Kael had left before first light.
He didn't tell Lyra why. He wasn't sure he could.
Something had pulled at him in the night — a whisper beneath the stars, a memory that hadn't yet revealed itself. It wasn't the System. It wasn't grief. It was quieter than that.
So he walked.
East, toward the old valley. Toward the name he still couldn't remember.
Ash crunched beneath Kael's boots.
The wind had shifted. No longer the wild, whispering gusts that howled through the mountain passes—it moved like breath now. Heavy. Intentional. As if the valley itself had noticed him and dared not speak too loudly.
He passed through the remains of a battlefield long forgotten by the world but freshly remembered by the bones still buried beneath its soil. Rusted blades jutted from the earth like crooked gravestones. Helms lay half-buried, many split clean down the center. What trees remained grew in twisted, unnatural bends—gnarled as if recoiling from memory.
Kael walked in silence, fingers brushing the edge of his cloak. The forge-fire from his last awakening still burned faintly beneath his ribs, but it offered no warmth here.
He stopped beside a crumbled stone altar at the hill's center. Moss had claimed its edges, but faint carvings still clung to its surface—a name, perhaps, or a prayer. He couldn't read it.
But something about the altar felt… known.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Memory Site Detected — Classification: Echo Tier]"Remnant Signature matches Incarnation: Elijah the Oathbound"
Kael stiffened.
He didn't remember this place.
But his body did.
He sank to one knee, laying a hand atop the cold stone. The sensation that met him wasn't pain—but grief, long-starved and aching for recognition.
Flash.A child's laugh echoing through corridors of stone. A boy too small for his crown.His father's hand on his shoulder—too tight."Smile," the voice had said. "They're watching."
Kael's eyes snapped open.
His fingers trembled.
[System Alert: Latent Fragment Detected — "Oathbound's Reflection"]"Do you wish to engage?"▷ Yes ▷ No
He hesitated.
Then: Yes.
The world dimmed.
Not into darkness—but into sepia-tinged stillness. The valley remained, but the ash was gone. So were the twisted trees, the blood, the metal. In their place: banners fluttered. Trumpets called. A crowd stood around the altar, dressed in finery. Watching.
Kael stood in the shoes of someone smaller. Younger. Lighter in frame, but heavier in burden.
His gaze lifted—unwillingly.
There, on a raised platform, was a man in regal armor. His crown gleamed, but his eyes were stone.
"Elijah of the First Flame. You stand accused of treason through mercy. How do you plead?"
Kael tried to move. To speak. To scream.
But his mouth would not open.
"Please," he heard someone whisper. A girl. Maybe twelve. His sister. "Please don't hurt him."
Then the blade fell—not on him, but into the memory. And with it, Kael was thrown back into his body like a man drowning in his own lungs.