The seed Samuel planted beneath the ash tree did not glow. It pulsed softly, like a memory remembered in the dark. He watered it every morning with dew from the cliffside and never once spoke to it. Some said it was a relic of his lost divinity—others said it was just a seed.But today, the tree had sprouted.A stalk of translucent white branched toward the sky, and along its spine, tiny symbols unfurled like leaves: the sigils of Archive, Veil, and something else. Something unnamed.Joey returned just as the first blossom opened.“That’s new,” he said, tossing his travel pack to the ground.Samuel smiled without looking up. “You came back.”Joey chuckled. “Didn’t think I’d miss the moment your ghost plant decided to bloom.”Samuel touched the stalk gently. “It’s not magic. Just memory, finally ready to grow.”He stood, brushing soil from his hands. His cloak—once laced with radiant threads—was now simple cotton, frayed at the edges. But when he turned to Joey, there was something str

The air over the French Highlands shimmered—not from heat, but from distortion.Leylines once frayed by Archive experiments had reknit themselves, but where they converged, the world pulsed with ancient tension. There, within the ruins of an inverted cathedral buried in limestone cliffs, lay Saint Noëlle’s Gate—the last known home of the Shard Caller.Joey adjusted his coat, scanning the landscape from a broken arch. “This place reeks of unburied ghosts.”Sarah crouched beside a moss-covered glyph, her fingers glowing faintly blue. “That’s because it’s not empty. This cathedral remembers every scream it ever heard. It sings in trauma.”“Cheerful.”“Focus, Joey. We’re not here for therapy. We’re here for Elienne.”Joey grunted. “Elienne tried to collapse the Eastern Axis three years ago.”“And Samuel still said she was vital.”“That’s his new hobby,” Joey muttered, “hiring old villains.”They entered the hollow nave.What was once an altar was now a circular pool, not of water, but of

They didn’t have time to breathe.The walls exploded inward—not from force, but from nullspace folding—an ancient tactic the IMA’s elite units used to bypass magical thresholds.Reality hissed. Air shuddered.And then came the voices.“Targets located. Initiate Code Rend.”Joey dove without thinking, grabbing Sarah as a net of black light fell from above. The entire ceiling fractured like a pane of mirrored glass, and through it descended six operatives, all cloaked in augmented Archive-tech exosuits—each wielding weapons shaped like fractured halos.“IMA Elite,” Joey growled. “Of course they show up now.”Samuel didn’t speak. He moved.One blink—and he was behind the first attacker. His hand ignited—not with fire or shadow, but time inversion—an advanced technique only those who’d been rewritten by the Archive’s core could attempt.He slammed his palm into the operative’s back.The suit froze. Then shattered outward, like a sculpture reversing its own carving.Joey whistled. “Okay. S

The descent into the Vault of Thresholds wasn’t marked by staircases or winding tunnels, but by memory. Each step forward felt like passing through veils of time, peeling away assumptions and stripping the team of anything but their intent.The entrance itself was a ripple—no stone or gate—just a tear in reality suspended above an ancient pool of still light. When they crossed it, the world inverted.They emerged in a cathedral of motionless paradoxes. Walls shimmered between stone and thought. The ceiling was a sky they could not recognize. A thousand keys floated in midair, each pointing to doors that didn’t exist.Sarah turned slowly, stunned by the impossibility around them. “This place isn’t built. It’s felt.”Cassari grunted. “No maps. No sense of direction. Classic Vault tech.”Samuel didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed forward, past the illusion and shimmer, toward a great obelisk of spiraling glyphs at the heart of the chamber. At its peak: a single artifact glowing blue-whit

Snowflakes drifted through the fractured sky, each crystal caught between realities—some swirling in time forwards, others backward.Samuel stood atop the warship’s command deck, eyes closed against the wind. He raised his left hand and traced an arc through the air. The ghost-pattern of the gesture glowed silver. Below, holographic timesteps flickered in mid-air.“We launch at 0400,” he announced, voice low and resonant as a bell in stone. “Simultaneous strikes on five IMA Chimera test sites.”Joey stared at the map: red dots blinking across the West Line. “Five sites? Half our team isn’t even here.”Cassari, draped in entropy-wraith armor, leaned forward. “We don’t have consensus. Two squads object.”Sarah stepped beside Samuel. Her whisper was soft but clear: “We can’t wait. Not with what we found.”Samuel opened his eyes. They glimmered dimly—residual Ghost Echo still woven into his sight. “Decision is made.”Joey closed his eyes. “You're ordering a war... without full agreement.”