The Weight of Breathing
Kael didn't sleep for three days.
Not because he didn't want to — because he couldn't. Every time his eyes closed, the Darksword called to him. Not in words anymore, but in feelings — weight, fire, drowning. It beat like a second heart in his chest.
Selene sat nearby, sharpening her daggers with slow, deliberate motions. Every now and then, she glanced at him like he might shatter mid-thought.
"You've changed," she said quietly.
He didn't respond.
"Your eyes. They used to be green."
Kael blinked and turned his face away. In the reflection of a cracked mirror, he saw the truth: his eyes shimmered like molten iron.
The sword had left its mark.
And it wasn't done.
The Voice Below
In the deepest catacombs of the Citadel, a voice began to whisper.
The priests of Nera were the first to hear it — muttering in their sleep, scratching unreadable symbols into the stone. One lit himself on fire and screamed Kael's name before dying.
Nera came to Kael without her usual entourage. Her robes were soaked in blood — not hers — and her hair hung in wet ropes.
"There's something beneath the Citadel," she said.
Kael frowned. "We already know that. The catacombs—"
"No," she snapped. "Deeper. Past the sealed vaults. Beyond the foundation. There's something down there that never should've woken."
He stood slowly. "What kind of something?"
Nera looked him in the eye.
"Something that remembers when the Darksword was made."
The Descent
It took three hours to reach the lowest chamber. The way had once been sealed by iron, then by magic, then by blood. But all three had weakened since the Scar tore open.
Kael, Selene, and Nera descended in silence.
The air grew colder. Heavier. Not chill — pressure, like they were walking into the lungs of something enormous.
At the bottom was a door.
Circular. Seamless. Forged from the same material as the Darksword.
It opened for Kael.
Not with effort.
With recognition.
Inside was not a room — it was a chasm.
And in the center floated a shard.
Black. Sharp. Singing.
The moment Kael stepped inside, the shard spoke — not in words, but memory.
Memoryblade
He was not Kael anymore.
He was a boy.
He stood in a field of glass, under a red sky. Around him, towers burned. He saw a man with the Darksword — not him, but someone who wore his face.
That man fell to his knees, buried the sword into the earth, and whispered, "Seal it. If I ever return, stop me."
The sky shattered.
The world turned.
Kael gasped and fell to the stone floor, clutching his head.
Nera grabbed his shoulders. "What did you see?"
"Myself," he whispered. "But older. Or… before."
Selene crouched beside him, blade in hand. "This shard — it's not just a piece of the sword. It's a piece of time."
Kael stared at the floating fragment.
And it stared back.
The Blade Remembers
They brought the shard back to the surface.
Kael kept it close — even though it burned to the touch. Not with heat. With truth.
Every time he held it, he remembered something he never lived. A battle in the clouds. A girl made of shadows. A promise he never made but felt guilty for breaking.
Selene tried to take it once.
He flinched away. "No. It knows me."
"I know you," she said. "That doesn't mean I own you."
He said nothing.
The shard hummed between them.
Watching.
Return of the Forgotten
They came at dusk — not from the Scar, but from the north, where ice swallowed even fire.
Seven figures.
Cloaked. Masked. Ancient.
They walked past the fallen gates, untouched by wards. Their eyes glowed blue-white.
The leader stepped forward.
"I am Rian of the First Flame," he said. "I have come for what was stolen."
Kael stood at the edge of the broken stairs. "And what was that?"
"The sword," Rian said simply. "And the memory you hold."
Nera stepped between them. "This is a sanctuary now. A broken one, but still ours."
Rian looked at her like one would look at an insect they hadn't decided to crush yet.
"The Darksword was forged with flame, blood, and silence. It was never meant to be held by mortals."
Kael took a step down.
"Then you're already too late."
The Memory War
They didn't attack.
Not physically.
Instead, the sky shifted.
Every person in the Citadel — priest, soldier, orphan, spy — suddenly remembered a different life. A different death. A different betrayal.
Some collapsed in confusion.
Some screamed.
One commander tore out her own eyes.
Kael staggered as the memories poured into him — ten thousand deaths, ten thousand regrets, every past life he'd never had crashing down on him like tidal waves.
Selene caught him before he fell. "You have to fight it."
"I can't!" he gasped. "They're me! All of them—!"
"No, Kael." Her voice was sharp. "They're not you. They're what the sword remembers. Not what you are."
He clenched his jaw.
And forced himself to stand.
A Blade Drawn From the Mind
Kael stood in the courtyard.
Rian waited.
Neither of them raised weapons.
The fight began in silence.
Rian flicked his fingers — and a memory Kael didn't own exploded in his head: a girl laughing, then burning. A kingdom rising, then collapsing. A brother's betrayal.
Kael dropped to one knee.
But the Darksword pulsed.
The shard at his side flared.
And then — Kael struck back.
Not with steel.
With his memory.
He gave Rian the weight of watching his mother die. Of carrying his friend's corpse through rain. Of standing over Vaerin's body with shaking hands.
Rian stumbled.
Because real memory — human memory — hurt more than the polished lies of forgotten gods.
The Shattering
The shard flew from Kael's side.
Rian caught it mid-air.
And screamed.
The sound was not human.
The six figures behind him turned to ash in an instant.
Rian dropped the shard, now cracked.
"You've corrupted it," he spat.
Kael wiped blood from his nose. "No. I woke it."
Rian lunged.
The Darksword moved faster.
There was no scream.
Just silence.
And Rian collapsed — face twisted in confusion, like he couldn't understand what it meant to lose.
What the Sword Knows
Later that night, Kael stood on the rooftop, the Darksword in one hand, the cracked shard in the other.
Selene joined him.
"I should throw this thing into the sea," he muttered.
"But you won't."
"No."
He turned to her.
"Do you think the sword wants something? Is it just a tool, or is it trying to become something?"
Selene didn't answer at first.
Then she said, "Maybe it's just lonely."
Kael looked down at the blade.
And for a second, he believed it.