The first step into the Echovault felt like stepping through a dream that didn't want to end.
Kael's foot landed on what looked like stone—but the surface shifted beneath him, rippling faintly, as though reacting to his presence. He staggered slightly. For a moment, he wasn't sure which way was down.
Elira reached for him, but she floated more than walked.
Tovan cursed behind them. "This place doesn't have rules."
Kael adjusted his stance. The Echoheart pulsed hard against his chest—and the world snapped into alignment. His feet found gravity, though it didn't feel like gravity anymore. It felt like the Vault was holding him in place.
The sky—or what passed for one—was a ceiling of soft, glowing mist. Arcs of ruined architecture floated weightless overhead, some shifting slightly, as though in orbit around unseen anchors. Stone staircases jutted out of nowhere, and bridges formed mid-step, coalescing from loose dust and light.
"I don't think this place was built," Elira said quietly. "It was remembered into shape."
Kael didn't reply. He was watching a version of himself—flickering—walking ten steps ahead, then vanishing into fog.
The Vault pulsed again.
Walls breathed. Not quickly—but like a tide. Expanding and contracting.
The walls exhaled a low sigh, like wind drawn through forgotten lungs.
"Tell me that's not just me," Tovan muttered.
Elira touched one wall. It shuddered. "It's reacting to us. Watching."
Her relic compass spun wildly and then shattered in her hand. "That's new."
Kael felt the Echoheart grow heavier. Not threatening. Just aware.
It didn't hurt. But it demanded. With every step, it asked something of him—and he wasn't sure he had it to give.
They moved carefully through a narrowing corridor that stretched sideways and upward at once. The floor curled. The lights dimmed.
Eventually, they reached a great chamber—round, with a ceiling high enough to lose into mist. Its center was filled with shattered relic fragments floating gently above an altar of white stone, cracked by time.
The sound was low. Like wind and heartbeat merged.
Kael stepped into the ring.
"This is a Crucible," Elira said. "Where broken relics were absorbed by the Vault. To stop them from spreading."
Tovan frowned. "Like quarantine?"
"Or containment," she said. "Or… maybe confession."
Kael reached out and touched one of the relic shards.
Light surged up his arm. For half a second, he saw himself—alone, screaming, arms glowing with uncontrollable power, the Vault collapsing inward—
Then it ended.
He staggered back, breath shallow.
"Are you okay?" Elira asked.
Kael nodded. "It showed me dying."
"Not prophecy," Elira said. "Possibility."
As they turned to leave, the Vault shifted.
The corridor they'd entered twisted closed—walls knitting together with strands of golden light. A new path opened, narrow and sloping downward.
"It's sealing the way back," Tovan said. "Wonderful."
Elira frowned. "It's changing the routes based on what we touch. It's not just guiding us. It's watching how we choose."
Kael didn't answer. The Echoheart had grown so heavy now it pulled at his chest. His steps felt drawn forward—not by choice, but by weight.
It didn't hurt. But it demanded. With every step, it asked something of him—and he wasn't sure he had it to give.
At the end of the new path stood a vast chamber—dim, circular, and humming.
Within it: a Relic Furnace.
A construct the size of a fortress wall, half-buried in Vaultstone. Tubes of light ran from its base into the fog. Gears turned with impossible silence. Memory drifted in and out of its structure like breath.
It was alive.
And something inside it was beginning to move.