Time Of Troubles Forgotten Realms の小説・ストーリー

The Forgotten Mate 4. The Baby. Months had passed since that fateful night, and yet the memory of the mysterious man lingered within the depths of my mind, a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting happiness he had brought me. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the pain of my existence persisted, unyielding in its relentless grip.

Following the sound, he peeked through the opening and gaped seeing his grandfather strangle a baby on a cradle. His mind stopped working momentarily before he gained his composure and closed his eyes tight only to open them with his shining baby blue eyes. Timothy turned around and looked carefully at his surroundings. "I don't like playing petty games." He was angry because if he had fallen for the trick, he would've been stuck here for eternity. That's how illusions were and so, only a few could handle them. He walked towards the window and looked out, thinking hard. "It feels like stages of a game. How do I get out? What do I need to find?" Timothy thought hard as he frowned.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching as the sun began to set over Rome, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that seemed to mock the darkness in my heart. My fingers itched to paint, despite the situation, my mind was overflowing with inspiration. Five days. Five days of this psychological torture, of having my memories twisted and tainted by his obsessive recollections. Five days of wondering if Roman was looking for me, if he even knew where to start looking. Five days of fighting to keep my sanity as Marcus systematically stripped away every comfort I'd ever found in my memories.

The air around them was thick with an oppressive sense of foreboding, and the whispers of forgotten memories grew louder, more insistent. The world of Nyxterra seemed to pulse with a life of its own, its darkened streets and desolate landscapes alive with a haunting energy. Lyra felt a growing unease as if the very essence of the realm was reacting to her presence. Her dreams were filled with disjointed images—snippets of her past, memories she had long buried or forgotten.

The world on the other side of the Gate wasn’t a world at all. It was a memory twisted into matter—a realm of flickering echoes and bleeding stars. The ground was obsidian glass that pulsed with every one of my heartbeats. The air shimmered with silver fog, heavy with whispers. Time didn’t move here; it watched. And I was alone. Almost. Footsteps approached—soundless, yet unmistakable. The Forgotten. They came forward, their forms trailing wisps of cosmic night, faces cloaked in featureless void. And yet, I knew them. I felt them in the marrow of my soul—creators, destroyers, and betrayers of all that came after.

We were already fracturing, just as the Architects predicted. "Aria is right," Zack said, and I felt surprised he was taking my side without being able to sense his reasoning through our connection. "This is the same trap Marcus used to manipulate me. Create immediate crisis to prevent addressing root cause. We hold the line. Let the Forgotten complete the rewrite." "While billions die," Drake said flatly. "Easy choice when you are not the one watching them cease to exist." Another timeline unraveled. Then three more simultaneously. The Forgotten's processing power was immense, but even they struggled to maintain the deep code rewrite while reality itself was being systematically dismantled

Sarah gasped, shocked and resolved, colliding in her eyes. John stood stunned. Callen whispered, “The reversal completes the heir becomes the keeper. The keeper becomes the heir.” Clint hissed. “No!” He lunged for Sarah. John sprang in front of her. His fist met Clint’s blow, sparks flew, the ground cracked, but the world shifted again. The Forgotten rose, not as monsters, not as pawns, they were alive, eyes filled with memory, anger and hope. They parted clearing a path toward Clint and the shattered crown.

He stared at the creases in his shirt, suddenly realizing— That simmering humiliation was the same one Lyra had endured for eight long years. A strange feeling rose in his chest. The paper in his pocket felt scorching hot. His tangled thoughts were suddenly shattered by the abrupt ring of his phone.

No one remembered. If it weren’t for the bruises that had faded weeks later, the soreness that lingered like a secret, I’d think I was delusional. A hallucination born of tequila and desperation. But he was real. He had to be. Somewhere out there, Ronan Vale existed. And I couldn’t let him go. Lisa’s voice snapped me back. “Earth to Li. You okay?” “Yeah. Just… nervous about classes.” She squeezed my knee. “You’ll crush it. Always do.”

“Asharoth is always watching now.” They reached the Vale’s edge on the fifth day. A chasm yawned before them, filled with black mist. The sky above was starless. Trees grew twisted and dead. The very air felt poisoned. “This is where light ends,” Saelith whispered. “Then we become our own light,” Elizabeth said, raising her hand. A golden glow surrounded the group, pushing back the darkness. Together, they entered. The Forgotten Vale lived up to its name. Time seemed broken. One moment, the sun glimmered faintly; the next, it was night. Elizabeth felt her wolf tense constantly, teeth bared. Something hunted them something old.