CHAPTER 388: CHAPTER 377: MEMORIES

Atlas slowed. His shadow stretched thin beneath the glass walls that rose around them — cracked mirrors of a forgotten world.

Michael had gone ahead, his golden wings flickering in the haze. The others followed close, boots scraping through dust that glittered faintly, like ash and light mixed together.

The silence was wrong. It wasn’t empty anymore.

It was listening.

A sound came — faint, mechanical, too even to be natural.

A chime. Then another.

From somewhere deep in the ruins, an electronic voice whispered, ...Welcome back...

Eli turned sharply. "Did you hear—?"

"Yes." Atlas’s voice was flat, but his chest was tightening.

That phrase. That voice. He had heard it a thousand times — the tone of automatic doors at the station he used to pass every morning, half-awake, clutching cheap coffee and hollow dreams.

He swallowed hard. "Stay close..." he said.

The path ahead bent between two collapsed buildings, glass windows shattered inward like eyes gouged out.

Faded posters clung to the walls — advertisements for lives that no longer existed. Faces smiled through the dust, offering promises no one could redeem.

The same slogan from before. Only this time, the lights beneath it flickered faintly, ’still alive.’

Merlin’s staff clicked against the stone. "These sigils... they’re not magic," he murmured. "Some kind of forgotten glyphs. Symbols of control..."

Aurora crouched near a fallen sign, brushing her fingers across it. "No. Look closer. These were not carved — they look printed...the same way we use....ink.."

She looked up at Atlas. "Your silence tells me you recognize this....is there something you’re not telling here .."

He met her gaze but said nothing.

Inside, his thoughts screamed.

Oh He knew this street, he knew it very well— not by name, but by feeling.

The hollow echo of traffic, the smell of exhaust and cheap food, the gray of human ambition painted over emptiness.

He remembered walking here once, before everything.

When the sky still carried color.

When he was nobody.

And now, the ruins of that life lay beneath his boots

The guide’s voice slid through his mind again, quieter this time — almost gentle.

{{{{{I feel what you feel, you know that right? ...In the end...It remembers you.}}}}}}

’What does?’

{{{{{The world you left behind. Even death couldn’t kill memory. You built something here once, even if it was small....the feeling of belonging...I feel it from you...}}}}}

Atlas’s hands curled into fists. ’I built nothing.’

{{{{{You existed here, once...why are you hiding it...i will know, there’s enough memory to bloom here....}}}}}

He exhaled slowly. "Shut up," he muttered.

Claire glanced at him. "...Atlas?"

"Nothing," he said again, voice distant. "Just... distracted."

They passed beneath a bridge half-swallowed by sand. Beneath it, faint light pulsed — blue, steady, rhythmic.

When Eli stepped closer, it flared brighter. Symbols appeared across the concrete like veins of light.

Merlin drew back. "Energy signatures. But not mana."

Aurora touched the wall. "Alive. Responsive. Almost like—"

Before she could finish, the entire bridge breathed. A deep vibration rolled through the ground, and from the shadows, shapes began to move.

Not demons. Not angels.

Human silhouettes, made of static and light.

Their outlines flickered as though trapped between moments.

’so the people on the poster sign...these were the people Michael was talking about...’

They walked the same streets, repeated the same gestures — talking, laughing, unaware of the intruders among them.

Illusions, picture graphs ..

Lara clutched Atlas’s sleeve. "Are they... alive?"

"No," he said quietly. "They’re like paintings, just more advanced... let’s say."

He stepped closer to one — a man in a suit, face blurred by static. The figure passed straight through him, leaving a chill that sank into his bones.

’...wait, it moved...?’ he thought.

And suddenly, Atlas saw himself — the same suit, the same empty expression, the same walk. A memory carved in repetition.

He staggered back. Claire caught his arm.

"Atlas—what is it?"

He stared at the phantom fading in the light. "That was ...me."

The guide’s laughter echoed faintly, not cruel but knowing.

{{{{{Just spill the beans, the more you hide, the longer we are stuck here..}}}}}}

’Why ...Why show me this?’

{{{{{Because they’re watching. The Empresses see through memory, and you... are both memory and future.}}}}}

’You mean Lilith.’

{{{{{Among others. But she most of all.}}}}}

Atlas’s stomach turned. "I told you I don’t want her attention."

{{{{{You don’t have a choice, boy. You are her attention....the reason why you are my attention..}}}}}

The wind rose. Somewhere far above, a siren howled — the broken wail of an alarm system that had forgotten what danger was.

The spectral crowd vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind only the echo of footsteps fading into nothing.

Michael descended again, landing hard, dust spiraling around him.

"Lord Prophet," he said, eyes sharp. "The city ahead moves."

Atlas blinked. "...Moves?"

"Yes," Michael said. "The buildings shift when unobserved. I flew above and saw the skyline rearranging itself..."

Raphael stepped forward, hand on his sword. "A trap, perhaps."

"No," Merlin said, eyes narrowing. "A mechanism. The realm reacts...and it seems its reacting to atlas .."

All eyes turned to Atlas.

He felt it too — the subtle hum in the air, the pull beneath his skin, like magnetic threads tying him to the ruins.

The guide whispered again, almost fondly.

{{{{{Homecoming....huh}}}}}}

They reached a plaza — circular, wide, centered around a black tower that pierced the clouds.

Its surface shimmered with fractured reflections, showing not the group, but other faces — younger, older, alternate.

Atlas saw his own face among them — a version smiling, another weeping, one covered in blood.

Claire whispered, "Atlas...?"

He took a step forward.

The ground beneath him lit up.

The symbols spiraled outward, forming an intricate pattern of circuits and runes interwoven. The tower pulsed in response, and a voice — low, feminine, ancient — resonated through the air.

"Welcome home, my son."

The group froze.

Aurora drew her staff. "Who speaks?"

The voice laughed softly. It wasn’t a sound — it was a memory of laughter, vibrating through the bones.

"Do you not recognize me, Prophet of the Fallen? You have worn my power since birth."

Atlas’s chest constricted. He wanted to deny it, to scream, but the tower glowed brighter.

"Lilith," he breathed.

The light pulsed like a heartbeat.

"Yes," the voice whispered. "You walked the mortal world, bled in hell, broke fate itself — and still, you seek reason.

There is none, my child. Only purpose. You are the bridge between dying worlds..."

The others drew close, defensive. Michael’s blade blazed. "Show yourself, Empress!"

"Not yet," Lilith’s voice cooed. "He isn’t ready to see what he is."

The tower’s surface rippled — reflections twisting into scenes from his old life. Atlas at his desk. Atlas on a rainy street. Atlas standing alone at a train station. Each image shimmered, then fractured.

"Everything you built, everything you lost," Lilith murmured, "was preparation. You think you conquered hell, but all you conquered was yourself."

"Enough!" Atlas roared. "You killed me! You used me!"

"Did I?" The tone turned tender. "Or did I give you what you always wanted — freedom from your rached world?"

The word hung in the air, heavy and cruel.

The light faded. The city went still.

Atlas’s breathing came ragged.

Claire reached for him. "Atlas—"

He stepped back. "No. Don’t. Not now."

The others watched him in silence as the tower dimmed to gray.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, softly, almost brokenly: "She’s right about one thing."

Merlin frowned. "Which?"

He looked up, eyes dark. "Freedom always costs something. And I don’t know if I can pay anymore."

The silence that followed Lilith’s voice was not quiet.

It was thick — full of things unsaid, full of ghosts that refused to die.

Atlas didn’t move. He just stared.

Eli’s voice was the first to break the stillness.

"...She called you her son...so it is true, what we heard in the darkness...."

He didn’t answer.

Claire stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. "Atlas. Look at me."

He did — slowly — and the look in her eyes nearly undid him. Not pity. Not fear. Just... faith. Quiet, stubborn faith.

"She’s lying," Claire whispered. "Whatever that thing said — it’s meant to break you."

He wanted to believe that. Oh lord, he wanted to.

But the echo of Lilith’s voice still lived in his head, whispering through his pulse.

’Freedom always costs something...she pulled me from my old world to here, there must be a cost for that...’

Merlin approached the tower, eyes narrowed. "The resonance hasn’t faded," he murmured. "This structure isn’t dead."

Aurora frowned. "Alive?"

"More than that," he said. "It’s bound to him."

Atlas turned. "To me?"

Merlin channeled his mana to his eyes, more focused, seeing the actual course of the world.

And all the mana, that constructed this world, everything. It linked to him. Atlas.

Merlin nodded grimly. "Your energy is the anchor. When you walked into this city, it woke up. I thought there must be an error. But hearing your....mother.

It’s confirmed, this world is indeed from you and for you...

Lara kicked a loose stone. "So what, the buildings move because they like him?"

Merlin didn’t smile. "Because they remember him. And because he remembers them."

That silence returned — heavier this time.

Even the air felt charged, full of memory.

A low vibration shuddered through the ground.

The tower’s surface rippled again, but no light came. Instead, a deep thrum filled the air — a heartbeat so vast it made the street tremble.

Michael’s wings snapped open. "We’re not alone."

From the shadows between the buildings, something stirred.

Shapes — vast, skeletal outlines made of broken steel and ghostlight. They moved like marionettes without strings, dragging pieces of the city with them. Windows shattered as glass drifted upward like dust, drawn toward invisible hands.

Eli drew her blade, voice sharp. "Defensive formation!"

Merlin raised his staff, but the glow from the tower surged before he could act.

"Stop." Atlas’s voice cut through the chaos.

The sound wasn’t loud — but it carried authority. The kind born from command, from the throne of hell itself.

The creatures froze.

Claire stared at him. "...How did you—?"

He shook his head. "I didn’t. They just... listened."

The nearest of the metallic phantoms turned its faceless head toward him. The shape of its skull flickered, forming a hollow mockery of a human face — his face.

Then it spoke, voice metallic and hollow.

"Atlas.... Why did you leave us, your own brother and sister, your mother?"