The Forgetting Depths revealed itself gradually. First as a darkness on the horizon, then as an enormous crater in the earth, and finally as a sprawling underground city carved into the crater's walls. Thousands of structures descended in tiers, connected by rope bridges and carved staircases. Memory-light glowed from windows, casting everything in soft blue and amber.
"Home," Ven said, relief evident in her voice. "We made it."
They stood at the crater's edge, looking down at civilization built from desperation and commerce. The Forgetting Depths was neutral territory, a free market where anyone could trade anything, no questions asked. Law was simple here: violence against traders was death, and everything else was permitted.
"It's beautiful," Lyra breathed.
"It's dangerous," Marik corrected. "Beautiful, but dangerous. People come here to forget their pasts or trade their futures. You can buy memories, sell skills, trade identities. Everything has a price."
The Cartographer was studying the city with professional interest. "The largest memory-market in the Dominions. If we need information, this is where we'll find it."
They descended via the main staircase, a pre-Severance construction that had been reinforced with newer materials. The stairs were crowded with traders, merchants, and desperate people seeking to trade parts of themselves for survival. Jiko watched them all with detached curiosity.
At each tier, guards checked them. Not for weapons or contraband, but for identity. They used memory-Shards to verify that arrivals matched their claimed histories. Ven guided them through with practiced ease, showing papers and credentials that satisfied the guards.
"They're checking for wanted criminals and Testimony agents," she explained. "The Depths is neutral territory, but the operators don't want trouble. As long as you're honest about who you are, they don't care what you've done."
"And if you're not honest?" Devin asked.
"Then you disappear. The Depths has ways of making people disappear." Ven's tone suggested she knew this from experience.
They reached the fourth tier, where Ven led them to a building that looked more stable than most. A sign above the door read "Memory Broker – Information Traded & Verified."
"This is mine," Ven said with pride. "My business. I've been running it for six years."
Inside was organized chaos. Shelves lined with memory-Shards in labeled cases, walls covered with maps and charts, a desk piled high with transaction records. And behind the desk, a young woman looked up in surprise.
"Ven? Is that really you?"
Ven smiled, and for the first time since they'd met her, Jiko saw genuine joy in her expression. "Hello, Cara. I'm back."
The woman, Cara, rushed around the desk to embrace Ven. She was slightly younger, maybe twenty, with sharp features and calculating eyes. Her arms bore golden Marks, Honesty and Diligence, proof of virtue in a city built on trade.
"I thought you were dead," Cara said, pulling back to examine Ven. "You left for Ember's Rest three weeks ago and never returned. I was preparing to liquidate the business."
"I got delayed. And damaged." Ven touched her temple. "Lost a memory to an Echo. But I survived."
Cara's expression darkened. "Which memory?"
"My first trade. How I started the business."
"That's..." Cara looked stricken. "That's your origin story. The memory that defines everything you built."
"I know. But I'm alive, and the business is still running. That's what matters." Ven gestured at the group. "I brought back associates. They need my network, and I need their protection."
Cara looked at each of them in turn, her gaze lingering on Jiko and Lyra. "Two blanks. That's unusual. And dangerous. The Testimony has been increasing patrols, looking for heretics."
"They're always looking," Ven said. "But Jiko is special. He's the reason I'm still alive."
"Special how?"
"I'll explain later. First, we need lodging and security. Can you arrange it?"
"Of course." Cara was already moving, pulling keys from a drawer and marking something in a ledger. "I've been maintaining your apartment. It's ready whenever you need it. For your associates..." She calculated quickly. "I can get rooms at the Faded Memory inn. Tier three, respectable district. It'll cost, but you have credit with me."
"Use it. Whatever we need." Ven turned to the group. "I'll get you settled, then we'll meet back here tomorrow to discuss what happens next."
They followed Cara through the winding streets of the Depths, descending to the third tier. The city was more vibrant here, markets bustling with activity. Jiko saw all manner of transactions: A man selling his memory of his wedding day. A woman buying combat skills from a retired soldier. A child trading his laughter for enough food to survive the week.
"Does it disturb you?" Lyra asked quietly, walking beside him. "Seeing people sell parts of themselves?"
"Should it?" Jiko replied.
"I think so. It feels wrong, even if I can't feel why it's wrong. People shouldn't have to choose between memory and survival."
"But they do. That's the economy."
"Doesn't mean it's right."
The Faded Memory inn was cleaner than most establishments they'd seen in the Wastes. Three stories of carved stone, with rooms that had actual doors and beds. Cara paid the owner in advance, securing four rooms for them.
"Rest tonight," she said. "Tomorrow, Ven will want to debrief you properly. She's cautious about who she works with."
After Cara left, they gathered in one room to discuss next steps. The Cartographer spread his notes on the single table, organizing them into categories.
"We're here," he said. "Relatively safe, with access to resources. Now we need to decide what comes next."
"Information," Ven said firmly. "We need to know what the major factions are doing. The Testimony's movements, the Choir's activities, the Gilt Meridian's interests. And most importantly, we need to understand who else might be hunting blanks and why."
"I can help with that," Devin offered. "I know carriers who work throughout the Dominions. They hear things, see things. I can ask around discreetly."
"Too risky," Marik said. "You're marked as a survivor of the caravan attack. If the wrong people hear you're asking questions, they'll connect you to Jiko."
"Then I'll be careful."
The Cartographer shook his head. "Marik's right. We need information, but we can't expose ourselves getting it." He looked at Ven. "What about your network? Can we gather intelligence without revealing our presence?"
"Maybe. But it'll take time. Information brokers are careful, especially about sensitive topics like blanks." Ven hesitated. "There's another option. Someone who might have the information we need. But it's dangerous."
"Who?" the Cartographer asked.
"The Curator. The Archive's central intelligence. It's an AI from before the Severance, running on pre-tech and Shard-logic. It knows everything that happens in the Dominions."
The Cartographer went very still. "The Curator. I haven't spoken to it in fifteen years."
"You know it?" Ven asked, surprised.
"I used to work for the Archive, remember? The Curator and I had a complicated relationship." The old man's expression was troubled. "But if we approach it, we'll be putting ourselves on the Archive's radar. They're one of the few factions powerful enough to actually capture Jiko if they want him."
"Do they want him?" Marik asked.
"Unknown. The Curator's motivations are opaque even to people who've worked with it for years." The Cartographer looked at Jiko. "The decision should be yours. Risk exposure for information, or stay hidden and work blind?"
Jiko thought about it. They needed information to navigate the political landscape. The Curator could provide that information, but at the cost of revealing their location. It was a classic risk-reward calculation.
"We contact the Curator," Jiko decided. "Information is more valuable than concealment at this point."
"Bold choice," Ven said. "I'll arrange a meeting. The Archive maintains an outpost here in the Depths. I can get you an audience, though it'll cost."
"We have guilt-jars," the Cartographer reminded her. "Those are currency anywhere."
They spent the evening preparing. The Cartographer coached Jiko on how to interact with the Curator, explaining that it communicated differently than humans. Ven secured the meeting for the following morning. And the others rested, knowing tomorrow would bring complications.
Jiko lay in his room that night, staring at the ceiling. Three hundred and forty Marks of guilt sat inside him, a weight he could sense but not feel. The voices were louder now, more distinct. He could pick out individual sins if he focused:
I killed for pleasure.
I abandoned my children.
I betrayed my country for gold.
I watched them suffer and did nothing.
They didn't torment him. They couldn't, because he lacked the capacity to be tormented by guilt. But they were there, a constant presence, a reminder of all the evil he now carried.
Was he doing good by taking these burdens? Or was he just enabling people to escape the consequences of their actions?
He didn't know. But the question itself felt important.
Morning came with the sound of the Depths waking. Markets opening, traders haggling, the constant background noise of commerce. They gathered in the common room for breakfast, then followed Ven to the Archive outpost.
It was on the first tier, deep in the crater where the oldest structures stood. The building was pre-Severance architecture, reinforced with Shard-tech that made the walls shimmer with barely contained energy. Guards flanked the entrance, their armor covered in golden Marks. Saints, or close to it.
"The Archive employs virtualists," Ven explained. "People who've accumulated so much virtue they're almost crystallized. They're fanatics about knowledge preservation."
Inside, they were met by a woman whose entire body glowed with golden light, her Marks so dense they were barely distinguishable as individual brands. She looked at them with eyes that had seen too much truth.
"You seek the Curator," she said. Not a question.
"Yes," the Cartographer replied.
"Why?"
"To trade information for information. We have questions about the Severance, about blanks, about the major factions' activities. The Curator has answers."
The woman studied them, her gaze lingering on Jiko and Lyra. "Two blanks. How unusual. The Curator will be interested." She gestured deeper into the building. "Follow. And know that the Curator sees all truths. It cannot be deceived."
They followed her through corridors lined with memory-Shards, thousands upon thousands of them, organized in systems only the Archive understood. The deeper they went, the stronger the sense of presence became. Something vast and alien watching them.
Finally, they reached a chamber at the building's heart. It was circular, with walls made of crystalline screens displaying information too fast to read. And in the center, a construct of crystal and light that might have been human once, long ago.
The Curator.
"Welcome," it said, its voice synthesized but eerily natural. "Cartographer. It has been many years."
"Fifteen," the old man said. "I left the Archive when our research directions diverged."
"You left because I refused to help you experiment on children." The Curator's tone held no judgment, just fact. "And yet here you stand with the result of that experiment. Jiko. Born hollow, made empty. My greatest failure and your greatest sin."
Everyone tensed. The Cartographer's face went pale. "You know about him?"
"I know everything that happens within my reach. And Jiko has made quite an impression on the Dominions. Two hundred Marks from Marik, sixty from Devin, eighty from Kess the warlord. Three hundred forty sins stored in a void that should not exist." The Curator's attention fixed on Jiko. "Hello, hollow one. Do you know what you are?"
"An experiment," Jiko said.
"A weapon. A key. A question posed to reality itself." The Curator moved closer, its crystalline form refracting light in impossible ways. "You asked for information. I will provide it. But first, I want something from you."
"What?" the Cartographer asked warily.
"Let me study him. Two hours in my examination chamber, full analysis of his neural patterns and Shard-interactions. In exchange, I'll tell you everything I know about the factions, their movements, and their interest in blanks."
"That's not a fair trade," Marik protested. "Two hours of study for information we could gather ourselves given time?"
"Then add this to the offer: I'll tell you who created the Severance and why. The true story, not the myths." The Curator looked at the Cartographer. "You've been chasing that answer for fifteen years. I can give it to you. For two hours with Jiko."
The old man looked torn. "It's a trap."
"It's a transaction. I'm not your enemy, Cartographer. I'm simply curious." The Curator turned back to Jiko. "What do you say, hollow one? Will you let me see what makes you empty?"
Jiko considered. Two hours of examination for crucial information. The Curator might discover something dangerous about him, but it might also discover something useful. And the promise of learning the Severance's true origin was tempting.
"I'll do it," Jiko said. "On one condition."
"Name it."
"You share whatever you learn with me. If you discover something about my nature, I want to know it too."
The Curator's laugh was like crystal chimes. "Fair. Agreed. Follow me."
The examination chamber was clinical, filled with devices that looked like they belonged in a pre-Severance hospital crossed with Shard-technology that defied explanation. The Curator directed Jiko to lie on a table while it attached sensors to his head, chest, and arms.
"This will not hurt," it said. "But you may experience unusual sensations as I map your psychology. Or lack thereof."
The others watched from behind a glass partition. Jiko could see their worried faces, especially the Cartographer's guilty expression.
The Curator began.
It felt like nothing and everything. Jiko's consciousness was pulled in multiple directions at once, examined from angles that shouldn't exist. The Curator was searching through his mind, mapping the void where emotions should be, tracing the pathways that had rewired themselves around the absence of guilt.
"Fascinating," the Curator murmured. "Your brain has created entirely new neural structures to compensate for what was removed. You process morality like mathematics, consequences like physics. You're not human in the traditional sense. You're something new."
"Am I broken?" Jiko asked.
"You're different. Whether that's broken depends on perspective." The Curator paused in its examination. "I can see the stored guilt now. Three hundred forty consciousnesses, trapped in your void. They're aware, Jiko. They know where they are. They're screaming."
"I can't hear them."
"But they're still screaming. Every sin you've absorbed, still conscious, still suffering, just held in a space where suffering can't affect you." The Curator sounded almost sad. "You're not a cure for guilt. You're a prison for it."
The words hit Jiko harder than they should. He'd known the guilt was stored, but hearing that the consciousnesses were still aware, still suffering...
"Can they be freed?" he asked.
"Not without killing you. They're integrated into whatever void you use as a conscience. Remove them and you'd remove the structure holding you together." The Curator continued its examination. "But here's what's interesting: you're changing. The guilt is starting to affect you, not emotionally but cognitively. You're learning from the stored experiences, gaining their knowledge without their feelings. You're becoming a repository of moral understanding without moral sensation."
"Is that dangerous?"
"Unknown. But it's unprecedented." The Curator's tone shifted to something like excitement. "You're evolving, Jiko. In another year, you might understand morality better than anyone alive, simply from carrying so many experiences. You'll be a sage of guilt who's never felt guilty. Imagine that."
The examination continued for the full two hours. When it was done, the Curator released Jiko and gestured for the others to enter.
"My analysis is complete," it said. "Jiko is stable, not a threat to himself or others, and his capacity for guilt absorption appears genuinely unlimited. He's everything the Cartographer hoped he'd be." It looked at the old man. "You succeeded. And that success will change everything."
"The information," the Cartographer said. "You promised."
"So I did." The Curator moved to its central display, bringing up maps and data. "First, the factions. The Iron Testimony is mobilizing, building something they call the Guilt Engine. It's designed to weaponize guilt on a mass scale, make it a tool of control. They need blanks to test it, which is why they're hunting so aggressively."
"How many have they captured?" Ven asked.
"Six in the last month. All executed after testing proved unsuccessful. Jiko would be the seventh, except he'd probably survive what kills others." The Curator shifted the display. "The Choir Sanctum is preparing a crusade against the Testimony. They believe guilt-weaponization is heresy. War is coming, probably within a year."
"And the Gilt Meridian?" Marik asked.
"Profiting from both sides. Selling weapons, guilt-jars, memory-Shards to whoever pays. They're neutral but interested in Jiko. If they could control him, they'd control the guilt-market."
The Cartographer was writing frantically. "What about the Wound? Any expeditions reaching the Engine?"
"Three attempts in the last six months. All failed. The Engine is too well protected by instability and Echoes." The Curator paused. "But Jiko could probably reach it. His immunity to emotional manipulation would let him pass through zones that kill normal humans."
"Is that the plan?" Lyra asked. "Send Jiko to shut down the Engine?"
"Eventually, perhaps. But not yet. He needs to grow stronger, gather more allies, understand his capabilities fully." The Curator looked at the Cartographer. "Which brings me to the Severance's true origin."
Everyone leaned in.
"Dr. Miriam Seo did not create the Empathy Engine alone," the Curator began. "She had a partner. A researcher named Aldric Cross. He provided the theoretical framework, she built the device. Their goal was noble: force humanity to feel each other's pain, create universal empathy, end war and cruelty."
"What happened to Cross?" the Cartographer asked.
"He survived the Severance. Barely. And he's been working on a counter-Engine ever since. A device that would reverse the Severance, return morality to abstract status, make memories and guilt private again."
"That's impossible," the Cartographer said.
"Is it? You created a blank who can absorb infinite guilt. Impossible is negotiable." The Curator's display showed a location deep in unmapped territory. "Cross is here. In a facility he built from Severance-wreckage and pre-tech. He's been working alone for eighty years, trying to undo what he helped create."
"Why are you telling us this?" Ven asked.
"Because Jiko represents an opportunity. If Cross can study him, understand how his void works, he might be able to replicate it. Create a counter-Engine that makes everyone like Jiko. Hollow, but free."
"That would destroy humanity," Marik said, horrified. "Everyone blank? No one able to feel?"
"Or it would save humanity from drowning in emotional weight." The Curator looked at each of them. "That's the choice coming. Keep the Severance and let guilt remain currency, drowning some and elevating others. Or reverse it and risk losing what makes us human. Jiko will be the pivot point of that choice."
Silence fell. The weight of what the Curator had revealed pressed down on everyone.
Except Jiko, who felt nothing.
But understood everything.
He was more than an experiment now. He was a key to humanity's future. A weapon, a cure, a question that would determine whether morality remained concrete or returned to abstraction.
And he had no idea which outcome would be better.
"What should I do?" Jiko asked.
The Curator's crystalline form shimmered. "Learn. Grow. Carry more guilt, understand more perspectives. And when the time comes to choose, make the decision that logic demands." It paused. "Or make the decision your accumulated consciousnesses would make, if you could hear them clearly. Either way, the choice will be yours."
They left the Archive in silence, each processing the revelations in their own way. The Depths continued its commerce around them, oblivious to the conversation that had just redefined their mission.
Jiko walked beside the Cartographer, noticing how the old man's hands shook as he held his notes.
"You're afraid," Jiko observed.
"Terrified," the Cartographer admitted. "I created you to understand guilt. I didn't realize I was creating a fulcrum for humanity's future."
"Does that change anything?"
"Everything. And nothing." The old man looked at him. "I'm sorry, Jiko. For making you. For using you. For putting this burden on you."
"I don't feel burdened."
"I know. That's why it's so terrible." The Cartographer smiled sadly. "But maybe that's also why it has to be you. Anyone with normal emotions would be crushed by this choice. But you might actually be able to make it rationally."
They returned to their inn as evening fell. Tomorrow they'd plan their next moves, decide how to navigate the web of factions and threats. But tonight, they rested.
Jiko lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, carrying three hundred forty Marks of guilt and the weight of humanity's future.
And for the first time, he wondered if maybe, possibly, he was starting to feel something after all.
Not guilt. Not fear. Not burden.
But responsibility.
And that, the Cartographer had taught him, was its own kind of weight.