The fog got thicker soti after midnight, not the sa kind of fog they were used to.
This one felt different, colder and heavier than the rest, but they didn't think about the possibility of sothing being in it.
They crossed a ridge of broken stone, both of them worn out, silent since the last campfire. The sky above was dull gray—there were no stars or moon, just the kind of colorless dark that left you without any direction.
Even Veyla looked uneasy, her hand kept hovering over the hilt of her blade, not like she expected sothing to happen but she didn't trust her environnt enough not to be cautious.
"Still wanna keep going?" she asked softly, sounding a bit tired.
He didn't answer her, just kept walking ahead, and he wasn't sure why.
His body didn't feel tired anymore, and that was because of the rune, but he rembered Veyla's warning:
"Strength that ca with silence was never free."
They reached the edge of a large slope, and Riven stopped walking, pausing right on the edge.
The fog parted just enough for him to see what lay below, and it wasn't a battlefield—it was quiet. Spread out in all directions, across a sunken stretch of land, were what looked like hundreds of figures. So crouched in the dirt, while others stood, but none seed to be moving.
Each of them wore a Rune just like his, different shapes but they had the sa curse. Most of them were old, worn out, and split.
While so had weapons, others didn't, but none of them seed to move, none of them spoke either.
Veyla ca up beside him, and her face was rid of emotions.
"The Silent Fields," she muttered under her breath. "I thought it was a myth though."
He turned, his expression that of confusion. "What do you an a myth? What is it?"
"It's a place where forgotten soldiers go, to seek refuge," she responded, staring down from the slope.
He turned to her, still confused. "Where forgotten soldiers go? But they look dead."
"Not dead—just soldiers who are not rembered," she answered.
He still didn't understand what she was saying, but he didn't press any further.
He took a step down the slope, bit by bit.
The fog thickened as he walked into it. The figures didn't react to him. One of them, a massive warrior holding a halberd cracked in half, swayed slightly, as if caught in so slow-motion fall that never ended.
Another sat cross-legged on the ground, head bowed, helt split down the middle. Even though they looked like statues, they were alive.
They were Cinders. So of them were marked by the sa Ashen Rune like him, but they were empty now.
He passed by a woman in cracked bronze armor. Her face was open and soft. She might've been very beautiful once, but now she didn't look the sa. Her eyes were wide, but looked soulless.
Her mark was inscribed into her neck—a spiral like his, but a bit faded. "Seems like they don't speak," he said quietly, still walking past them.
"Apparently not," she said behind him. "They've lost their souls, so I doubt they can."
He stopped, glancing around. Hundreds of them, all looking the sa. "How is this possible?"
She stepped closer to him, her voice lower. "They were all once called back to life, just like you, but they gave up too much and probably absorbed too much Remnants and ended up forgetting who they were," she whispered.
Riven crouched next to one of them—a young man in small armor with a thin blade resting across his lap. His mouth was slightly open, but no breaths ca out.
"What are they waiting for?" he asked, studying the man intently.
"No one knows," she answered.
He stood up, scanning the field, and he saw many more as far as the fog allowed him to see.
All of them the sa, frozen mid-action, and he knew this wasn't a punishnt. It was a warning for him.
The Remnants didn't kill them. It emptied them, bit by bit, until there was nothing left to hold onto.
The rune on his chest burned once—sharp, like a pin dragged along bone, and he grabbed it instinctively.
Then, as if reacting to the rune, his mind played a mory of soone else.
"We rember what you forget," it said.
He shook his head, shaking it off his mind, and the fog stirred around him, causing every figure on the field to move and look in his direction.
Their heads tilted slowly, toward him. Their eyes wide and empty, staring at him as if they were staring into his soul.
"What's wrong with them?" Riven said, stepping backward.
But they didn't follow him—just kept on watching him, and after a few monts, they returned back to their natural positions.
Riven's heart pounded in his chest as Veyla's movents caught him off guard. "Did you see that?" he asked.
"Yes, I saw it," she responded, her voice filled with fear as well.
He glanced at his hand, and now he understood what strength like this turned into when there was no one left to carry it.
Then he turned to Veyla quickly. "Is there a way to fix them?"
Veyla shook her head. "I don't think so, Riven. No one knows. No one has actually co back from this," she said.
He nodded slowly. "I see," his expression tightened.
He walked on ahead with Veyla following suit.
They moved through the field in silence, stepping carefully between the fallen and the forgotten soldiers.
Riven kept glancing back at the soldiers. Not being rembered—even by oneself—was a terrifying thing.
They reached the far end of the field just as the fog began to lift. The sun wasn't burning brighter, but the sky lightened slightly.
As they walked out of the open field, he said softly, "That's where I'm heading, isn't it?"
Veyla's expression softened, then she spoke. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
He smiled faintly. "Even if it's my choice?"
"That's the problem," she muttered. "The longer this goes on, the less of a choice it becos."
He stared at her but didn't say any words—because she wasn't lying about it.
He stared back once more, and all across the Silent Field, the naless soldiers stood still.
"I wish I never see this place again," he whispered to himself.
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