The monastery ruins emerged from the mist like the bones of some great, long-dead beast—half-buried in snow, its once-grand spires broken and leaning, stained glass shattered into colored dust. Yet even in its ruin, the place thrummed with quiet power. It was more than stone—it was memory made manifest.
Lyra paused at the edge of the crumbling courtyard, her breath misting in the cold air. Magic brushed against her skin like static, old and watchful.
"This is it," she whispered.
Serana turned to face them, her robes trailing behind her like smoke. "Welcome to the last threshold. Beyond those doors lies the Sanctum of Echoes. But once you enter, you do not come out unchanged."
Kai shifted uncomfortably. "So… are we walking into a death trap or a dream?"
"Both," Serana said, smiling faintly. "Depending on your guilt."
That earned a look from Lucien. "You said your people were guardians of this place. What exactly do you guard?"
"Truth," Serana replied simply. "And the price that comes with remembering it."
She led them up the broken steps toward the great stone doors, each carved with symbols that made Lyra's stomach twist in recognition—spirals, circles, the crest of the old kingdom. Her fingers twitched with the need to trace them.
"This place was a haven once," Serana continued, placing a hand against the center of the door. "Built by the last of the Celestials after the First Sundering. The echoes here preserve memory—not just the world's, but your own."
"You mean it'll show us who we were?" Lyra asked.
"Yes. But more than that. It will make you remember. All of it."
The doors groaned as they opened inward, revealing a yawning darkness within, thick as ink.
Lyra exchanged glances with Lucien and Kai, her heart thudding in her chest. Then she stepped inside.
The world shifted the moment her feet crossed the threshold.
Darkness swallowed her whole—not empty, but dense, heavy with soundless voices. Whispers brushed against her ears in forgotten tongues, tugging at her soul like gravity. The air smelled of incense and fire, and the walls around her pulsed with silver veins of magic.
And then—
She was somewhere else.
She stands in a marble hall, sunlight streaming through stained glass in brilliant colors. Bells are ringing in the distance. Her dress is blue silk embroidered with golden thread, and her hands—
—her hands are clutching a scroll with the royal seal. The edges are scorched.
"It's done," says a voice beside her. She turns—Lucien. But older. He wears the uniform of the royal guard, his eyes darker, harder.
"We shouldn't have opened the Veil," she hears herself say. "The king—he's gone too far."
Lucien looks at her, troubled. "Then stop him, Lyra."
She hesitates. "You know I can't."
"Then it's too late for all of us."
Lyra stumbled.
The vision shattered around her like glass, and suddenly she was back in the Sanctum's corridor, breath ragged, tears she didn't remember crying on her face.
Lucien was ahead, his shoulders tense, head bowed.
He'd seen something too.
Serana waited by a chamber at the end of the corridor. "Only those who remember fully may pass into the heart of the Sanctum. The rest will remain… in the echoes."
Kai shook his head, pale. "I saw my sister. She was a scholar. She tried to warn the court before the collapse." His voice cracked. "She died in the fire."
Lyra moved to his side, gripping his arm. "It wasn't your fault."
"But it feels like it was," he whispered.
Lucien looked up. "It wasn't just the king who betrayed the realm. We all had a part in it. We were his loyalists. His mages. His protectors."
Serana inclined her head. "And now you must decide. Do you wish to bury it again… or carry it with you?"
They didn't answer.
They walked into the final chamber together.
Inside, a vast domed hall stretched before them, carved entirely from living crystal. Light shimmered across the walls like water, and in the center stood a dais ringed with ancient glyphs. Upon it rested an obsidian orb, humming softly.
"The Heart of the Echoes," Serana said. "It will show you the final truth. And if you survive it, you will know what must be done to end the curse."
Lucien approached first. He placed his hand upon the orb—
—and fell.
Not physically, but through it, through memory, through lifetimes.
His eyes flared gold.
Lyra cried out, reaching for him—and the moment her hand touched the orb as well, her world exploded in light and fire.
They were no longer three lost souls on a mountain.
They were children of the old court, warriors of the Veil, guardians of the soul of the realm. They had loved. They had betrayed. And they had died—for their choices, for their pride.
And now they remembered everything.