The Caverns did not greet them with wind or warmth, only still, cold air. Stone swallowed the light behind them. The entrance closed as if it never had an opening, sealing away the world outside.
The echo came first—Rei's footsteps doubled, tripled, then vanished, as if the cave was deciding whether to mimic or consume. Then came the whisper.
Welcome back.
But Rei knew, now, it wasn't meant for him, not entirely at least. It had been for the thing buried deep within him—the presence that stirred when his power brimmed too close to the surface. A memory not his own. A will older than his birth.
They moved carefully, torches flickering against the jagged walls. Strange markings dotted the stone—sigils of protection, writings of madmen, names long erased. The deeper they went, the more the air thickened, pressing down like an ocean was on them.
Then the path split, not into forks, but into darkness itself. It rose like mist, coiling tendrils of shadow around each of them. Callis reached for his blade. Eno shouted a warning. Myra cried out—
And then they were gone.
Rei
He awoke on a battlefield. Not the Caverns. Not even this world.
Ash fell like snow and a scorched sky bled red above him. All around, broken weapons jutted from the earth like gravestones. He knew this place.
He saw flashes—ruins falling beneath his command, entire realms twisting under a voice he didn't recognize but that came from his own mouth. A woman screaming his name. A friend turning to ash.
The air rang with screams—not from pain, but rage. Worldbreaker rage.
Rei turned and saw Vel Kareth.
Not as he remembered him in glimpses or dreams, but fully formed. Cloaked in voidlight, eyes alight with the burn of shattered realms. The ancient being stood atop a hill of ruin, hands clasped behind his back like a teacher waiting for a pupil to remember his lesson.
"Do you remember now?" Vel Kareth said, his voice like layered echoes.
Rei staggered back. "No... This isn't real."
Vel Kareth tilted his head. "It is memory. Not all of it is yours, but some of it bleeds through. You are not merely a child born in this world. You are the key that was hidden."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Vel Kareth stepped down from the hill, "It means they feared you. Those with power, those with knowledge. They feared what you would become so they sealed you away in another world. A quieter one. One without magic. One with an mother who sang you lullabies to drown out what you truly are."
Rei's eyes widened. "That was real?"
"As real as this is," Vel Kareth said, gesturing to the battlefield. "They called it mercy. They believed you would sleep forever. But something stirred. And the seal broke."
"You're lying."
"I do not lie, I remember. I was there when they opened the gates to your prison. I was there when they wept for the destruction they predicted. You were born... and they panicked. Locked the storm inside a cradle of peace."
The ground trembled. The sky cracked. Rei clutched his head as pain lanced through him—memories not his own, grief not his own, but guilt that dug into his spine like truth.
Vel Kareth stopped before him. "You think rejecting me saves you. But I am not the enemy."
Rei fell to his knees, breath ragged. "I won't become what they feared."
"You'll become what I need you to be"
And the vision shattered.
Callis
He found himself standing before a ruined village, the gates still smoldering. His sword was red. His hands trembled.
"No," he whispered. "Not again."
The villagers' faces—people he once knew—stared at him with hollow eyes, mouths open in silent judgment.
"You called it justice," said a voice behind him. "But it was vengeance."
Callis turned. A younger version of himself stood there, bloodied and proud.
"You didn't come to save. You came to punish."
He clenched his fists. "I did what I had to."
"You liked it."
He dropped to his knees.
Then, through the smoke, a figure stepped forward—Rei, eyes glowing, reaching out a hand.
"Are you still that man?"
He looked down again. His sword had turned to stone. The blood on his hands had dried to dust.
Callis reached back—and the vision burned away.
Eno
He stood on a ship—his ship—adrift in a void sea.
The stars had gone out.
One by one, his crew faded into mist, until only the helm remained, spinning madly.
He clutched it, knuckles white. "I didn't abandon you!" he shouted.
"But you did," said a whisper on the wind. "You ran."
"No—"
The mist formed a figure—his brother, eyes full of betrayal.
"You took the helm. And you left us."
Tears slipped down his cheeks. "I was trying to save myself."
"And you did."
The ship cracked, boards splintering, and then the mast fell, and he fell with it.
Then a hand caught his. Rei's, glowing faintly.
"Will you abandon your party again?"
Eno's eyes widened with sudden, raw pain, and he cried out—"No, no, no!"—the words cracking in his throat like glass as he shook his head violently, as if trying to reject the memory itself.
Rei pulled and the vision collapsed.
Myra
The scent of rot filled her nose. A thin fog crawled across the broken stones of her village. Bodies lay under tattered blankets. Too many to count. Too many she remembered.
She walked the ruined paths barefoot with a small flame flickering over her hand, helplessly weak.
"There wasn't a healer," a voice whispered. "Not one strong enough."
She knelt beside a child—eyes glassy, unmoving. "I was here," she whispered. "I tried."
The shadows laughed.
"You failed."
From the gloom rose the villagers—ghostly, twisted by sickness, their faces warped by fever and rot. "You left," they said. "You ran. You weren't strong enough."
"I was a child," Myra said, tears burning.
"You're still weak."
Then two lights glimmered through the fog—her mother and her little sister, still alive, standing silently amid the dead. Watching. Hoping.
The dead reached for her.
"Why did you leave us?"
Myra trembled and yet stood. "Because I wanted to become strong enough so this never happens again."
She turned from the accusing eyes and in the distance saw Rei. She walked forward, away from the pain, the past and the past let her go.
They awoke slowly. Not together—but drawn by instinct, step by step, down winding corridors that bled light like veins.
When they found one another again, no one spoke. Not at first. There were no questions. Only silent acknowledgment.
Something had tested them. Shown them who they had been—and who they still might become.
The caverns opened at last into a vaulted chamber, stone archways humming faintly, a windless current brushing their skin. As if the place had been waiting for them.
Callis was the first to speak, his voice low. "I saw you, Rei. In the vision. You pulled me back."
Eno nodded slowly. "I saw you too. You caught me when I fell."
Myra looked at Rei, her expression unreadable. "You were there. But different."
Rei hesitated, then said, "After my vision, something... shifted. I don't know how to explain it. I feel more connected to my power. Like I can reach deeper without being overwhelmed."
Callis folded his arms. "Maybe the Caverns weren't just testing us. Maybe they were preparing you."
Myra placed a hand on Rei's shoulder. "Whatever they were doing, we're still with you."
A low rumble moved through the walls—not threatening, but approving.
They pressed on.
Deeper into the Caverns.
Deeper into themselves.
Toward whatever came next.