Chapter One: The City That Forgets
Carthia was never just a place on the map—it was a living entity, breathing darkness and choking under a thick, unyielding fog that clung to its fractured walls and washed over its decaying pavements like a gray shroud. Every street screamed in silence, each corner holding stories buried under layers of time. But the city forgot nothing. It remembered everything—every secret, every wound, every truth that once shattered its core.
In the heart of this walking nightmare, Marcus wandered aimlessly through narrow alleys and twisted streets, carrying the weight of years spent in solitude and regret. His tattered black coat clung to his thin frame, soaked by a rain that hadn't stopped in days. His calm eyes hid a storm of dark thoughts that never made it to the surface. Between his fingers, he clutched a small, broken doll—its hands torn off, its right glass eye cracked, gleaming faintly in the dim light. It was more than just a neglected toy—it was the only thread tying him to a past he refused to let go of.
He reached an old café tucked into the corner of a narrow street. The warped door creaked with an almost painful groan every time it moved. The place was a sanctuary for the unwanted—a haven for the broken. Here, shattered souls dissolved in cold coffee and empty conversations. Marcus sat in his usual spot, a cup of coffee before him—long forgotten—and a fog-covered window that stood like a barrier between him and the world outside.
Inside the café, Elena waited. A woman draped in a long black coat, her light hair cascading over her shoulders in carefully arranged chaos. Her eyes revealed caution, and a layer of mystery clung to her like perfume. She approached quietly and sat across from him, glancing first at the cold cup, then at the doll in his hand.
"Why do you drag that thing around every day, Marcus?" she whispered, her voice distant, as though echoing from another realm.
Marcus slowly raised his eyes to meet hers, but they held no answer.
"This isn't just a doll, Elena. It's a part of me. It reminds me there's something I have to face—even if it kills me."
She smiled sadly. "Truth in Carthia isn't like truth anywhere else. Everything you think you know about yourself, about this city—it's a shell. Beneath it is something deeper. Something that doesn't let us sleep."
The door creaked again, and a man entered. Dressed in a dark suit, his eyes were sharp—like blades forged in the fires of silent wars. He approached their table, glanced at Marcus, then at Elena.
"Marcus. Elena. Time is running out. You can't keep running from the truth," he said with a tone that was nearly a warning.
Marcus sighed and raised the doll under the dim light. "This doll... it's not just a broken toy. It's the key. The key that binds me to Carthia—and the reason I can't leave."
The man stared at the doll, then back at Marcus, his gaze unflinching.
"This city doesn't forget, Marcus. And that little thing you're holding is proof. But what comes next—what's coming for you both—won't be easy."
Outside, the wind howled louder. The fog crept beneath the doors like a silent witness to every word.
"If this is the path," Marcus said firmly, "then I'm ready. Either I face what's inside me—or I vanish into the city's forgetfulness."
The man left without another word, his presence lingering like a shadow. Marcus and Elena remained by the window, where the city continued whispering secrets to those bold—or cursed—enough to listen.
They sat in heavy silence until Elena broke it with a sidelong glance.
"Marcus, when was the last time you tried to forget?"
He paused, as if sorting through memories for an answer.
"Forget? That's impossible. Carthia doesn't allow it. Every corner holds a shadow of the past. Every stone echoes with screams. I've tried. They always come back."
She leaned in, voice low.
"The shadows? You mean spirits?"
He laughed, a hollow sound from deep within.
"No. Not spirits. Worse. Living memories. They chase us, feed off us. Here, in Carthia, there's nowhere to hide."
She looked out at the rain-drenched window as the wind pierced through the glass like invisible nails. The weight of unspoken truths pressed down like gravity.
Suddenly, the man returned. But this time, his face was grim, carved in stone.
"Someone is watching. It's easy to know when the city loses its silence," he said, voice tight.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
The man inhaled, his breath heavy.
"The Shadow. It's not just a word. It's a presence—or maybe a network—that controls every move, every secret in Carthia. We're playing a game that can't be won... unless we learn its rules."
Marcus and Elena exchanged a glance. She turned to him and asked:
"Are you ready for this game?"
He paused. Then, with a rare certainty:
"If I wasn't... I wouldn't be here."
The man stared at them with unsettling intensity.
"We've all played a role. But only a few know how the game ends."
He crushed out his cigarette, pulled a torn slip of paper from his pocket, tied with an old black string. He handed it to Marcus.
"Take this. The next key. Don't lose it."
Marcus unfolded it slowly. Faint words were scrawled across its surface:
"In the shadows of Carthia, you won't find truth—only those who guide it."
He closed the paper and tucked it into his coat. Looking at Elena, he said:
"The game has already begun."
Outside, the storm roared louder. The fog devoured the lights.
And the city—more than ever—was drowning in darkness.