Prompt: In a society where memories can be bought and sold, your character is a memory thief with a hidden past. When they steal a memory that can change everything, they must decide what future lies ahead.

**

On a beautiful morning, the wizard summoned me, and I was not pleased with this fact. I hoped I would have a few days' rest.

I wondered if Maxwell had fully forgiven me for delivering the message and exiled him to that strange place.

I still couldn't bear the glassy eyes of the stuffed animals. But Maxwell's expression was also grim.

"I have a rather dangerous task for you, and I really hope you'll accept it. I feel you owe me," he began, but I interrupted:

"Isn't it enough that I followed you and freed you? I've already proven myself."

"It's basic that you didn't leave me there. But you need to do more for me not to hold a grudge against you. For example, if you complete this task well, I won't bring up what happened again."

I had no choice but to agree.

"Have you heard of memory trading?" he asked, offering me a seat. If I had to sit down, I thought this must be a long story. I sat and shook my head, so he continued. "In this task, you won't be delivering a message but stealing something."

"A memory? I've heard of memory thieves, but that's a forbidden thing..." I hesitated to finish my thought because I knew the wizard was somewhat above everyone. If he said something had to be done, it was so, and it was pointless to bring up things forbidden to other mortals.

"In fact, you have to steal back a memory that's already been stolen, so we're just setting things right," he reassured me, but I wasn't reassured. I was a messenger, not a thief, even if I served a good cause.

He studied my face, trying to figure out what I was thinking, but I said nothing, so he continued, "And here comes the delicate part. I thought of you because you owe me, and I know you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you."

I looked at his beard, which he had trimmed a bit shorter. I couldn't focus entirely on the matter because something in me resisted, perhaps because I had to steal something. But what could I do? I had to accept to regain the wizard's trust.

"There's chaos in the kingdom. You know that Sol and Morte, the king's two sons, are at war over who is the rightful heir."

"I heard," I interrupted, "that Sol wanted to have Morte killed to remove the rightful heir, which is why the war broke out."

"It depends on which perspective we take, but yes, we can say that Sol is the evil brother, and Morte is the rightful heir reclaiming his due."

He stood up and walked to his bookshelf. After a long search, he took out a worn, thin booklet. "This contains the description of memory trading, detailing the practical part, how it works, how to locate the memory, and how to extract it from the owner. I know you'll understand this. You don't need to learn it; I'm giving it to you as an interesting read because we have a device that can filter and transport the memory."

I flipped through the booklet absentmindedly, noticing mostly drawings depicting the brain from various angles. On one page, there was a pointed needle and a nostril, showing how they pierced up.

At this point, I began to feel uncertain. Maxwell noticed what I was looking at and saw that the sight distressed me.

"As I said, memory removal doesn't happen like this anymore. It's much more sterile now. I'll show you the device, but first, a few thoughts about the task." He took the booklet from me, seeing that I was too absorbed in it as if I were in school and the teacher had taken away my toy for not paying attention to the lesson.

"A memory was stolen from Sol; if found, it would stop the war. It's a memory related to his relationship with Morte, a brotherly bond, if you will. Without it, he only has hostile memories of his brother."

"But that's good news. If I retrieve the memory, will the war be over?" I rejoiced, but the wizard's expression showed this wasn't the plan. He shook his head.

"This memory, Sol's pleasant childhood memory, is now in the hands of those who can easily return it to him. But currently, no one wants Morte to be king; here in the capital, we see Sol as the stronger one. So your task is to go to Goddar and steal this memory from Beliem, a priest in the main temple."

"To prevent them from returning the memory to Sol?" I asked, beginning to understand the situation. "But you said we need to set things right. Isn't returning it to the owner setting things right, or is it just switching the thief?"

Maxwell smiled. "Yes, that's right. But we want to have control over the decision... And you should also know that you will be the memory's owner for a while; it will be in your head until you hand it over to me."

At this point, I felt uncertain. I suspected the memory had to be transported somehow, but I didn't think my brain would be the transport device. "Will I know the content of the memory? Will it be my own while I'm transporting it?"

"If you concentrate on it, yes. But I suggest you push it away when thinking about a strange memory with unfamiliar characters."

The device appeared, too, smaller than my palm. Maxwell explained that it had to be placed on the target's nose and mouth, and it would do the rest. He had already set it up with the necessary adjustments. This meant he had recited the spells, and I just had to find Beliem and place it on his face, preferably while he was asleep.

I walked toward Goddard, which was much farther to the borderlands. Along the way, I pondered how pivotal this mission was. If this memory could stop the war, why wouldn't the wizard or the influential people he represented want that?

I began to understand that the kings didn't make decisions based on their own will but were directed by advisors and schemers. Each had interests in who would rule after the king's death.

It was too much for me, a simple messenger. Although now I was a thief, and the truth was, I hadn't yet gotten used to this role.

The city of Goddar looked more like a village, with almost everything built of wood, even the many stairs. Chickens and geese roamed freely in the streets as if the whole place belonged to them.

There was a small square, also reachable by countless wooden stairs. The temple was there, recognizable only by its spire, as it was the same height as the other buildings.

I entered and was pleased by the cool air. I had a definite plan devised with Maxwell. I took out the documents I had gathered on goblins. A priest approached, asking if he could help.

"I'm looking for the library. I'm collecting information about goblins and what books mention them. I've looked through everything in Narig and heard you have ancient records here," I whispered as several people were in the temple. I was surprised that so many sought this place, especially as their clothing suggested they belonged to some gang.

"It's quite peculiar for a goblin to be interested in his own kind. Are you prepared for some unpleasant readings?" His voice was pleasant and melodic, making me dislike him. I sensed mockery in his ingratiating tone.

"I'm Pettibone," I introduced myself, hoping to find out if he was my man.

"Pettibone, the royal messenger." Well, that didn't work, I realized. "What brings you here, news to deliver?"

Suddenly, I thought that even if I found out who Beliem was, how would I sneak into his quarters and place the device on him while he slept? Although Maxwell said it was straightforward, I just had to gain his trust and find out where he lived, and the wizard had given me a map of the temple layout; I felt like I needed more confidence to gain his trust. This kind of behavior felt alien to me.

So, I diverged from the plan, driven by a sudden idea. If this priest turned out to be Beliem, gaining his trust would be difficult. Already, I felt like punching him because of his strange aura.

"Yes, I have a secret message for Beliem." I leaned closer, afraid of being overheard.

"You are a talented messenger, for you have already found him. I am he," he said expectantly.

"Could we go somewhere private, where we won't be disturbed? I definitely don't want anyone to overhear the message," I whispered.

Two thoughts struck me. If I knocked Beliem out, he would remember I stole the memory. If I made up some absurd message and returned at night, that might work, especially if we went to his quarters now so I would know where he lived.

But things sometimes go differently than planned. As we crossed the hall, where many eyes followed us, towards a small door, another priest entered from another door and signaled to the one in front of me: "Have you seen Beliem?"

The situation was awkward, and the fake Beliem stopped in his tracks, but I quickly assessed the situation. "I am looking for him too, and you were just leading me to him. Perhaps we can go together."

So now there were three of us walking through the narrow corridors, with them in front and me at the back, ready for anything. Then the fake Beliem stopped at the door and opened it. The other priest went inside while the fake Beliem delayed me a bit. "He hasn't been feeling well for days, troubled by peculiar delusions. I didn't want you to upset him. I thought that once he feels better, I could give him your message."

He smiled awkwardly, but I said nothing. Inside the room, the priest I hoped was my target lay on the bed with a wet cloth on his forehead, looking at us. The other priest whispered something in his ear, then left, and it was just the two of us.

"I came because I heard you were unwell. Perhaps I can help you," I improvised. "Please close your eyes."

To my surprise, he complied, and I could place the small device on his face without any trouble. He didn't resist. I saw his face and body tense up as if in pain, and then his eyes rolled back, showing only the whites. I felt a bit sorry for the poor fellow, but the worst part was still to come because I had to take the memory myself. And I had to be quick. The priest fainted, lying motionless, so I sat down and attached the device to myself. According to the wizard, I just had to wait a moment, but he advised me to count to five, and then I could remove it.

I didn't feel anything unusual and was surprised by what the memory extractor had done to Beliem. I saw he was still breathing, just unconscious, so he would be fine. I hurried to leave the place before anyone became suspicious of my presence.

So, I didn't feel anything unusual except for the occasional inconvenience of my nose bleeding. And now Sol's memory is in my head, which was so bizarre that I didn't dare to dream at night. And I didn't dream, except occasionally seeing a little black-haired boy smiling kindly. Could that be Morte? But I did as the wizard advised; whenever such a memory surfaced, I quickly thought of something else.

For example, how long it had been since I last visited the bazaar, what might happen with Desire, or whether I would become a druid again during the next full moon.