Nyxborn-The Forgotten Etherium

Renar's pulse pounded.

The whisper had no source. No breath, no shape—just a voice slithering from the darkness beneath him.

"You still don't see it, do you?"

Renar didn't move.

He had faced death before. He had felt betrayal carve its mark into his soul. He had watched his past burn.

But this was different.

This was wrong.

He slowly shifted his gaze downward.

His shadow stared back.

It was still the same shape—the outline of his body cast by the moonlight. But deep within, past the edges, past the darkness, something moved.

Something alive.

Renar didn't flinch. If it could speak, it could think. If it could think, it could be reasoned with.

Or manipulated.

"What are you?" he asked. His voice was steady. Cold.

The whisper laughed.

"What am I?"

The shadows rippled.

"No, Renar Ardentis. The question is—what are you?"

Renar's grip tightened around his cloak. It knew his name.

Which meant it remembered.

Which meant—it was part of whatever had erased him.

The whisper continued.

"A dead man walking. A name that should not exist. A soul clinging to something it should have lost."

Renar's chest ached. For a moment, a flicker of something old—something stolen—pushed against his thoughts.

A memory.

Of flames. Of screaming. Of—

Pain.

Then it was gone.

"You don't remember, do you?" the voice murmured.

Renar swallowed. He wouldn't let it control the conversation.

"I remember enough."

The whisper chuckled.

"Liar."

A gust of wind rushed through the shrine, scattering dead leaves. The moonlight flickered.

And when Renar looked down again—

His shadow was smiling.