The air in the tavern felt thick, oppressive almost, as if it were waiting for something — a catalyst, a spark. Ilyan sat down across from the old man, his heart racing, though he tried to maintain his calm exterior. Ashwen took the seat beside him, arms crossed, her gaze sharp as ever. Loup, however, opted to stand by the door, leaning against the frame as if he were still unsure whether this was a scene worth participating in.
The old man looked at them, his eyes deep pools of history. His face was a labyrinth of wrinkles, each line telling a story — and from the way he looked at them, Ilyan had the distinct feeling that this man had seen things far beyond what anyone should. He could smell the truth, even if it was buried under layers of lies and forgotten tales.
"So," the old man said, breaking the silence. "You're here for your past. And you think I can help you find it."
Ilyan nodded, his voice low. "I need to know who I was. There's a gap in my memory, and it's… it's driving me crazy."
The man chuckled, a dry sound. "Is that what you think this is? A hole in your memory?"
"Yes," Ilyan said, leaning forward. "I can't remember anything. My name, my life... nothing. I wake up and it's like everything has been erased."
The old man stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You think it's as simple as amnesia, eh? No, no, lad. It's not that simple. What you're experiencing… it's something else. And not many would call it a blessing."
Ashwen raised an eyebrow, but Ilyan kept his gaze fixed on the old man, unwilling to look away. The man's words were too close to the truth for comfort, and that discomfort churned something deep within him.
"You're saying it's not memory loss?" Ilyan asked, confusion creeping into his voice.
The old man shook his head. "No, what you've lost is not the past, but the thread connecting you to it. The weft of your existence. When a soul is pulled from the fabric of life, some threads are left hanging. But it's more than just a broken memory. It's like a missing page from a book, Ilyan. The story's still there, but it's incomplete. And you, my friend, have been written out of it."
Ilyan's blood ran cold. "Written out? I don't… I don't understand."
The old man's gaze softened, as if he were speaking to a child. "There are things beyond your comprehension. Powers that control your story, shape your fate. And sometimes, when the story doesn't fit, they erase parts of it. Erasing people, erasing memories… all to maintain the balance of what's 'meant' to be."
Ilyan swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. "So what does that mean for me?"
"It means," the old man said, "that the quest you're on? It's not just about finding your past. It's about discovering who decided to remove you from the story. Who controls the weft of your life and why they decided you weren't needed anymore."
Ilyan's mind whirled. This was bigger than he had imagined. "So I'm not just trying to find my past… I'm trying to find the one who erased me?"
The old man nodded gravely. "Yes. And that's the tricky part. Because whoever did this, they'll want to keep it that way. They'll fight to keep the weft intact. They'll fight to keep the story from being rewritten."
Ashwen's eyes widened as she processed the implications of what the man was saying. "So you're telling us that there are people who can rewrite a person's existence? Control their very fate? Like some kind of… editor?"
The old man chuckled darkly. "That's one way of looking at it. But it's much more complicated than that. There are forces in this world — and beyond it — that do not like loose ends. You, Ilyan, are a loose end. You've been removed from the narrative, and now you're trying to re-enter it."
Ilyan leaned back in his chair, his thoughts spinning. A thousand questions surged through his mind, but one stood out above the rest.
"So how do I find this person? Or these people? How do I find the ones who erased me?"
The old man leaned in, his voice becoming a low whisper. "The answer lies in the Vault of Rejected Truths, the place where the past goes to die. The place where memories are kept, locked away. The place where the truth of your existence may be buried."
"But we were just there," Ashwen said, frowning. "We already got the form, remember? There was nothing there but…"
She trailed off, eyes narrowing as she recalled their last visit. "Wait. You said 'rejected truths.' As in, things that were supposed to happen but didn't?"
"Exactly," the old man said, his voice dark. "The Vault is not just a place for forgotten things. It's a place where the truth is rejected, erased, and locked away. It's where the weft of reality is preserved in its most unaltered form — the truth, unadulterated."
"And how do we get there?" Ilyan asked.
The old man's lips curled into a thin smile. "Ah, that's the trick, my boy. You don't just go there. You prove that you belong there. You have to show that you're willing to face the truth, no matter how bitter or dangerous it may be. You must confront what was left behind when they erased you from the story."
Ilyan swallowed hard, the weight of what he was hearing pressing down on him. "And if I can't?"
The old man's eyes darkened. "Then you will remain lost. Forever. Just another forgotten piece in a world of discarded truths."
The tension in the room thickened. Ilyan's heart beat faster as he processed the enormity of what lay ahead. Ashwen placed a hand on his shoulder, a rare moment of comfort, before turning to the old man.
"Do you have a way to get to the Vault? A guide? A map?" she asked.
The old man considered the question for a moment, then shook his head. "There are no maps for places like that. And guides... well, they tend to disappear when you need them the most. You'll have to find your way."
Loup, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, suddenly spoke up with his usual levity. "Ah, mysterious quests and hidden truths! A perfect recipe for chaos, don't you think?"
The old man smiled faintly, his eyes twinkling. "I see you've found some humor in all this. Good. You'll need it."
Ilyan stood, his resolve strengthening. "Then we'll go. We'll find the Vault and get to the truth."
The old man nodded. "Be careful, young one. The truth doesn't come easily. And when it's found, it has a way of changing everything."
Ilyan turned to leave, his mind already working through the possibilities. Ashwen followed close behind, her expression a mixture of determination and caution. Loup, still as playful as ever, trailed after them, his jester's bells jingling with every step.
As they left the tavern, Ilyan couldn't shake the feeling that they were one step closer to unraveling the mystery of his past. And maybe, just maybe, the truth would be worth the cost.