The city’s heart beat with a slow, steady rhythm, like the pulse of a dying beast. The deeper Riddler ventured, the more the world around him seemed to shift and distort, as if reality itself was being twisted by some unseen force. The streets became narrower, the buildings taller, their windows like hollow eyes staring down at him with a silent accusation.

It was in this place of forgotten memories and lost souls that Riddler first encountered *The Forgotten*. They were not people, not in the conventional sense. They were shadows, remnants of lives that had been erased from history, their forms flickering in and out of existence like the ghosts of a forgotten dream.

They appeared before him without warning, their faces obscured by the darkness, their voices a low, mournful whisper that filled the air with a sense of profound loss. They did not speak in words, but in emotions—anger, sorrow, despair—all directed at Riddler, as if blaming him for their fate.

But Riddler did not flinch. He had faced many such apparitions before, and he knew that they were not real—not in the physical sense, at least. They were manifestations of the city’s darkness, reflections of the guilt and regret that festered within him.

“Do not fear them,” Trinity’s voice echoed in his mind, calm and steady. “They are but echoes of the past, unable to harm you unless you let them.”

Riddler nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his Wakizashi. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Yes, but you’ve also seen better,” Trinity replied, a hint of sternness in her voice. “Remember, Riddler, these shadows are a part of you, just as much as the light is. Do not ignore them, but do not let them control you, either.”

The shadows swirled around him, their forms shifting and merging, creating a vortex of darkness that threatened to engulf him. But Riddler stood firm, his mind clear, his heart steady. He knew what he had to do.

With a swift motion, he drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light. The shadows recoiled, hissing and writhing as if in pain. But Riddler did not strike. Instead, he held the blade aloft, letting the light of the Wakizashi pierce the darkness.

“I am Riddler,” he said, his voice strong and unwavering. “I am the light and the darkness. I am the past and the present. I am the forgotten and the remembered. And I will not be consumed by you.”

The shadows froze, their forms quivering as if unsure of what to do. Then, one by one, they began to fade, dissolving into the air like mist in the morning sun. The vortex of darkness dissipated, leaving Riddler standing alone in the street, the silence of the city pressing down upon him like a heavy shroud.

But he was not alone. Trinity’s presence was with him, a comforting warmth that filled the void left by the shadows.

“Well done,” she said, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You’ve taken the first step, Riddler. But there are many more to go.”

Riddler sheathed his sword, his eyes scanning the empty street. “What were they?”

“Memories,” Trinity replied. “Echoes of lives that were lost, forgotten by the world. But

 they are not gone, not entirely. They linger here, in this city, feeding off the darkness.”

“And why were they drawn to me?”

“Because you, Riddler, are a part of this city now. You carry the same darkness within you, the same guilt and regret. They were drawn to you because they see a kindred spirit, someone who understands their pain.”

Riddler nodded slowly. “And what do I do now?”

“Continue on,” Trinity said, her voice firm. “The path is long, and the darkness is deep. But you are not alone. I am with you, always. And together, we will face whatever comes our way.”

Riddler took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the city’s darkness pressing down on him. But he did not falter. With Trinity by his side, he knew that he could face whatever lay ahead.

And so, he continued his journey, deeper into the heart of the city, where the past and the present collided, and where the truth awaited him.