The Essence Flow-Chapter 45: What They Remember
Towan and Elliot sat cross-legged on a large boulder, perched like self-proclaimed sages. Their eyes were closed, expressions serious — or at least
trying
to be.
“Why exactly are we meditating
on
a rock again?” Elliot mumbled, not opening his eyes.
“Because it looks cool,” Towan replied, straight-faced. “Someone might walk by and think we’ve achieved enlightenment.”
“Or brain damage.”
Before Towan could come up with a comeback, a voice called out below.
“You two.”
Lytharos stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed.
“Come with me.”
They scrambled down and followed him toward the house. Inside, the familiar scent of herbal tea welcomed them. It wasn’t fancy — just strong, earthy, and grounding. The kind of tea that only warriors with bad knees and older souls appreciated.
“You still have this?” Leon’s voice echoed in memory, a distant past where laughter once filled the wooden walls.
Lytharos poured into three worn cups. “Haven’t made it in years. Figured now was the right time.”
The brothers sat down across from him, steam rising between them.
Then Lytharos spoke, voice casual but words heavy:
“Ever heard of the Circle of Ourothan?”
Towan blinked. “Yeah. A dying monk said those words before you rescued us.”
“Well.” Lytharos leaned back. “That’s what I’m after. They’re an organization trying to revive
The Corruptor.
You’ve heard of him, right?”
Elliot nodded grimly. “The one who defeated all Essentia Warrior teams. Only one stood against him in the end… and even they broke apart after the fight.”
Towan furrowed his brow. “But isn’t he dead? I mean,
really
dead?”
“That’s the thing.” Lytharos’s eyes glinted. “They don’t want to
resurrect
him. They want to
replace
him. They believe corruption will choose a successor—someone strong enough to hold it. Someone they can raise, guide, and… weaponize.”
Elliot’s hands tightened around his cup.
“They’re experimenting… aren’t they? The body we found back then—he was a failed host?”
Lytharos nodded. “They’re searching for people who can survive corruption. Twist just enough to become something else… without
breaking.
”
Silence fell. Then:
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“There’s something wrong with the way they move,” Elliot muttered. “The corrupted ones. It’s like… they
echo.
Like something’s inside them. Remembering.”
Lytharos tilted his head slightly. “Interesting you noticed that.”
He set his cup down, eyes narrowing.
“That’s not just corruption. That’s
memory.
”
Towan blinked. “Memory of
what?
”
Lytharos didn’t answer at first. He stared out the window, watching a gust of wind stir the grass beyond.
“Some say Essentia remembers,” he said softly. “It holds echoes. Footsteps. Techniques. Even rage. And when it’s twisted, those echoes come back wrong. They reflect what once was… but
hungrier.
”
Elliot exhaled, thunder whispering faintly beneath his skin — too soft to hear, too quiet to name.
“They’re not just reviving a legend,” Lytharos said finally.
“They’re reviving his
fury.
”
The board was packed. Dozens of parchment sheets flapped lazily in the wind like tired flags. Towan stood with his arms crossed, squinting at the mess of bandit raids, supply escorts, and the ever-present "kill these wolves" posts.
"Is it just me, or do all Bronze commissions boil down to 'babysit a cart' or 'get eaten by bandits'?"
Elliot, already flipping through a stack of pinned scrolls with clinical precision, didn’t even look up.
"That’s because that’s
exactly
what they are."
Towan leaned in closer to read one scroll, then immediately recoiled.
"Ugh. Escort mission
and
wolves? That’s a combo platter of pain."
Elliot paused. His fingers brushed across a dusty, half-torn paper wedged at the very bottom of the board.
The title:
Commission: Recovery of Lost Text – Category: Bronze
"Seeker requests retrieval of a specific volume from the ruins of Mournlight Monastery. Compensation negotiable. Location unstable. Magical anomalies likely. Proceed with caution."
No time limit. No client name. Just a hastily drawn sketch of a book:
A black cover with a gold-embossed eye on the front.
Towan leaned over Elliot’s shoulder, squinting at the parchment.
“…A book quest? Seriously?”
Elliot didn’t look impressed. “Most of these end in dust and disappointment. The place is probably ransacked.”
“Yeah,” Towan said, tapping the corner. “But look at the stamp.”
Elliot frowned and leaned closer. Beneath the faded commission seal was a mark neither of them recognized — a quill piercing through a crescent moon, seared into the paper like a personal signature.
“Something about that looks… familiar,” Towan murmured.
“You sure it’s not just a weird guild logo?” Elliot asked.
Towan hesitated, his hand hovering just above the scroll. “Maybe. But…” His brows furrowed slightly. “…I don’t know. My gut’s buzzing. Feels like this one’s meant for us.”
Elliot gave him a long, skeptical stare. “You trust your gut now?”
“Only when it sounds like a prophecy or impending doom,” Towan said. “Right now it’s… weirdly calm. That’s gotta mean something.”
“Or indigestion,” Elliot muttered.
Towan grinned. “Either way, I’m curious.”
He pulled the commission from the board. A few nearby adventurers looked up. One snorted.
“Good luck with that one. No one’s made it past the first hallway in that ruin. Place eats maps and brains.”
Another chuckled. “Whole zone’s dead — magic flickers, gear breaks. Only people who take those jobs are bookworms and lunatics.”
Towan turned with a confident half-smile. “Lucky for us, I’m both.”
Elliot sighed under his breath. “And I’m the babysitter.”
The two of them stepped away from the board, scroll in hand. A guild clerk gave them a once-over and nodded without much fanfare. Bronze ranks taking suicide jobs? Not her problem.
As they exited into the golden light of afternoon, Towan flicked the corner of the scroll with one finger.
Towan’s eyes narrowed
“Think it’s cursed?”
“Absolutely. But it’s not trying to kill us
yet
. So that’s a nice change of pace.”
The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of parchment, ash… and something else neither could name. Not yet.
Somewhere in the distance, a man sat in the shade of an old tree with a teacup and a smile, watching a crow land beside him.
As he took a sip, he said “Let’s see what they remember.”
.
!
Chapter 45: What They Remember
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