Chapter 1: The Echoing Silence
The city of Lysium floated above a cloudless void, suspended by ancient technologies none remembered how to build. It was a city of glass towers and silver walkways, where people drifted like ghosts, their feet never quite touching the ground. In Lysium, dreams were currency, traded and consumed, forgotten as quickly as they were shared.
At the edge of the city, where the towers thinned and the great sky-windows looked out over endless nothing, lived a young woman named Ryn. She walked the silent corridors of her home, the Song of Forgotten Dreams humming at the edges of her mind. Here, in the silence, she was both comforted and troubled. The Song was not a melody, but a sensation: the echo of memories lost, hope once held and abandoned, the ache of things never said.
From her earliest years, Ryn had felt the Song, though no one else seemed to notice. The people of Lysium guarded their dreams jealously, fearful of sharing too much, of giving away secrets that might be used against them. They bought dreams from the Dreammerchants—twisted recollections and half-remembered joys, packaged in crystalline vials and ingested in moonlit rooms. But Ryn’s Song was different. It was neither bought nor sold; it was simply… there.
On this particular evening, when the sky burned a soft violet and Lysium’s towers flickered with neon life, Ryn sat by her window and listened to the Song. It was louder now, its threads weaving together in a tapestry of longing and loss. She pressed her palm to the glass, searching the void below for answers.
Somewhere out there, in the hush between worlds, she sensed that something waited. Something forgotten. Something worth remembering.
Chapter 2: The Dreammerchants’ Bazaar
The next day dawned with a swirling golden haze, casting shifting patterns across Lysium’s market district. Here, beneath the immense glass dome, the Dreammerchants set up their stalls, each offering a dazzling array of bottled dreams. Ryn wandered among them, drawn by curiosity and the faint tingle of the Song at the base of her skull.
Sellers called out, their voices melodic and strange.
Dreams of flight, dear? Taste the stars for just a moment. Or perhaps a lover’s embrace from a life you’ve never lived? Only the finest memories, guaranteed fresh
Ryn watched as customers traded memory-credits for vials of shimmering liquid, their faces lighting up as they tasted emotions and sensations not their own. But for Ryn, these dreams rang hollow. None could match the resonance of her Song—the gathering storm of forgotten things pressing at the edge of awareness.
She was about to leave when she noticed a peculiar stall at the far end of the bazaar. It was draped in faded blue cloth and unadorned by the usual glowing signs. An old woman sat behind the counter, her eyes bright and searching.
Curious, Ryn approached.
The woman’s gaze sharpened as she came near. Ah, you. I was expecting you
Ryn hesitated. Why?
The woman smiled, drawing out a small, black vial. Because you hear it, don’t you? The Song of Forgotten Dreams. Not many do. Not anymore
Ryn’s heart beat faster. What is it?
The woman shook her head. Not what, child. Who. The Song is a being, a memory of the world itself, mourning all that has been lost. And it calls to those who can mend it. Those who remember
Ryn’s hands trembled as she reached for the vial. What am I supposed to do?
Drink, said the woman. And remember
Chapter 3: The Memory Within
The liquid inside the vial was cold and smoky, sliding down Ryn’s throat like a river of shadows. Instantly, the world spun away, and she fell—down, down, through layers of memory and dream, past the bright lights of Lysium and into a darkness thick with sorrow.
She stood in a vast hall of broken mirrors, each reflecting a fragment of her life—her mother’s laughter, her father’s absence, her own solitary childhood. But there were other reflections, too: lives she did not recognize, faces twisted in agony, cities burning, oceans rising. The Song pulsed all around her, a thousand voices crying out for remembrance.
In the center of the hall stood a figure cloaked in silver, faceless and vast. It reached out with a hand of light, beckoning Ryn forward.
You are the Dreamkeeper, it intoned. The one who remembers. Will you help us piece together what has been lost?
Ryn’s voice was small. How?
Remember, said the figure. Find the dreams that have been forgotten. Sing them into being once more
The hall dissolved into starlight, and Ryn woke on the floor of her room, the black vial empty beside her. She was trembling, but the Song was clearer now—no longer a distant hum, but words and images pressing at her mind.
She understood, at last, what she had to do.
Chapter 4: Gathering the Fragments
In the days that followed, Ryn walked the city in a trance, guided by the Song. It drew her to places she had never visited: an abandoned park where children’s laughter still echoed in the broken swings; the library’s forgotten wing, its shelves thick with dust and unread stories; the hidden alcove beneath the old bridge, where lovers once carved promises into the stone.
At each place, Ryn closed her eyes and listened. She let the Song move through her, drawing out the memories that clung to the air. She sang them softly, her voice weaving the past into the present. The city seemed to awaken, its colors deepening, its people pausing as if sensing something just out of reach.
One by one, she gathered the fragments: a memory of a lost friend, a hope abandoned in grief, a dream of flying that had faded with age. Each became a note in her growing melody, a piece of the Song restored.
But as she worked, Ryn noticed something strange. The Dreammerchants grew restless, their eyes following her with suspicion. The bottled dreams sold less and less, their customers drawn instead to Ryn’s song—an unbottled, unowned music that could not be bought or sold.
One night, as she sang beneath a violet sky, a group of Dreammerchants confronted her.
Your Song is dangerous, one said. It makes people remember too much
Another spat, We trade in dreams because reality is too painful. Leave the past where it belongs
Ryn shook her head. The Song is not only sorrow. It’s hope. It’s everything we’ve lost—and everything we could find again
The merchants grumbled, but she would not be silent. The Song had chosen her, and she would see it through.
Chapter 5: The Unraveling
Word of Ryn’s Song spread quickly. People gathered in the plazas, on rooftops, in shadowed alleys, drawn by the promise of something real. They listened as she sang, and as they remembered, they wept—tears of grief, yes, but also of wonder. With each note, the city seemed to change. Lysium’s towers glowed brighter, the walkways thrummed with new energy.
But with each fragment restored, Ryn felt a cost. The Song grew heavier, its burden pressing down on her heart. She saw visions of the city’s ancient past: the day it first took flight, the joy of discovery, the terror of forgetting. She saw the faces of those who had been lost, the dreams sacrificed to keep Lysium afloat.
One night, as she stood on the city’s highest spire, the silver-cloaked figure returned in her mind’s eye.
You are close, it whispered. One dream remains—the first and greatest, the memory that holds Lysium together. Without it, all will fall. But to remember is to risk everything
Ryn shivered in the cold wind. What must I do?
Go to the heart of Lysium, said the figure. Sing for the city itself. Let it remember
Chapter 6: The Descent
At the heart of Lysium was the Dreamcore—a vast machine of crystal and light, pulsing with raw energy. Few had ever seen it, for it lay deep beneath the city, guarded by the Council and their machines. But the Song guided Ryn, drawing her through secret tunnels and forgotten chambers, past shattered statues and walls etched with ancient runes.
At last, she reached the Dreamcore. It hovered in a chamber of swirling mist, its surface flickering with images from Lysium’s history. Ryn stepped forward, her heart pounding.
The Song rose within her, fierce and unstoppable. She began to sing—not words, but pure emotion, the voice of every forgotten dream she had gathered. The Dreamcore responded, its light flaring, its melodies intertwining with hers.
Visions flooded her mind: the city’s creation, built to preserve hope in a dying world; the first flight, when all believed they could escape their past; the slow decay, as dreams turned to currency and memory to dust.
As she sang, Ryn felt herself dissolving, her own memories merging with the city’s. She saw herself as a child, a woman, an old soul. She saw every citizen of Lysium, their joys and sorrows, their dreams once cherished and now forgotten.
At the peak of her song, the Dreamcore shuddered. The city trembled. For a moment, all was silence.
Chapter 7: The Dreamkeeper’s Choice
In that silence, Ryn understood. To restore the Song fully, she would have to give up her own memories—her own dreams. In return, Lysium would remember all that it had lost. The city would live, but she would be… empty.
She hesitated, the weight of choice pressing upon her.
But then she saw the faces of the people she had helped, the hope in their eyes as they remembered what it meant to dream. She heard the Song calling, not with sorrow, but with possibility.
With a trembling voice, Ryn sang the final note. She let go of herself, pouring everything she was into the Dreamcore. Light blazed, filling the chamber, racing through the city above.
Lysium awoke. Every citizen felt the rush of memory—the pain and joy of all they had forgotten. The city itself thrummed with life, a chorus of a million dreams restored.
When the light faded, Ryn stood alone. She felt… nothing. The Song was gone. Her memories had vanished, leaving only a faint sense of accomplishment, an echo of what once had been.
Chapter 8: A New Melody
Time passed. The people of Lysium rebuilt their lives, forging new dreams from the ashes of the old. The Dreammerchants changed, offering their wares as stories rather than escape. The city, once cold and distant, became a place of laughter and connection.
Ryn wandered the streets, a stranger to herself. She did not remember her name, her past, or the Song that had once defined her. But wherever she went, people smiled and greeted her with warmth. They told her stories of a woman who had sung the city whole, who had sacrificed herself so that others might remember.
Sometimes, late at night, Ryn would sit by her window and listen to the wind. She could not hear the Song anymore, but she felt a gentle peace—a sense that she had done something worthwhile.
And as the city slept, a new melody began to rise. It was not the Song of Forgotten Dreams, but the promise of dreams yet to come—the music of hope, born from the courage to remember.
And so Lysium floated on, not above a void, but above a world of memory, light, and newly awakened possibility.
The Song of Forgotten Dreams became a legend, passed from generation to generation—a reminder that to remember is to live, and to dream is to be truly free.