Kael stood at the edge of the obsidian lake, its black water a mirror of eerie stillness broken only by the slow ripple of his reflection—a distorted echo that shimmered and warped beneath a blood-red sky. The air carried a biting chill, thick with the scent of ash and something older, like burnt parchment, a whisper of forgotten histories etched into the realm's bones. He stared into the surface, searching for a tether to reality, his heart beating unevenly between awe and dread. The reflection stared back—not him. Silver eyes, lean lines, but the smile was wrong, twisted in a blend of pain and knowing.
He blinked, and it vanished. Behind him, the others stirred. Jano sharpened his spear with short, angry motions, the scrape of metal on stone a grim symphony. Leren muttered names in his sleep—court figures, long dead—his fingers twitching as if casting spells. Seris stood by a pillar, tracing symbols in an ancient dialect Kael half-recognized, their meaning shifting with each glance.
"The symbols change when you're not looking," she said without turning. "This one just spelled 'judgment,' now it says 'freedom.'"
Kael approached, his eyes tracing the shimmering glyphs. A flicker of familiarity itched at him—archives, prayers of the condemned. "What language is it?" he asked, the question heavy with unease.
"No language. It's memory. The Shadow stores meaning in impressions, not grammar. The wall remembers what was spoken here."
He reached out, the stone warm and pulsing. A voice whispered in his head: "You should not be alive." He jerked back, chest tightening. Seris saw, but said nothing—they all heard things now.
"We're wasting time," Kael said, his voice sharp with urgency born of fear—that each idle moment let the truth slip further into shadow, along with his chance to reclaim his name.
They set off west, toward the river of broken glass marking the Outer Hollow's edge. Kael walked with Leren, the young man jittery, his fingers twitching. "Your dreams," Kael said. "You saw my execution?"
Leren nodded. "It wasn't just you. Others in white, before a black sun. Their faces kept changing."
Kael slowed, a memory brushing his mind—something he was meant to forget. A shriek split the silence. Jano raised his spear; Seris moved. A creature emerged—horse-sized, skin like tar, arms flailing, mouth across its torso, eyes of fire. Kael activated Echo Scent. Panic, hunger, recognition—it had devoured someone recently.
He lunged, Phantom Step flashing him behind it. His blade struck, the beast rippling like smoke. Seris hurled a crimson energy blade, carving its shoulder. Jano thrust at its knee, toppling it. *[Devour? Y/N]* "Yes!" The creature screamed, its essence surging into Kael. *[+3 Essence Points. Shadow Ability Unlocked: Veilbind – Trap enemy movements within a delayed shadow echo.]*
Pain seared through him, memories flooding—alien, not his own. A woman crying in a marble hall, guards dragging her, a coin tossed to a collared child, a voice: "He knows. The prince saw it. We must erase him." Kael collapsed, gasping.
Seris knelt. "What did you see?"
"They weren't punishing me. They were silencing me," he whispered.
"You're not the first," she said, looking away.
They camped under a broken bridge. Kael sat apart, staring at a glass shard from the beast's heart, etched with the Inquisition's mark—dissolved fifty years ago, or so claimed. A quiet voice: "You're unraveling."
Seris sat beside him, eyes softer. "You think too much."
"Not thinking didn't work," he said, forcing a smile.
"You still dream?" she asked.
"Sometimes."
"I remember mine," she said. "The sea. My mother's perfume. The boy I thought I'd marry. He turned me in."
She pulled out a music box, broken but haunting when turned. Notes slipped beneath Kael's armor, stirring a memory—of a lullaby under foreign stars, safety lost. Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him—choice, not accident. He tucked it away. "Thank you."
"Rest," she said. "We move at first shade."
He lay down, but didn't sleep. A name whispered—Alira, the woman from the memories. Finding her was the key. Above, the black sun pulsed, its light a silent promise of reckoning.