ASHES OF THE FORGOTTENThe city was waking from a nightmare, but its scars were not yet healed. The air smelled of smoke and salt, drifting from the river that sliced through the City of Veils like a silver knife. Streets that had once echoed with market cries and laughter now lay hollow, littered with ash, broken glass, and the remnants of a rebellion that had burned brighter and faster than anyone could contain.Eli moved through the ruined avenues, his boots crushing the detritus of lives that had been erased in hours. Every corner, every collapsed archway, spoke of betrayal, of mistakes that had multiplied like shadows in the dark. He carried no weapon now, only a quiet resolve that weighed heavier than steel. His hands itched for action, but there was nothing to strike, nothing to destroy. All that remained were echoes-echoes of the Rebellion, echoes of himself, and echoes of what he had failed to protect.The streets shifted in the light, the debris catching the morning sun and

THE RED STORM FALLSThe world burned red.The snow that had blanketed the valley only hours before was gone, boiled to steam by the fire raining from the sky. Lightning crawled like living veins through the clouds, and every flash carved the shadow of the creature above a vast, winged phantom of smoke and memory. The mountains trembled beneath its roar.Eli ran through the chaos, his cloak torn, the Echo Blade alive in his hands. Sparks leapt from the edge of the weapon with every swing, each note of steel cutting through the storm’s deafening song. Around him, buildings cracked, roofs collapsed, and the cries of the villagers mixed with the howl of the wind. Mira was beside him, fast, relentless, her sword flashing silver through the crimson haze.They fought not to win but to survive to carve a path through fire toward the old watchtower that crowned the ridge. It was the only structure still standing, its black spire defiant against the storm. Somewhere inside, Eli could fee

THE DAY THE SKY STOPPED BREATHINGThe horizon split open like a wound.It happened at dawn an hour when the battlefield slept lightly and even the wind refused to speak. The ash-colored sky trembled, shuddering as a ripple of gold tore across it, expanding outward in a silent scream. The soldiers of Archeon Village stopped mid-march. The Rebels froze. Even the dying held their breath.Eli felt it first.A sharp ringing stabbed through his skull, vibrating down his spine. His knees buckled, and his fingers clawed into the dirt as if the entire world were trying to lift him off the ground. The Mark on his arm burned, glowing through his bandages with a pulse like a heartbeat like something waking up inside him.Something ancient.Something hungry.Mira caught his arm. “Eli what’s happening?”He couldn’t answer. The sound wasn’t sound at all. It was memory. It was the cold echo of the Ascendants whispering across centuries. It was the quiet fury of every sealed power struggling against

THE STORM THAT REMEMBERSNight didn’t fall.It collapsed.The sky, still torn open by the Dawning Mirror’s flare, had frozen into a bleeding twilight not fully dark, not fully day, but a strange, suffocating dusk where color itself seemed afraid to exist. The clouds had stopped moving. The wind held its breath. Even the stars refused to appear.It felt like the world was watching.And waiting.Eli lay on a stretcher at the center of the camp as healers tried to stabilize the damage the titan’s explosion had carved through him. His skin glowed faintly from the residual power, veins humming with quiet light beneath the surface. Every time he inhaled, the Mark on his arm pulsed weak, but awake.Mira stood beside him like a sentry, refusing to move except to help turn him or cool his forehead with a damp cloth. Rowan watched from a distance, unable to hide the conflict etched along his war-hardened face: pride in the boy who had just saved them, fear for what he was becoming.Far beyond

THE HEART OF THE UNBOUNDThe sphere drifted closer.Not fast.Not threatening.It moved with the slow, deliberate certainty of something that had waited centuries to be noticed. Pale light rippled across its surfacesometimes gold, sometimes silver, sometimes the deep, impossible color of memory itself. With each pulse, Kai felt a tug in his chest, as though something buried within him recognized it.Aria stood beside him, breath shallow, aura crackling in cautious waves. “It’s reacting to you.”He nodded. “I know.”The sphere hovered to a stop mere inches from Kai’s outstretched hand. It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t cold. It was simply present a weightless center of gravity pulling the world inward.“What do you think it is?” Aria whispered.Kai shook his head. “Not the Remnant. Not anymore.”He extended his palm slowly. The sphere tilted toward him, like a creature sniffing the air. “Maybe a fragment. Or a memory that didn’t fade.”Aria frowned. “Memories don’t take shape.”“You saw what