The darkness beyond the obsidian gate wasn't empty—it was layered. Not black, but thick with memories, dreams, and dread. Each step Alaric took echoed like a drumbeat through time.
Kael gasped as they entered a vast chamber illuminated only by floating shards of light. They weren't just sources of illumination; they were moments—scenes from Alaric's life, projected like glass memories: training in Eyoma, the bloodbath at the fortress, Lira's cold gaze after his return.
"Gobinot isn't just keeping the calepin," Kael murmured, voice hollow. "He's rewriting it."
The walls shimmered with ink. Runes twisted into sentences. The calepin's contents had become scripture—distorted stories, lies woven from truths.
A World of His Making
Suddenly, the chamber shifted.
The floor cracked open into stairways leading in opposite directions. One path bore symbols of conquest—armies, fire, banners. The other was lined with fractured masks and fading names.
Nondo whispered, "We're inside his will. His sanctum is a maze of narrative."
Alaric chose the path of masks. As they descended, spectral figures began to emerge—beings sculpted from rewritten identities. An old friend with Lira's face but not her voice. A child that called Alaric 'father'. A twisted mimic of Kwame, darker, quieter.
"None of this is real," Alaric growled. "He's using our history against us."
"Worse," Kael added. "He's altering it. If he rewrites enough… the truth might disappear."
A Name Forgotten
At the center of the corridor stood a figure cloaked in parchment, with a face of shifting ink. The Herald of Gobinot. His voice was calm:
"Welcome to the Archive. We've been editing you."
A battle erupted—magical and cerebral. Every strike from Alaric dissolved into mist. Kael's spells tangled mid-air. Nondo held ground with barrier runes, but the Herald countered with rewritten logic.
"I was never your friend," it said in Lira's voice.
"I never saved you," it hissed in Kimpa's.
But Alaric, grounding himself in who he was, bellowed through the storm:
"You can erase words. But not their weight!"
He drove his blade through the ink-born chest of the Herald, shattering it in an explosion of memories.
The Final Message
Left behind in the ruins was a single torn page:
"Gobinot knows you've come. He's waiting in the Hollowing Hall. Bring your truth… if it's not already lost."
They stood in the silence, surrounded by falling whispers.
Kael clutched the page. "He's using the calepin to reshape reality. If he finishes his version of the story…"
Alaric looked up. "Then none of us ever existed."