The City That Never Forgets (Part Two)

But Diego was disappointed. This place held only echoes.

Ghosts had once walked these streets, phantom forms raised by wind and dust, their swaying shapes scattering through the howling gale.

They existed only at the edge of Diego's vision. Whenever he tried to see them more clearly, the storm shredded them once more.

Over there, a figure flashed past, only to be swallowed by Oblivion the instant his eyes found it.

There seemed to be three screaming girls struggling against one another, but when he turned to look, only spiraling dust remained in the air.

He tightened his grip on the scorpion-tail chainsaw.

Deeper, ever deeper—there was a faint murmur that resembled pain. Something diminished, trapped, and so ancient it was almost unimaginable was dying.

That desolate echo rippled through his mind, painting the image of a brutal imprisoned thing that had begun dying long, long ago.

A slender figure carefully made its way through the skeletal remains of the old city over dust-covered rubble, while the wind, mixed with grit, constantly carried sounds from afar—inhuman voices, desperate screams.

Perhaps the gale was playing tricks. Even though he had learned most of the Eldar language, he could not make out a single sentence within the storm.

Trying to understand individual words only made the other noises more chaotic, erasing every effort to concentrate.

As he went farther into the impoverished city, Diego gave up staring at every fleeting phantom. Instead, he let his gaze drift unfocused, allowing the wild wind to shape illusions as it pleased.

In the buffeting gusts, dim spires flashed at the corner of his vision, their towers piercing the hostile sky with unbelievable elegance.

Suddenly, he looked back, trying to find Yalide, but saw nothing.

"Yalide?"

He sent out his clumsy psychic senses, though he had