The ruins beneath Zarad-Kesh grew colder as they descended. Not in temperature, but in aura. Ael could feel it in his bones—the pressure of forgotten things, buried deep beneath history, just waiting for someone reckless enough to disturb them.
Elen walked close behind him, sword drawn but low, while Althar followed with one hand glowing faintly to light their path. The air was thick with dust and memories.
"This part wasn't on any of the maps," Althar whispered. "It's like the stone rearranged itself after the battle."
"It did," Ael replied, his voice steady. "This vault was meant to remain hidden. Even from allies."
They reached a door—not a grand, ornate gateway like the previous chambers, but a plain slab of obsidian etched with runes that shifted when you looked at them too long.
Ael stepped forward and placed a hand against it.
The runes hissed.
His breath caught.
A flash—an old memory.
A burning field.
Screams.
A child's face twisted in horror.
The sound of his own voice—calm, dispassionate—as he gave the order to burn it all.
He pulled his hand away, teeth clenched.
"Ael?" Elen asked softly, reaching out.
"I'm fine," he lied. "It's unlocking."
The door shimmered—then vanished entirely, revealing a spiral staircase that descended into utter blackness.
As they stepped through, Althar hissed. "The ambient mana here—it's... twisted."
Ael nodded. "Void-tainted. The kind of place only someone like Kael'tharin would leave behind."
They descended in silence until the staircase ended in a vast circular chamber. Cracked mirrors lined the walls, though none reflected the party. At the center stood a pedestal with a single item atop it: a golden mask, smooth and expressionless, yet somehow… angry.
Ael approached slowly.
"That mask," Elen said, eyes narrowed. "It's humming. Magic?"
"No," Ael murmured. "Emotion."
He reached out—and the world shifted.
Suddenly, Ael stood alone.
The chamber was gone.
Now, he was in a throne room of molten gold and shadowed banners.
Before him knelt legions of armored warriors, chanting his name.
"Kael'tharin! Kael'tharin! Flame of the End!"
And there he sat—on a throne of bone and crystal, cold eyes surveying a world bent in worship or fear.
Ael stumbled back—into his own body.
Elen caught him. "What was it?"
"A memory," he said, panting. "But not just an echo. It was... real. I was him. I felt what he felt."
"And?" Althar asked cautiously.
"I felt nothing. Not pride. Not joy. Not hatred. Just... emptiness."
Elen frowned. "Then why keep the memory? Why store it down here?"
Ael turned toward the pedestal.
"To remember what he lost. And what I don't want to become."
He reached out again and picked up the mask. It didn't resist. No flame, no burst of power—just a cold pulse.
Then, a whisper in his mind.
You locked us away. Why do you seek us now?
"I want to know who I was," Ael answered silently, "so I can choose who I'll be."
And if the world cannot accept your choice?
Ael's grip tightened.
"Then I'll make a world that does."
The chamber trembled.
Runes lit up around the mirrors.
Each one became a window—scenes playing out.
A kingdom falling into darkness.
A queen pleading for mercy.
A child hiding beneath rubble.
And Kael'tharin—walking away, emotionless.
"This is what he was," Althar whispered. "A god of fire and silence."
Ael placed the mask against his chest.
It shattered—and light surged into him.
Not flame.
Not void.
Balance.
He gasped, collapsing to one knee.
Elen grabbed his shoulder. "What happened?"
"I didn't just reclaim a memory," he said hoarsely. "I reclaimed will. Kael'tharin was empty because he chose to be. He locked away emotion to rule without mercy."
"And now?"
"I've unlocked what he sealed away." Ael stood. His eyes glowed faintly, but not with fire. With clarity. "I still remember. I still feel. And I can use that."
Althar looked shaken. "What does that mean for the Empire?"
Ael stared into one of the mirrors—where Kael'tharin once stood, alone on a mountain of ash.
"It means I won't become him," Ael said. "But I will use what he left behind to bring them down."
He turned away.
"Let's go. There's more to awaken—and not much time."