💙10 - Memory [Runes of Wyrd - vol 3]🤍

For almost a year, I’ve been writing Runes of Wyrd. Today, I’m proud to bring its universe to life in a new way. Discover the game: 💙🤍 ---> https://runesofwyrd.com/ <--- 💙🤍 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 In the pic, from left to right - Helena Arvast - Bruno Arvast Album : https://suno.com/playlist/d3b85d17-41e5-4f6c-bfbc-4086191ed19e 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 We had been walking for days. At least, I believed they were days. Niflheim had neither dawn nor dusk, only a pale light that never moved and a sky too lifeless to measure time. Here, every hour resembled the last, and our footsteps vanished beneath the mist almost as soon as we took them, as if the realm refused to keep any proof of our passage. Ash led us between the dead trees, her cello upon her back and her ravens gliding above the fog. They never strayed far. Even they seemed reluctant to discover what might be hiding beyond our sight. The cold had ceased to be a sensation. It had become a companion. A disagreeable one, admittedly, but a loyal companion nonetheless. It crept beneath my armour, stiffened my fingers and bit my cheeks with such persistence that I almost began to admire its dedication. But it was not the cold that troubled me most. Since crossing into the realms of the gods, I had carried an absence within me. Yggdrasil had warned us. Every human who crossed its paths would surrender one happy memory from childhood. Not a face, not necessarily a name, but a moment that had once made us who we were. I knew I had forgotten something. That was the cruelest part. I could feel the shape of it without seeing what had once filled it. Sometimes a scent, a laugh or the warmth of Bruno walking beside me seemed to brush against that empty place. Then the feeling vanished before I could grasp it. I wondered whether the memory had concerned him. Perhaps that was why guilt followed me so closely. For most of my life, I had believed Bruno was my brother. My father’s son, born to Min beneath another sun, upon shores I had never seen. That truth had never seemed fragile. It had been as natural as the colour of his hair, his terrible excuses, or the way he pretended not to be afraid whenever fear was plainly written across his face. Then Min and Johannes had told me the truth while we were separated from the others. Bruno was Johannes’s son. Not my father’s. Not my blood. I had accepted it because there had been no time to do anything else. Since then, the words had remained inside me, waiting for a silence deep enough to be heard. Niflheim possessed no shortage of silence. Bruno walked a few steps ahead of me. He kept blowing into his hands, apparently hoping his breath might accomplish what several layers of wool had failed to do. “Bruno.” He turned towards me. “If you’re about to tell me another member of our family is secretly a god, a wolf or someone everyone has forgotten, could you wait until we find a fire?” “I’m serious.” “That is exactly why I’m worried.” Despite myself, I smiled. It made what I had to say both easier and more difficult. “I learned something before we found Yggdrasil. Min and Johannes told me while we were separated from the others.” His expression changed. The smile remained, but his eyes became more attentive. “What did they tell you?” I searched for a gentle way to say it. There was none. “You are not my father’s son, Bruno. Johannes is your father. So you and I... we are not brother and sister. Not by blood.” He looked at me for a long moment. I had imagined anger. Confusion. Perhaps even that wounded silence people use when they fear that speaking will make the pain real. Instead, Bruno merely nodded. “I know.” I stared at him. “What do you mean, you know?” “I mean I know. Or at least, I had worked it out.” “Since when?” “I don’t know. For a while.” He shrugged with infuriating simplicity. “I saw the way Min looked at Johannes, and the way he looked at me. He was always watching me as if he recognised something he wasn’t allowed to name. Then there’s the fact that I understand a language no one ever taught me, and everything else that has happened since we met him.” “You might have said something.” 💙🤍 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 : >>> https://suno.com/song/13c0157f-986d-404e-afca-2eba37370d9a <<< 💙🤍 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 Some doors remember who crossed them. A light lies sleeping under frost, Still warm beneath the years it lost. No hand can touch its hidden flame, No tongue remembers its true name. The heart can feel an empty place, A vanished voice, a stolen face. Yet every shadow left behind Still shapes the borders of the mind. Memory, Memory, let me be, Some doors stay closed to keep the peace. Don't turn, don't turn the key, What if the dark looks back at me? Oh, Memory, no mercy, No mercy for what waits beneath. It knows, it knows the way to me, The face gone blank, the empty seat. Memory, Memory, let me be... What if forgetting set me free? Do not wake it... Do not lose it... Do not name it... Let it speak... Minni liggr undir ísi, myrkr varðveitir gleði forna. Hjarta óttask það er sefr, sárin kalla, nafnlaus enn. Menn fela ljós í gleymsku, þó fýsir þá at sjá sannleik. Brúin vaknar, brýtr þögnina, fortíð rís ór köldum sæ. Memory, Memory, let me be, Some doors stay closed to keep the peace. Don't turn, don't turn the key, What if the dark looks back at me? Oh, Memory, no mercy, No mercy for what waits beneath. It knows, it knows the way to me, The face gone blank, the empty seat. Memory, Memory, let me be, Some doors stay closed to keep the peace. Don't turn, don't turn the key, What if the dark looks back at me? Oh, Memory, no mercy, No mercy for what waits beneath. It knows, it knows the way to me, The face gone blank, the empty seat. Memory... Memory...