The Eternal Hunter’s Trace

"Memories are not merely lost. They are stolen."

The whisper did not come from Orion.

It came from everywhere.

From the void itself.

And in the suffocating silence that followed, the words echoed inside his mind—as if they had always been there, waiting to be heard.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

Yet the world did not change.

There was no solid ground beneath him—only an illusion of weight holding him steady. The air was neither cold nor warm, yet something unseen pressed against his skin, wrapping around him like unseen tendrils, hungry, searching.

He kept walking.

But with each step, a nagging sense of wrongness clawed at the edges of his mind.

This was not a place meant to be walked.

This was not a path meant to be traveled.

And yet, he moved forward—not out of choice, but because standing still felt like surrendering to something far worse.

The abyss stretched in every direction—infinite, inescapable.

No stars.

No landmarks.

No sense of distance or time.

Just emptiness.

A world where things should not exist—and yet, something did.

A faint glow in the distance.

A solitary figure, standing atop a jagged slab of obsidian, its sharp edges reflecting a pale, silver light.

For the first time since stepping into this forsaken void, he was no longer alone.

But the presence was not a comfort.

It was a warning.

The man's silver eyes gleamed in the darkness—sharp, knowing, patient.

Waiting.

Watching.

He could not see Orion's face clearly, yet he felt the weight of his gaze cutting through him, peeling away layers of his very being.

Then, Orion spoke.

"You walk as if you remember where you're going."

The words hit like a blade, striking something buried deep inside him.

An ache.

A confusion.

Because he should remember.

But he didn't.

And that terrified him more than the abyss itself.

His breath was unsteady now, his heartbeat echoing in the vast silence.

Orion took a step closer.

"Do you?"

The question carried no malice, no accusation.

Just an unbearable certainty.

He opened his mouth—but no words came.

Because he did not know.

And in that moment, he understood the true horror of this place.

It was not the darkness.

Not the silence.

Not the abyss that stretched forever.

It was the emptiness inside him.

The absence of everything he should have known, everything he should have been.

Orion tilted his head, as if he already knew the answer.

And in the silence that followed—

The void breathed.

A Name on the Edge of Oblivion "Who are you?"

His voice was firm.

Or at least, he wanted it to be.

But the cracks in it betrayed him—a faltering edge, a hesitation that should not have been there.

Because the moment he spoke those words—

A terrible, gnawing realization crept into his mind.

It was not just Orion he was asking.

It was himself.

Orion tilted his head, as if amused. His silver eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to understanding, as if he had expected this.

As if he had seen this before.

"A question that means nothing," Orion said, his tone maddeningly calm, "if you do not know yourself."

Something inside him froze.

The weight of those words sank into him like a blade, carving into a wound he had not realized was there.

Did he know himself?

The name on his tongue felt distant, foreign, like a word spoken in a language he no longer understood.

His breath quickened.

A part of him wanted to deny it.

To reject the thought before it could take root—before it could unravel something far worse.

But then—

The darkness shifted.

Not around Orion.

Behind him.

And for the first time since stepping into this void—

He felt true fear.

The Weight of the Forgotten

At first, the shadows had no form.

Just shifting masses, swirling in a way that made the air feel heavier, suffocating.

Then—

They took shape.

Faces.

Blurry.

Incomplete.

Yet something inside him screamed recognition.

His breath caught.

They were not strangers.

They were his.

People he should have known.

A woman with sorrowful eyes, her lips parted as if whispering his name.

A warrior with a scarred face, standing rigid, as if waiting for an order that would never come.

A boy—no older than ten—clutching a broken blade in his trembling hands.

And yet—

The moment he tried to grasp onto their names—

Pain.

Not a dull ache.

Not a fleeting sting.

But a searing, splitting agony that tore through his skull, as if his very mind rejected the truth.

His knees buckled.

His vision blurred.

The void tightened around him, closing in, devouring the last remnants of clarity he had left.

"What… have I forgotten?"

His voice was barely a whisper now, hoarse, raw.

Orion did not look away.

His silver gaze remained steady, unwavering.

"Everything."

And then—

The world shattered.

The Shadows That Devour Identity Darkness moved.

It did not creep. It did not whisper.

It hunted.

And it was hungry.

The first shadow lunged.

Not like a beast.

Not like a creature.

It moved like hunger itself—formless, mindless, yet filled with an intent more terrifying than any predator.

His blade was already in motion before he could think—his body acting on instinct, muscle memory driving his strike.

The arc of his slash was perfect. Precise.

A clean, merciless cut.

The shadow dissolved—

—and agony tore through his mind.

Not like a wound.

Not like a simple, fleeting pain.

Something was taken.

Something he did not give.

A memory.

A whisper of a name. A broken promise. A glimpse of a life he had once lived.

The second shadow struck.

His blade found its mark.

More was stolen.

A girl's voice, calling his name.

A name he could no longer remember.

His breath hitched. His vision swayed.

The air around him felt thinner, as if the space he occupied was unraveling, as if the very idea of his existence was being peeled away, piece by piece.

These things were not mere monsters.

They were erasers.

They did not kill.

They unmade.

And if he kept fighting like this—

There would be nothing left of him.

The Abyss Hungers

The next shadow did not lunge.

It waited.

It had learned.

It understood.

A cold realization sank into his bones—these things were not just feeding on him.

They were studying him.

Testing how much could be taken before he noticed.

Before he broke.

His hands trembled around his sword.

The weight of it no longer felt familiar.

Had he always wielded a blade?

Had it always been this heavy?

The memory of his first battle hovered at the edge of his mind, just out of reach—

Then it was gone.

The shadow did not need to attack.

It simply waited for him to lose himself a little more.

Panic coiled in his chest.

His mind scrambled for something solid, something real.

"My name is…"

Silence.

No answer.

"I am…"

Nothing.

"I was…"

A void.

He staggered.

The abyss closed in.

And the shadows watched.

A New Way to Fight

"You cannot destroy what you refuse to face."

Orion's voice cut through the chaos, steady and unyielding.

The words struck something deep inside him.

Because he knew Orion was right.

Each time he cut them down, they did not die.

Each time his blade found its mark, he lost something more precious than his life.

They were not enemies.

They were executioners.

And he was the one pulling the trigger.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on his sword tightening. Every instinct screamed at him to keep fighting.

But fighting meant erasing himself.

Fighting meant handing them his past, one piece at a time.

He needed a different way.

A better way.

So when the next shadow lunged—

He did not resist.

It struck.

And this time, he did not fight the flood of memories.

A Torrent of the Past

The pain came first.

Blinding. Searing.

Like molten iron being poured into his skull.

Then came the memories.

A battlefield under a crimson sky, the air thick with the scent of blood and burning steel.

A bloodied vow, sworn with the last of his strength.

A face—her face.

The woman with eyes like winter frost, her voice laced with sorrow.

"Come back to me."

His chest ached.

But this time—

He did not push it away.

The second shadow struck.

The past surged stronger.

A promise whispered in the dark.

A city burning.

His hand reaching—too late.

The agony tore through him, but something shifted.

The shadows faltered.

They recoiled, flickering, unraveling at the edges.

Because he was not losing memories anymore.

He was taking them back.

The Turning Point

The shadows screamed.

Not with voices.

With rage. With fear.

They had expected him to resist.

They had expected him to fight.

But they had never expected him to embrace the pain.

He took a step forward.

The abyss shuddered.

Another step.

The void howled.

His past, once lost in the endless dark, coiled around him like armor.

He was no longer a nameless wanderer.

He was a man who had lived.

A man who had bled, loved, and lost.

A man who would not let them take any more.

Orion smiled, his silver eyes gleaming. "Finally."

A Debt Unpaid

The battlefield was gone.

The suffocating abyss had faded, taking with it the shadows that devoured his memories.

Only Orion remained.

Standing amidst the void as if he belonged there. As if the darkness was merely an extension of himself.

The silence between them felt heavier than the battles before.

He swallowed, his throat raw. His body trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what had been taken. What had been returned.

His gaze locked onto Orion, searching for answers in the man's unnervingly calm expression.

"What does this mean?" His voice came out hoarse.

Orion did not blink. "It means your past is not entirely lost."

His heart clenched.

Not entirely lost.

But not fully his, either.

Fragments remained—ghosts of names, broken promises, a face he could almost touch yet never truly grasp.

And yet, the shadows had feared his awakening.

Because now, he was no longer their prey.

But Orion's next words were not comforting.

"The choice remains—do you chase it, or do you forge a new path?"

The weight of the question settled over him like iron chains.

His hands clenched.

To chase his past meant stepping further into the unknown.

But to forge a new path… meant letting go.

Could he afford to remember?

Could he afford not to?

He looked at Orion, searching for clarity in those silver eyes.

Instead, he found only amusement.

A knowing smirk curled at Orion's lips, as if he had already foreseen the war raging inside his mind.

"There is a city." Orion's voice was quieter now. "A place where the stars do not shine. If you seek the next piece of yourself, that is where you must go."

A cryptic answer. A vague direction.

But it was more than he had before.

His mind latched onto the words.

A city without stars.

Something stirred in the abyss of his mind—a feeling, not a memory. A pull, distant yet undeniable.

But his questions had only multiplied.

He took a step forward. "And you?" His voice was steadier now. "What are you to me?"

Orion's unreadable smile remained.

"A witness. A reminder."

His silver eyes darkened.

"A debt yet to be repaid."

A chill ran through him.

Before he could demand more, before he could unravel the truth hidden in those words—

Orion stepped back.

And the void swallowed him whole.

The darkness collapsed around him, pulling him under.

The last thing he saw—

Was Orion's smirk, lingering like an omen.

Alone, Yet Not Lost

When he awoke, he was no longer in the abyss.

The ground beneath him was solid. Cold. Damp.

His breath was unsteady as he pushed himself up, his fingers brushing against rough stone.

A cave.

Faint light seeped through cracks in the ceiling, casting shadows across the jagged walls.

He was alone.

But this time, he had something new.

A path forward.

A destination.

A reason to keep walking.

And a debt left unpaid.

[END OF CHAPTER 3]