Echoes and Embers
The storm of memories struck like a wave of fire.
Mira stood firm, the orb in her hand pulsing violently as the first wave of forgotten souls swept over them. Each one was a shard of consciousness—half a face, a laugh without a voice, eyes searching for names they had lost. The air shimmered with ghostlight.
Lena began chanting, weaving protective sigils with both hands, light tracing from her fingertips in silver arcs. Elric held his ground beside Mira, his blade catching fragments of soul and turning them aside like wind cutting smoke. Bram, whose connection to the Between had grown deeper still, stood motionless—his eyes wide, mouth whispering in forgotten tongues.
"We must reach the Ember Core," Valien shouted over the chaos. "Only there can the truth be revealed."
The Warden rose above the maelstrom, wielding no weapon, but commanding the storm with gestures alone. With every motion, Mira's mind trembled—old memories from her youth bent and twisted into falsehoods. Her mother's voice mocked her, her father's hands pushed her away, the orb cracked in her grip.
"This is not real!" she cried, planting her feet. She thrust the orb forward, and its light flared—not white, but gold, etched with the runes of the Tree.
Reality warped. For a moment, the battlefield shimmered into a vision: Mira and her friends in the grove behind the Keeper's Hall, younger, unscarred. But instead of comfort, the memory splintered—revealing how even peace had been built on silence. Forgotten truths, denied paths.
Valien reached the edge of the chasm and leapt, not down, but across—landing atop one of the spires that circled the Ember Core. He raised his arms, summoning threads of fire that bent into symbols older than any known tongue.
"Hold them off!" he called. "I will awaken the First Flame!"
The Warden descended.
He landed before Mira, and the earth cracked beneath him. No face showed beneath his mirror-crown, only shifting reflections of Mira's fears.
"You would burn the seal," he said, voice like wind through tombs. "You would loose what time chose to bury."
"I would remember," Mira said. "Even the ugly, even the painful. We can't grow from lies."
The Warden raised a hand—and the orb in Mira's grip flared again, searing his arm with light. He staggered. For the first time, doubt twisted through his form.
Then Bram stepped forward.
"I know who I am," he said. "And I remember you."
He reached into the Between, and from it pulled something not seen since the Time Before—a single silver flame, the mark of a First Voice. With it, he touched the ground, and vines erupted in a spiral—roots of memory taking hold.
Lena, gasping, completed her spell. "Now, Valien!"
With a cry, Valien thrust both arms into the flame.
The Ember Core exploded.
Light filled the world. Not blinding—but revealing. Truth, raw and unfiltered, poured into every soul. The Forgotten wept and fell still. The Warden collapsed to his knees, his mirror-crown shattering into stardust.
Mira turned and saw herself—not as a Keeper, not as a chosen one, but as a girl who had made choices. Right and wrong. And still stood.
Valien stepped forward, smoke rising from his arms. "The seal is broken. They are awake. And now... the world must choose what to become."
Behind them, the Path of Ash burned clean. The skies cleared. But in the far horizon, something vast stirred.
"The Forgotten are not our only legacy," Valien said.
Mira nodded. "Then we're not done."
Not yet.