CHAPTER 101 — The Corridor of EchoesThe light from the Balance Sigil had barely faded when the corridor ahead awakened—slowly, like some vast, breathing creature rising from sleep. The walls stretched upward in spiraling layers of translucent memory-stone, each layer shifting between colors: pale blue for remembrance, violet for active thought, silver for forgotten things that insisted on returning.Elliott stepped forward, and the moment his boot touched the polished floor, the entire corridor pulsed—once, twice—as though acknowledging him.Lyra whistled under her breath.“Feels like walking into someone’s brain. Someone ancient... and nosy.”Gorrun grunted. “If this thing tries speaking inside my skull, I’m punching it. Don’t care if it’s made of light.”Serinda ignored them both. Her gaze was fixed on the walls as they flickered through scenes—lives, battles, cities long dead.“This is the Corridor of Echoes,” she said softly. “I studied fragments about it. It shows truths—yours,

CHAPTER 103 — The Third Echo: Shadows That WalkThe gateway to the Third Echo rose before them like a jagged mouth, carved from black stone shot through with pulsing veins of silver. The air around it was cold—unnaturally cold—leeching warmth from Elliott’s skin the moment he stepped close.If the First Echo had tested their intent, and the Second Echo had tested their desire, this one radiated something sharper.Something hungrier.Lyra gripped her daggers.“Okay, this place feels like it wants to eat my soul.”Gorrun groaned. “Same. And I actually like my soul.”Serinda’s eyes narrowed, studying the runes etched into the archway. “This is the Echo of Memory Lost. The city warns about it in old texts—rarely passed, rarely survived. If the Nexus wants to destroy someone, this is how it starts.”Elliott inhaled slowly.He didn’t answer.He couldn’t.The Sigil burned on his skin, colder than ice, heavier than stone.The darkness beyond the archway wasn’t empty.It was full.Full of shif

Chapter 105 – Falling Into the White Between WorldsThere was no ground.No sky.Just white.Endless, shifting white — not light, not fog, but something that felt like the space before a space existed. Elliott couldn’t tell if he was falling, floating, or frozen in place. His arms moved, but he didn’t feel air. His voice worked, but sound didn’t travel.“Mira!” he tried to shout.The world swallowed the word whole.He twisted, reaching out, searching for anything — Rowan’s panicked flailing, Mira’s steady grip, Sera’s cold calm — but all he touched was nothing.Nothing and the lingering echo of the Silenced King’s smirk.A soft whisper brushed his ear.“You cannot run from what follows you, little bearer.”Elliott spun, heart punching his ribs. But the King wasn’t there. The voice was inside the white itself.Another whisper followed, different — older, gentle, but heavy like forgotten stone.“Do not fear the fall. Fear the root beneath it.”And then the white cracked.Hairline fractu

CHAPTER 107 — When the Mountain Starts to ListenThe wind grew warmer as they descended.Not comforting warm.Not the gentle melt of spring.A strange warmth — like something old had been sleeping under the ice for centuries, and now it was rolling over, stretching, tasting the air.Mira noticed it first.“This isn’t natural,” she muttered, her hand hovering near her sword.Rowan sniffed the air. “It smells like burnt pine. And secrets.”“That is not how secrets smell,” Sera murmured.Rowan shrugged. “You’ve never smelled MY secrets.”The path narrowed into a thin ridge with sheer cliffs on both sides. The sky remained a pale silver, the way it always did around ancient magic, but the ground was shifting—slowly, subtly—as if the mountain was rearranging its bones.Elliott tried to focus on the path.But his mind kept drifting back to the sentinel’s words.“A remnant of the First Sorcerer lives within you.”“The shadow will not stay quiet.”His chest felt tight—not painful, but… full.

Chapter 109 — The Crown of the Unmade KingThe storm hit the ruins like a beast made of sky.Thunder peeled across the broken citadel, shaking dust loose from ancient stones that had stood longer than any living memory. Lightning forked overhead, white and violent, painting the world in harsh flashes. And in the center of the shattered courtyard—where once a king had knelt to receive his crown—Elliott Fen stood alone.Well… as alone as someone surrounded by five spectral guardians, one half-possessed relic scholar, a sarcastic mage-blade, and a sentient shard of reality could ever be.The air was thick with magic—so thick Elliott could practically taste it on his tongue, metallic and sharp like touching a battery with your teeth. The sky churned an unnatural violet, swirling around a single point directly above the courtyard. Something was waking. Something old. Something hungry.And Elliott?He was very much not in the mood to find out what.“Okay,” he muttered, forcing his breath st