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Scout of a Forgotten Army: Those Who Remember Forget

AgentPaper
Cold. That was Lucas’s first thought upon waking in the Tower of Arrival—a vast, echoing chamber of stone and silence. His memories were scattered, fractured, lost to a storm he couldn’t name. Around him, others stirred—strangers as hollow-eyed and disoriented as he was. None of them knew why they were here. None of them remembered who they had been. Before questions could take shape, a figure of light appeared—a holographic echo wrapped in robes of gold. It offered no comfort. Only truth. “You are far from home. But your home is no more.” The voice warned them not to chase the past. That their memories were shards of a shattered world, and seeking them would only bring pain. Instead, they were told to start anew in Hollowrest—a frontier town carved into the edge of survival, flanked by the haunted ruins of the east and the war-born might of the northern Iron Confederacy. They were free, the figure said. Free to choose their path. Free to live and die by their own will. And to aid them, it offered a gift: The System. A tool of power. A tether to progression. A curse in disguise. Then it vanished, and the world began. Lucas should have moved forward like the others. He should have chosen a guild, built a new life, played the game the world demanded. But something inside him screamed. A whisper. A spark. A question that refused to fade: Who was I… before all this? And worse—why does the act of remembering make him forget even more?
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Prey Amongst Predators

On the brink of death, Sol had expected nothing more than eternal peace from his lifelong suffering. But instead, fate dealt him an unexpected hand. The Melvires, a renowned family, rescued him that night, and his fate was rewritten. A man who called himself his father, along with the four sons who bore no resemblance to him, offered a life so far removed from his own, it felt like fiction. Ever since then, he had done everything in his power to make himself worthy of the life they gave him. Yet even as the years passed, some truths remained hard to ignore. The Melvires carried themselves with an elegance that seemed inborn, an air of distinction no effort could replicate. No matter how hard he tried, Sol always felt like an outsider trailing behind them–grateful, but never equal. Nevertheless, he dedicated himself to their service, believing loyalty was the least he could offer in return. But everything shattered the night he turned twenty when the veil was lifted. The Melvires finally revealed the sharp claws hidden behind their velvet gloves. Sol was nothing more than a sacrifice. The crown of their design. He fought hard to escape their reign of terror, but the more he resisted, the steeper the slope became. Every path forward was walled in inevitability. His spirit waned beneath the weight of isolation and betrayal, until all that remained was resignation. Perhaps this was simply the closing of a circle. If his life was the price for everything he had been given, then so be it. He opened his arms, ready to embrace death again, just as he had all those years ago. But what was with their sudden change in attitude? Why, after all the pain they had inflicted, did they now seem… wounded?
Myrim · 1.9k Views