The silence after the stranger's words stretched long and tense, broken only by the quiet hum of the Root behind them. Sylas stood frozen, eyes locked with the woman who claimed knowledge of the forgotten past. Her expression was hard, unreadable, but there was a glint in her gaze—something old and resolute.
Alira stepped forward, her hand near her dagger. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled faintly, as if expecting the question. "My name is Caeryn Vale. I was a Seeker before the Council branded us traitors. I remember what the world once was. And I remember Malrik."
Sylas's breath caught. "You knew him?"
She nodded. "He wasn't perfect. But he wasn't the monster they made him out to be. He fought the Council from within for years. And he paid the price."
Alira lowered her hand slowly, her suspicion giving way to curiosity. "Why now? Why appear after all this time?"
Caeryn exchanged glances with the two figures beside her. They remained silent, like sentinels.
"Because the Root awakened," she said. "We felt the shift. Someone accessed the Deep Vein, and memory stirred. That's never happened in over a century."
Sylas tried to piece together his racing thoughts. "The Root showed me the past. Not just visions—it forced me to feel it. Everything. Malrik's hopes. His doubts. The Council's lies."
Caeryn looked at him more closely. "Then it chose you. Just like it chose him."
Alira glanced at Sylas. "What does that mean?"
Caeryn stepped forward, voice low and steady. "The Root doesn't just hold memory. It responds to will. If your intent is pure, it gives. If it isn't, it takes. When Malrik tried to rewrite what the Council had done, it broke him. But you—you came out whole. That means it trusts you."
Sylas shook his head. "I don't want to lead a rebellion."
Caeryn smiled, this time with a trace of warmth. "That's good. Leaders who seek power rarely deserve it. But we don't need another Malrik. We need someone the Root chose. Someone who remembers."
He looked at Alira, who gave a slight nod. "We need to show the world what's been hidden. The truth can't stay buried forever."
Caeryn turned toward the tunnel. "Come with us. There's a refuge beyond the Ashridge Pass. We call it Haven."
The journey to Haven took five days, through forested ravines and charred valleys. The further they traveled, the more signs they saw of quiet resistance: old sigils etched into bark, cairns built in precise spirals, and scavenged remains of burned texts buried in stone vaults.
Haven was not what Sylas expected.
It wasn't underground, nor hidden by magic. It was a ruined city built into the cliffs, half-swallowed by time. But inside, life flourished: makeshift libraries, workshops, children practicing glyphs in chalk. Seekers moved with quiet purpose, eyes bright with purpose.
The Council had told the world these people were dead.
Caeryn led them to a stone hall filled with records—scrolls, journals, even memory crystals stored in saltglass. It was here Sylas met the Council of Haven: seven survivors, each branded or exiled, each holding a shard of the truth.
The oldest among them, a man named Eiren, looked at Sylas with sunken eyes. "The Root accepted you?"
Sylas nodded. "And it gave me everything."
Eiren turned to the others. "Then the Reckoning begins."
That night, as fires flickered across the crumbling courtyards of Haven, Sylas sat alone with Alira atop the ruined watchtower. Below them, the city breathed.
She broke the silence. "Do you think we can win?"
He didn't answer immediately. "We can tell the truth. And if enough people believe it, maybe that will be enough."
She looked up at the stars. "That's not what you asked the Root, is it?"
Sylas turned to her. "No."
"Then what did you ask?"
He hesitated. Then spoke, voice low. "I asked it if I was ready."
"And?"
He looked out over Haven.
"It didn't say yes. It didn't say no. It just showed me the path."
Alira leaned back. "Then maybe that's all we need. The path."
Below, the Seekers prepared.
The truth had waited a century.
Now, it would be heard.
Chapter 29 – Firebound
The first light of dawn touched the cliffs of Haven with firelight, casting long shadows over the makeshift city. Sylas stood in the central square, watching the morning rituals: glyphs drawn into ash, murmured oaths whispered into flame. The people here didn't pray for salvation. They remembered the fallen and prepared for the battles to come.
Eiren met Sylas at the edge of the square. He carried a stone box, wrapped in crimson cloth.
"This belonged to Malrik," the elder said. "He left it with us before the final purge."
Sylas opened it carefully. Inside lay a single black ring, etched with delicate runes. Its weight felt unnatural in his palm, like holding memory itself.
"What is it?" he asked.
"His last conduit," Eiren replied. "It channels only truth. If you lie while wearing it, it burns."
Alira raised a brow. "Convenient."
Eiren smiled. "It forced Malrik to be the man he claimed to be."
Sylas slid the ring on. It tightened, then grew still.
By noon, the Council gathered in the amphitheater at Haven's heart. Dozens of Seekers lined the stone steps, their faces solemn.
Caeryn addressed the assembly. "We stand at the edge of a second purge. The Council of Order hunts those who remember. They will not stop until every truth is buried. But we will not go quietly."
She turned to Sylas. "Speak."
He stepped forward.
"I'm not your leader. I wasn't chosen by birth or blood. I was chosen by the Root—not to command, but to remember."
He looked out over the crowd. "We have the memory of the fallen. The truth of the betrayed. And the fire of those who refuse to forget."
He raised his hand. The ring glowed softly.
"This is not rebellion. This is restoration."
A hush fell. Then, slowly, hands began to rise. A gesture of unity.
Caeryn nodded. "Then we march."
Their first mission lay in the city of Tharion—a Council outpost built over one of the lesser Veins. It was a fortress of iron and light, guarded by Wardsingers who could burn lies from a man's tongue.
The plan was simple. Alira would infiltrate as a merchant's guard. Sylas, cloaked and hidden, would find the vein chamber and awaken it.
But plans rarely survived first contact.