The days passed, and Tharion did not hasten.

  He chose detours without saying a word. A damp valley rather than a clear path, tangled roots rather than a smooth slope. Nothing suspicious, nothing obvious… but Thalen noticed. They could have moved faster. Yet, Tharion seemed intent on suspending time.

  In his mind, Thalen knew what he was doing wasn’t fair: he didn’t want to force Tharion to go to the city that had spoken to him in the days before. That evening, he decided to ask:

  — Tharion… can we go to the city?

  Tharion, surprised, hesitated for a moment. With a sigh, both tired and exasperated, he finally replied:

  — Yes…

  Their pace remained steady but measured. Sometimes he would deliberately slow down on easy stretches, watching the forest tremble as if listening to a secret whisper. His hand gripped the strap of his pack with a strange lightness. Thalen at first thought it was a reflex. But the gesture kept recurring. It betrayed something deeper: a barely perceptible shiver, almost fear.

  Every morning, Tharion shared his ration without discussion. He cut the bread into equal parts and placed Thalen’s portion on a flat stone. A simple gesture. Repeated. As if saying thanks had no meaning.

  They spoke little, but the silence was never empty. Thalen would notice a distant rustle, an almost invisible movement, and Tharion would adjust their route. Their steps found a strange harmony, as if the forest itself guided their rhythm.

  On the third day, the rain soaked the ground. Every step became a calculation. Their clothes stuck to their skin, the sticks slipped in their hands. The forest became denser but alive in a different way: every drop on the leaves seemed to vibrate with invisible energy.

  Tharion moved slowly, letting the forest absorb them. Thalen followed, attentive to the slightest micro-gesture of his companion.

  In the evening, the campfire was modest. Just enough to dry their clothes and warm their hands. Tharion sat near Thalen, without looking at him. Sometimes he threw a branch into the embers to adjust the flame. The light danced across his features, revealing a deceptive calm.

  Sometimes, Thalen would lean on his shoulder a little longer. Tharion didn’t move. He continued on with that calculated precision, as if he wanted every step to appear natural. Yet the pressure of his fingers on the strap of his pack always betrayed a remaining tension.

  — You don’t want to go, Thalen observed.

  Tharion did not deny it. A fraction of a second passed, where his mind seemed to weigh all the dangers before answering.

  — No.

  At that moment, a flash crossed his mind: a face. An old companion. A voice, a figure, and that cold sensation he had never truly forgotten. His breath caught for half a second.

  He added nothing.

  The city was not there yet, but it already existed in his thoughts. And the idea of walking there one day made him shiver more than he wanted to admit.

  Each night, the forest seemed to change slightly. Shadows lengthened, strange lights danced between the trunks, as if magic were following them. Tharion always made sure the path stayed a little longer than it should, constantly diverting their progress.

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  One evening, as they resumed their walk at dusk, Thalen murmured:

  — We could stay a few more days.

  Tharion nodded. A brief smile brushed his lips.

  — Yes. We could.

  A few days later, Tharion and Thalen resumed their march.

  The city finally appeared in the distance, silent and strange.

  Its silhouette seemed motionless, almost mineral, yet something vibrated around it, imperceptibly. The dark water separating it from the forest seemed to breathe, reflecting fragments of light that didn’t exist. Every step toward it made the air shiver, as if magic recognized their intentions.

  — The city… is it large? Thalen asked softly.

  Tharion weighed his words.

  — Large enough to get lost if you’re not careful.

  His voice was calm, but a subtle tremor ran beneath it.

  — And it’s a living city?

  Tharion clenched his fingers.

  In his mind, at that point, nothing seemed really different from his former life.

  — Very much so. But not like the forest. No natural sounds. Overlapping voices, footsteps, metal, occasional screams… Even at night, it never truly sleeps.

  Tharion already saw the crowded streets, every gaze on him loaded with judgment and suspicion, some turning away, others whispering, and he felt the fear rising in those who recognized him, as if his past, his mistakes, and his invisible wounds had materialized in every face, condemning him before he even crossed the city gate.

  When Tharion finished speaking, Thalen felt a shiver run through him.

  The way the city was alive, watching everything… reminded him of something familiar, almost painful. Memories of his past life surfaced: the clatter of footsteps on wet pavement, the smell of rain mixed with cafés and cars, neon reflecting in puddles, the laughter of a familiar voice he thought lost.

  Everything seemed to mingle with the city’s magic, as if the past spoke to him through every stone, every reflection, every breath of air.

  — This city never needed walls, Tharion murmured, staring at it from afar. Those who founded it knew that stone always falls. So they chose something else…

  — Magic…? Thalen whispered, his voice low.

  — When you spoke of your past… I felt it truly existed. Not like a story. Something real, there… somewhere.

  Tharion nodded.

  — It flows in every living being, he murmured. It’s… tied to the soul.

  He paused, as if merely saying it left a bitter taste.

  — But here… it’s different. Here, it’s tied to the city itself.

  His gaze slid into the darkness beyond the trees, as if he already saw the streets.

  — Every stone. Every drop of water. Every breath… Everything is imbued.

  He lowered his voice further, almost like a confession:

  — And it remembers everything.

  — It’s not a barrier, Tharion explained. It’s a will. It recognizes footsteps. The weight of what each carries.

  Thalen asked hesitantly:

  — It… remembers what?

  Tharion stayed silent for a second, then replied softly:

  — It remembers… everything.

  Thalen felt a shiver run up his spine.

  Tharion added in a low, almost cold voice:

  — Judgment comes afterward.

  The wind rustled the leaves. The grass bent. A strange, almost living light shimmered on the water.

  — The founders have not disappeared, Tharion continued. Their souls mingle with the stone, the water, the silence. As long as the city exists… they watch. I believe… I’m not entirely sure, but over time, the city developed its own consciousness, as if it observed, remembered, and reacted to everything that happened within it.

  Thalen remained thoughtful.

  A city carried by entire souls, patient, eternal… both amazed and terrified him.

  — And the path, a large bridge? he finally asked. Why only one access?

  A faint smile brushed Tharion’s lips.

  — One thinks they can enter… but the city chooses who may walk in its heart.

  Then Tharion said in a calm voice:

  — We will reach the city in three days. Come on, help me prepare the fire.

  He looked around, then added:

  — I’ll gather branches. You collect stones.

  Thalen nodded without arguing.

  Evening fell slowly.

  When the fire began to crackle, the warmth made the air more bearable. They ate in silence, tired from the march.

  Then, without further words, they lay down near the embers.

  And they fell asleep.