Arcane University Oblivion Novels & Stories

I soon discovered silence was never the reward of victory. Only the chaos changed form. Obscura Arcanum’s tunnels became my favorite place to think in the waning weeks of the semester. Sewers that serviced pre-ward expansions. The Catacombs older still. Passages forgotten by time and design; meant originally for storage, or escape, or misdeeds that our illustrious leaders liked to pretend never occurred. Evelina knew the layout better than most. Inhaled and exhaled it with barely a thought, always leading by placing one hand at my wrist and looking at me with eyes that firmly said ‘do not question’.

the edges of the scar were blurring, fading to grey, it wasn't healing; it was being un-written. He stared at it, his face pale. "I... I can't remember how I got this," he whispered, his voice laced with a new kind of terror. "I know it was in a fight, but... the face of the one who gave it to me... it's gone." The Remnant turned his placid gaze upon Ashiel. "The Oblivion is not a localized phenomenon. While you focused all your power here, your own personal, unattended memories began to thin, it is the cost. To remember the world, you must sometimes forget yourself."

"You are the one who stayed. That takes more courage than you know." Ramona closed her book, and she set it on the table beside her, and she looked at me with those old brown eyes that had seen too much and hoped too hard and been disappointed too many times. "He is hiding," she said. "I know," I replied. "He is ashamed. Lycans do not know how to handle shame. They do not talk about it, and they do not process it. So they hide from it." I looked down at my hands. "How long will he hide?"

that had withered the Leviathan-bone. "You can't just break the stones, Darlene," the Oracle’s voice spoke—not from my side, but from the amber-eyed crow perched on my shoulder. "The squares are anchored in their memories. To destroy the altar, you have to heal the Rejection-Reflex. You have to show them that being 'Too Much' is the only thing that will keep them alive in the Fourteenth Cycle". I walked toward the obsidian platform. As I approached, the villagers recoiled, a collective gasp of terror rippling through the crowd.

The orb pulsed faintly in Aria’s hand as she stood alone in the arcane vault. Its soft glow cast ethereal shadows on the dark stone walls, illuminating ancient runes that hadn’t been disturbed in decades. Every instinct in her screamed that this was no ordinary relic. It was alive. Not in the way of living flesh, but in the way of ancient memories preserved by magic older than the wolves themselves. She placed the orb on the altar in the vault’s center. Symbols etched into the stone flickered to life, glowing with blue fire as the orb reacted to its new environment. For a moment, the air vibrated—charged, trembling.