The room was quiet, disturbed only by the sound of the clock hanging on the wall, its hands moving in their monotonous rhythm.
The young man sat beside the window, holding an old book with a black cover. Its page edges had worn away from frequent use. The book was not particularly thick, nor was its cover adorned with any distinctive decorations. A single word had been inscribed upon it in faded silver letters:
"The Forgotten."
He turned the page and continued reading.
The book told the story of a man who had lived in a distant age—a man who had begun his life as an ordinary warrior, only to rise through strength and intelligence until he became the greatest figure of his era.
He had been more than a powerful warrior. He had founded a civilization, united scattered peoples, and built a nation capable of enduring calamities no one could have imagined.
Yet the book did not portray him as an ideal hero.
He loved his people, but he was not merciful in every decision he made. He had made ruthless choices and sacrificed individuals for goals he believed would save millions. When others challenged him, he refused to yield as long as he remained convinced that he was following the right path.
He believed that a ruler who feared making difficult decisions was unworthy of ruling.
But the ending was different.
In the final pages, the nation he had founded turned against him. Those who had earned his trust betrayed him, and many denied everything he had done for them. As time passed, his traces disappeared and his achievements were erased, until his name became unknown to the descendants of those who had once lived because of what he had built.
Nothing remained of him but a mysterious tale and a strange symbol that appeared repeatedly throughout the book.
The young man stopped at one of the pages.
The symbol was drawn in the center. Simple at first glance, it nevertheless possessed something that made him stare at it for a long time. Intertwining white lines converged at a single point, forming a black star surrounded by delicate curves whose beginnings and endings were difficult to distinguish.
He did not know why he found the symbol so captivating.
Perhaps it was its unusual design, the way it appeared throughout the book, or perhaps there were details he had yet to notice.
He reached toward the desk and picked up a black pen.
Then he rolled up his sleeve and drew the symbol on his forearm.
He was no skilled artist, but after two attempts, he managed to reproduce the lines. When he finished, he studied the drawing for a few moments before pulling his sleeve back into place.
Then he returned to reading.
He did not know that this would be the last time he would ever read that book in his room.
He reached the final page.
There were only a few short lines, written in a different hand from the rest of the book:
"The man did not die when he fell.
Nor was he defeated when his people betrayed him.
His true defeat came when the day arrived that no one remembered he had ever existed."
The young man continued staring at the words.
Something about the story fascinated him, though he could not quite identify what it was. It was not merely a tale of a powerful man who had lost everything. It seemed to speak of something deeper, something the book itself could not explain.
He closed the cover.
And the moment the pages came together, everything went dark.
Arthur opened his eyes.
He did not know where he was.
His vision was blurred, and the objects around him appeared as overlapping shadows. He tried to move his fingers, but his body responded with nothing more than a faint twitch.
An immense heaviness weighed down his limbs, and pain stretched from his chest to his legs. Breathing was difficult. Every attempt to draw a deep breath ended in pain that forced him to stop.
He remained still for a few moments, trying to understand what was happening.
Then his vision gradually cleared.
A high ceiling supported by iron beams.
Massive machines that had ceased operating.
Scattered wooden crates, broken tools, and a floor covered in blood.
Blood everywhere.
Bodies lay between the machines. Some had fallen near the walls, while bloodstains spread across the floor, mixing with the dust and oil that had long covered the factory's ground.
The place did not resemble any factory he knew.
It looked as though a catastrophe had swept through it.
Arthur tried to lift his head, but the pain forced him to stop. He closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to subside before trying again.
This time, he managed to look around.
And then he saw something strange.
It lay only a few steps away, motionless in a pool of dark blood.
It was not enormous, though it was slightly larger than a human. Its muscular body was strangely proportioned, and its arms were unnaturally long. Even while lying down, its fingertips nearly touched the ground.
Its head resembled that of a deformed human, but its features were too distorted to determine exactly what it was.
Its black claws were embedded in the ground, and its body showed no signs of movement.
It was dead.
Arthur stared at it, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
Then his eyes shifted to the body lying beside it.
His heart seemed to stop for a moment.
"…Edward?"
There was no answer.
Edward lay on his side, his clothes torn across his chest. Three deep gashes stretched over his torso, resembling the marks of enormous claws. Blood stained their ragged edges.
His arms were intact, and there was no sign that he had lost a limb, but the blood surrounding him made the sight far more horrifying than Arthur could bear.
He froze.
Then his body moved on its own before he could even think.
"Edward!"
He tried to rush toward him, but his legs refused to respond. He leaned forward, supporting himself with his arms, and began crawling slowly across the floor.
It felt as though his bones had turned to fragments of glass and his entire body was refusing to obey his commands. Even so, he did not stop until he reached the body.
He grabbed Edward by the shoulder.
"Edward… wake up!"
He shook him gently.
Edward did not move.
Arthur shook him again, this time with greater force.
"Edward! Can you hear me?"
He leaned closer, trying to determine whether his brother was breathing. His fingers trembled, and he could not steady them enough to feel his breath clearly.
"Please… wake up."
He did not understand why he had said it that way, or why the words had escaped him before he had time to think.
But something began to change inside his mind.
Fragmented images appeared, followed by memories and emotions whose origins he could not explain.
A man standing at the door of a modest home, wearing a dark coat and carrying a work bag.
A voice calling out to him in the morning.
A long road lined with stone buildings.
A factory whose chimneys released thick clouds of smoke.
Then the face of that same man as he turned toward him with a calm smile.
Edward Valen.
His older brother.
And then his own name returned to him.
Arthur Valen.
He quickly looked at his brother's chest, trying to examine the wounds as blood continued to flow without stopping.
Another memory returned.
The factory.
The screaming.
The creature that had appeared among the workers.
Edward standing in front of it, trying to keep it away from danger.
Then Arthur rushing forward, unable to bear watching his brother face that thing alone.
After that, there had been nothing but darkness.
He could not remember what had happened in the end.
But his memories told him enough to understand that Edward had tried to protect him.
And that he, too, had tried to protect Edward.
Arthur returned to the present, his hands still gripping his brother's shoulder.
"Edward…"
His voice grew quieter.
"It's me, Arthur. Can you hear me?"
He received no answer.
His eyes began to burn, and a tear rolled down his cheek before he even noticed it.
"We have to go home…"
He swallowed with difficulty.
"Eleanor and Celine are waiting for us. They said dinner would be ready when we got back."
He tried to smile, but his lips trembled.
"Didn't you say we'd finish work early today?"
He shook his brother's shoulder again.
"Come on… get up."
Edward did not move.
"Get up, please."
Arthur's breathing grew erratic, and he felt as though there was not enough air reaching his lungs. He tried to lift his brother, but his body lacked the strength to do so.
He was helpless.
Helpless to carry him.
Helpless to determine whether he was still alive.
Helpless to do anything except call his name.
"Edward…"
He leaned over him and rested his forehead against his shoulder.
"Don't leave me alone."
He did not know how long he remained like that.
All he knew was that his body was gradually losing the strength to endure. His remaining energy faded, and the pain intensified until he could no longer move his arms.
He tried to stand one last time.
He failed.
He collapsed beside his brother, gasping for breath as his vision began to narrow.
He reached out and clutched the edge of Edward's clothing.
Then he whispered:
"Please…"
Those were the last words he managed to utter before losing consciousness.
Arthur did not know how much time had passed.
Perhaps minutes. Perhaps longer.
But the silence that had settled over the factory did not last.
Outside, several black carriages stopped in front of the building. They were drawn by powerful horses, their sides stained with mud and dust from the road.
Men stepped out, wearing dark formal coats, elegant waistcoats, long trousers, and polished leather boots. Some wore stiff hats with short brims, while others carried leather briefcases and tools unfamiliar to the factory workers.
They were not all alike.
Among them were what appeared to be government officials, dressed neatly and carrying documents beneath their arms. Others wore stricter uniforms, each bearing a metallic insignia on the chest that identified its wearer as a member of an official force.
A middle-aged man stepped forward, wearing a long coat and a black hat. He examined the factory's facade before gesturing to his men.
"Seal off the entrances surrounding the building. Do not allow the crowds to approach."
Uniformed men moved to carry out his orders, while others approached the main entrance.
The city's streets were beginning to fill with the sounds of carriages and the footsteps of passersby. Yet the area surrounding the factory seemed detached from ordinary life.
A number of workers and curious onlookers stood at a distance, exchanging anxious questions and glances, but none dared approach the men who had taken control of the scene.
The first group entered the factory.
They advanced cautiously, and their steps halted for a moment when they saw what lay inside.
No one screamed.
No one visibly recoiled in terror.
Yet the silence that fell over them was enough to reveal the severity of what they had discovered.
"How many injured?" one of the men asked in a low voice.
A man holding a small notebook answered, "We haven't finished counting them. There are many bodies, but we've detected some movement in the eastern section."
The man in the long coat gestured toward a group of guards.
"Begin moving the injured outside. Examine everyone before transporting them, and do not assume that someone who isn't moving is dead."
The men spread out among the bodies.
Some wore leather gloves, while others carried small lamps to inspect areas untouched by daylight. They began checking the injured, calling for stretcher bearers, and clearing debris from the passageways.
Near the entrance, one of the uniformed men crouched beside Arthur.
He checked his pulse, then raised his head.
"This one's still alive! Bring a stretcher!"
Two men arrived carrying a wooden stretcher padded with cloth. They carefully lifted Arthur onto it, and as his body shifted, a fragment of consciousness returned to him.
He opened his eyes with difficulty.
He could not distinguish the faces surrounding him, but he felt hands carrying him and the slow movement toward the entrance.
Then he remembered his brother.
"Edward…"
He tried to sit up, but pain surged through his entire body. He fell back onto the stretcher, gasping.
"Wait… my brother!"
He tried to rise again, but the man walking beside him leaned down.
"Don't move. You're injured."
"My brother… he's inside."
Arthur tried to raise his hand, but could barely move his fingers.
"Edward was beside me. Please, don't leave him there."
The two men exchanged a quick glance before one signaled to a colleague.
"Check the body near the creature. He may be related to this man."
But Arthur did not wait for an answer.
"He's my brother!"
His voice broke into fragments before turning into a painful cough.
"Please… help him."
He could not explain what had happened, nor could he answer the questions crowding his mind. Every breath seemed to strip away what little strength he had left.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again when he heard approaching footsteps.
The men around him began to behave differently.
It was not commotion, but something closer to sudden attentiveness. Two guards stepped aside, an official stopped writing, and the man in the long coat turned toward the entrance.
A woman dressed in white entered.
Her coat was long and carefully tailored, and beneath it she wore a simple, elegant dress unlike the clothing usually worn by factory workers or nurses in the city. Her long blond hair fell down her back, swaying gently with her calm steps.
She carried no visible medical bag, nor was she accompanied by a group of doctors.
Nevertheless, no one questioned why she had entered.
She moved between the men, her eyes surveying the scene. She passed several injured people before stopping when she saw Edward lying on the ground.
One of the men had already crouched beside him.
"There are deep wounds across his chest, but he's still breathing."
The woman approached.
"Step aside for a moment, please."
The man immediately stood, leaving her room beside Edward.
Arthur, who remained on the stretcher near the entrance, caught sight of her bending over his brother.
He tried to lift his head.
"Edward…"
At first, no one paid attention to him.
He gathered what little strength he had left and tried to move his arm.
"Please… that's my brother."
The woman turned toward him.
Their eyes met for a moment.
His face was pale, his clothes soaked in blood, and his body trembled with every attempt to breathe.
"Please… help him."
He did not ask her to save him. He did not ask who she was, nor did he concern himself with the men surrounding him.
All he wanted was for his brother to open his eyes.
He spoke in a faltering voice.
"He was trying to protect me."
Then his voice broke off, and he began coughing again, his body bending under the force of the pain.
The woman looked at Edward, then reached out and gently placed her palm against his chest, away from the wounds.
She closed her eyes.
Silence fell for a few moments.
Then a faint white light appeared beneath her hand.
It was not a brilliant radiance that flooded the room, but a gentle glow that seeped through Edward's clothing and reflected off her fingers. It seemed as though a soothing warmth was spreading through his body as his ragged breathing gradually began to settle.
Arthur stared at the scene, unable to comprehend what he was witnessing.
The claw marks did not disappear from his brother's chest, nor did the bloodstains vanish from his clothes. Yet the tension that had gripped Edward's body began to ease, and his breathing became more regular.
A few moments later, the woman lifted her hand.
"Move him somewhere he can be monitored. He still needs treatment and care, but the immediate danger has passed."
Arthur did not understand everything she had said.
He was not thinking about the light, the way she had managed to help his brother, or the identity of the woman who had entered the factory and whom everyone seemed to treat with such unmistakable respect.
He was looking at his brother's chest.
At its steady rise and fall.
At the breath that had returned after the moments when he had believed it would never come again.
His lips moved, but he could not speak.
Then he slowly closed his eyes.
He did not know what awaited him when he woke again.
Nor did he know that a day which had begun like any other in the life of an ordinary family had ended by changing everything.