couldn’t see him, that it was just a replay of a memory from before the city was destroyed. If they had interacted the way he had with the young girl this morning, he wouldn’t be able to keep his expression from contorting with disgust and suspicion. He hurried his pace and walked out of the city gates, ignoring the people walking on what seemed to have been a trail during their day, but had long since overgrown. Whatever trail may have existed back then was long gone by now.

  As he walked through the woods, the sun sinking into the sky, he breathed in the smell of soil and life that he’d never had before. He had never been in a real forest before, having spent his life in the Keep and the fields around it. A little further behind the keep was a forest that led to the Onid mountain range, but his mother and grandfather had always kept him from going there, always saying that it was dangerous.

  Before he walked too deep into the woods, Envil said, [Ciaran, make sure to mark your path. If you get lost, you won’t be able to find your way back again. Although this city doesn’t really have much but old buildings and empty pots, it’s still better than being completely lost in the woods.]

  Ciaran turned around, realizing he’d been close to losing sight of the city. He remembered at this moment why it was barren — because its location was erased from history and memory, then the Lost Empire itself was forgotten over time. If he lost sight of it now, he’d probably never find it again. Tension rose with this understanding as he took out the sword strapped to his back and began to mark down trees along the old trail the townspeople had wandered down. “What if I mark these trees, go deeper into the forest, and then try to find my way back later only to realize that it’s impossible because the magic that is hiding its location is preventing me from finding it again?”

  [Well, that’s definitely a possibility, but I don’t think you need to worry. The sort of spell that erases something, or someone, from the universe’s memory doesn’t mess with other types of magic. It can erase the location, but it wouldn’t have a function to hide it. The mage would have had to cast another spell, which would take so much mana to cast that it would be impossible for a single person to do it alone no matter the size of their mana reserve. Ancient spells aren’t a walk in the park, you know.]

  Ciaran’s tense muscles relaxed as he began to wander deeper into the forest, marking trees along the way.

  [I guess you wouldn’t know since you’re not a mage and aren’t close with any, but the larger the spell, the more mana that is required to cast it, the harder it would be to instruct the mana in that spell to do more than just one thing at a time. Otherwise, you would need a very large, very complex magic circle and many high level mages with large mana reserves. If a mage wants to cast such a large spell with two or more functions, they would usually cast one spell for one function, then layer it with additional spells. It takes longer to set up and is more tedious to cast, but is more feasible than trying to squeeze two functions into one spell. All that to say that you shouldn’t worry. The sort of spell that destroyed this city may really have dual functions, but the second one would have been a destructive one to kill everyone.]

  Ciaran heard the sound of a stream as he walked in between tall trees and moss-covered rocks. He could hear insects and the distant sounds of birds, which was a great sign that there was really still life in this forest. After walking around a tree, he spotted the stream. It was wide but shallow, the shore covered in pebbles and smooth rocks of various sizes. Ciaran, having not bathed for an entire day, sighed in relief at the sight of water, dropping the bag he was carrying next to a tree, along with the shirt that helped to carry his sword throughout the day. He wondered if he had enough time to wash before sundown, but as he was thinking, he spotted something glinting through the shadows of the trees across the river.

  Curious, he took his boots off and held them in his hand, then rolled up his pants to his knees and crossed the stream, gripping his sword in his right hand. The water, at its deepest, reached just above his knees. After stepping onto the dry pebbles and rocks on the other side, he put his boots on again and walked through the trees, the shadows deepening as the sun set and night began.

  As the moon rose, Ciaran pressed the mechanism on the sword and watched as fire sprouted and licked the blade. He held it up for light and saw, in the shadow of the flames, a clearing half covered in the canopies of surrounding trees, a half-buried magic circle on the ground beneath. The burnt remains of various objects were placed at strategic locations around the circle. As Ciaran stepped closer, he heard Envil make a strange sound. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  [Ciaran, I remembered something… I’ve definitely been here before. I recognize this magic circle.]

  Ciaran paused, not walking any closer to the white edges. “Is it what I think it is?”

  [Yes. This is the magic circle that was used to cast the spell that destroyed the city.]