The wind over the scorched basin whispered with new voices.
Reven stood at the edge of the crater that had once been the Severance Vault, boots sunk into fine ash. The shard in his hand still glowed faintly, the old-world script flickering across its surface in broken cycles. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there. Minutes. Hours.
Behind him, Kaela spoke softly. "You've been quiet."
"I'm trying to hear them."
Kaela stepped beside him, brushing her braid over her shoulder. Her tone was low but steady. "What did it show you?"
Reven's grip tightened around the shard.
"Not the end," he said. "The beginning. Not war. Not the collapse. Just… people. Building. Hoping. Failing."
Kaela didn't speak for a long moment.
Then she said, "That's worse somehow."
He nodded. "It is."
Lirien approached, silent as ever, her wings folded tight. She glanced at the shard, her sharp eyes scanning the symbols.
"That isn't just a message," she said. "It's a failsafe. A beacon."
"For what?" Reven asked.
"Others."
Reven turned to her. "Other survivors?"
Lirien shook her head. "No. Other bearers. Whoever left that Vault expected the world to burn. They built these shards to find each other again. After the end."
Reven looked down at the Flamecore on his hip. It pulsed faintly, reacting to the presence of the shard.
"They're connected."
Kaela crossed her arms. "How many are there?"
"Nine cores," Reven said, recalling the vision from the chamber. "One awake. One broken. Seven out there. Maybe more. If they're calling others…"
He trailed off.
Kaela finished the thought. "Then others will answer."
They moved out at first light.
The climb back into the highlands was quiet — no more Ashborn, no sign of Raze or his followers. Whatever survived the collapse of the Vault had scattered or gone underground. But the silence felt wrong. Like the land was holding its breath.
Kaela scouted ahead, blade in hand. Reven walked behind her, flanked by Lirien. He hadn't slept. The shard kept pulsing. Every time it did, he heard echoes. Voices. Flickers of memory not his own.
A child laughing in a garden.
A siren blaring in a city no longer on any map.
A mother whispering a name he didn't recognize.
Kaela noticed the distant look in his eyes. "You with us?"
"Yeah," Reven said, shaking it off.
"You're drifting."
"I know. It's the shard."
"We may need to break it if it gets worse."
Reven met her gaze. "No. It's trying to find someone."
They reached a ridge before dusk. On the far side, nestled between two broken cliffs, was a small outpost, half-sunken, lit by old lanterns powered by scavenged crystal. Not Supreme tech. Not Dominion. Something older.
A banner fluttered outside the gate: a torn cloth bearing the Sigel of a broken crown, wrapped in thorns.
Reven stiffened.
Lirien whispered, "That's not a tribal mark. That's human."
Kaela pulled her hood forward. "We go in armed."
The outpost gates opened with a groan.
Inside were faces that stopped Reven in his tracks.
Human. Not Skyborn, not augmented, not Beast-Kin. Human.
Dirty, tired, armed — but real.
One of them stepped forward. An older man with a scorched cloak and hollow eyes.
He looked at Reven like he was seeing a ghost.
"You're one of the marked."
Reven frowned. "You know what this is?" He held up the shard.
The man nodded slowly. "So do we."
Reven stared. "You're… survivors."
"Not survivors," the man said. "We're the ones who remember."
Behind him, more figures emerged — men, women, children. Each bore the same look: haunted, cautious, but alive.
Kaela whispered, "This changes everything."
Reven couldn't speak. His throat tightened as he looked into the eyes of a world he thought had died centuries ago.
And then the man smiled.
"Welcome home."