The rain stopped by morning.
But the streets didn't dry.
Puddles clung to the stones like they didn't want to let go, and the air hung damp and heavy over Stonehollow. Not enough to drown. Just enough to slow everything down.
Kiriti adjusted the strap on his chest harness — still crooked — and waited outside the barracks, watching smoke drift from a baker's chimney. Bread. He could smell it from here.
It reminded him of a home that didn't exist.
The door creaked open behind him.
Emeric stepped out, armor clinking with every motion, a rolled map in one hand and a long, tired sigh in his throat.
"You're early again," the captain said.
"You're predictable," Kiriti replied.
Emeric snorted. "Still not calling me by my name, though."
"I think I like 'sir.'"
"Brat."
But there was a glint in the old man's eye now — not warmth, not quite. But recognition.
They walked.
This patrol wasn't like the last one.
There was a route. Markers. Places to check.
But also… people.
A hunched man sweeping soot off his doorstep gave Kiriti a small nod. A stablehand waved. A girl from the grain shop — maybe fifteen — offered him a roll that was more crust than bread.
They didn't smile. Not much. But they saw him now.
And they looked at him like maybe, just maybe, he'd show up again tomorrow.
"You notice it?" Emeric asked as they passed the chapel.
"Yeah."
"They know."
Kiriti glanced at him. "About the raid?"
Emeric nodded. "Not officially. But they know."
"Shouldn't we… tell them something?"
Emeric didn't answer at first.
Then, quietly: "They don't need panic. They need time."
They walked in silence for a bit.
Then Emeric gestured to the path toward the eastern ridge — rarely patrolled. Overgrown. Dotted with old markers, mostly worn smooth by weather.
"Check there," he said. "Just once. Then meet me back at Southpoint."
"You're not coming?"
"I've seen what's out there. You haven't."
Kiriti hesitated.
Then nodded.
And walked alone.
The ridge path was quieter than the town — and colder, somehow.
Trees leaned over it like gossiping elders, and the stones here weren't set in neat grids. Just scattered. Cracked. Ancient.
He walked slowly, spear in hand, watching for anything strange.
And that's when he saw it.
A figure — standing still — at the edge of a crumbled watchtower.
Back turned. Cloaked. Too still to be a normal player. No name tag. No markers.
Kiriti crouched. Heart quickening.
He reached for his menu. Opened Player Scan.
Nothing.
He checked the map.
Nothing.
The figure hadn't moved.
But when the wind shifted, it spoke — not loud, not soft. Just… directly.
"Why do you listen?"
Kiriti froze.
"…What?"
"They whisper to you. The forgotten. The scripted. The silent. Why do you listen?"
The voice was layered. Mechanical, but old. Like metal trying to mimic breath.
Kiriti stepped forward, slowly.
"Who are you?"
"You will know me when it is time."
Then the figure vanished.
No flash. No particles. Just gone.
And the space it left behind felt colder than the wind.
📄 [UNCLASSIFIED EVENT — Data Node: Black Ridge]Untracked Entity Interacted with Player: Kiriti
Anchor Trace: Unstable
Thread Label: "REMNANT"
Escalation Level: Passive → Monitored
Kiriti returned to the Southpoint gate a little later than he meant to.
Emeric was waiting, chewing a sliver of dried meat and not asking questions.
Kiriti didn't tell him about the figure.
He just stood beside him.
And watched the wind blow east — toward the marshes.
Toward the guilds.
That night, in a small stone house near the edge of town, the baker lit a second lantern and left it on the windowsill.
Not for light.
For signal.
The soldier had passed by.
And the town remembered.