The monolith loomed over the horizon like a relic from another age—towering, dark, and wrapped in runes that pulsed with a heartbeat of their own. As Erik walked toward it, the earth beneath his feet changed. The grass faded to stone. The air thickened with silence. Birds no longer chirped. No insects moved.
Even time slowed, like the world was holding its breath.
The masked figure walked beside him, still cloaked in pale robes, never making a sound. Despite the wind, their robe never fluttered. Despite the light, their mask never cast a shadow.
Erik spoke first.
"You said you remember what even the gods forgot."
"I do," the stranger said, voice neither deep nor high, ageless in tone. "And you… carry what they buried."
They reached the edge of the monolith's shadow. The surface of the ancient tower pulsed with symbols older than language—glyphs that shifted when looked at directly. Runes that Erik's soul responded to.
"This place…" Erik whispered. "It's not built. It's grown."
The figure nodded. "The soul-forged did not use hammers or chisels. We shaped matter through memory. Every inch of this tower was created by recollection."
"You're saying this building is made of… thoughts?"
"No. Of sacrifices."
Erik felt Veyrion hum on his back, reacting to the tower. Not in warning. In longing.
"Someone I once was helped build this place, didn't he?"
The masked figure stepped forward and placed their hand on the wall. The runes near their fingers glowed softly, responding to them like an old friend.
"You were one of the first," they said. "Not just a wielder. A founder."
Erik blinked. "I helped build this?"
"You helped seal it. And the knowledge within."
Erik looked up at the tower. "Why seal it?"
"Because not even the soul-forged were free of pride."
The entrance opened—stone folding away like petals of a dying flower. The masked figure stepped in. Erik followed, heart pounding.
Inside was a chamber filled with floating crystals, each one glowing with faint echoes. Sounds. Memories. Words long lost.
"This is the Archive," the stranger said. "Each crystal contains a fragment of a soul-forged's memory. Some willingly given. Others… not."
They led him to the center of the room. There, floating within a pillar of golden light, was a single shard. Cracked. Flickering. But still alive.
The stranger turned to Erik.
"This is yours."
Erik approached it slowly. As his fingers neared, the shard pulsed, sending a jolt of warmth through his arm. The soul within him stirred—quietly. Not resisting. Not warning.
Welcoming.
He touched it.
The world twisted.
He stood again in the First Realm, but this time, not as a soldier. Not as a god-killer. But as a builder. A teacher. A man surrounded by others with glowing eyes and strange, shifting hands.
The soul-forged.
They shaped worlds with thought. Bent energy into walls. Etched emotion into stone. And among them, he—Erik—led the shaping of a sanctuary meant to survive the collapse.
He spoke to another man, tall and gaunt, with eyes of fire.
"They'll come for us," the man said.
"Let them," Erik replied. "We're not building this for now. We're building this for who comes next."
"For who survives?"
"For who remembers."
Erik pulled his hand back, gasping.
The masked figure nodded once. "You were the one who sealed the Archive. And now, you are the one who has unsealed it."
Erik looked around. "There were more of you. Where are they?"
The figure turned, voice heavy. "Gone. Faded. Consumed. Chosen to forget. I am the last."
"What do I call you?"
The figure hesitated.
Then, slowly, they removed the mask.
Erik stared.
It was… him.
Not exactly. The face was older. Worn. Hair longer. Scars he didn't have. But the same eyes. The same mark on the neck.
"I am what you become," the echo-Erik said. "If you choose memory over peace. If you hold onto the truth, no matter how heavy."
Erik stepped back. "This isn't possible."
"You are a fragment of a cycle. A spiral that always begins the same way. You find the blade. You awaken the soul. You defy gods. And then—"
"I fall?"
"No," the echo said. "You forget. Every time."
Erik clenched his fists. "I don't want this. I didn't choose it."
"Does that matter?" the echo asked. "The Seer is moving. The Architects are stirring. The world will ask you to pick a side. But the truth is—"
He leaned in.
"They all fear the one who remembers."
Suddenly, the walls shook. The crystals flickered.
Something had found them.
Erik grabbed Veyrion.
"What's happening?"
The echo backed away, fading.
"Your presence awakened too much. They're coming. And this place won't survive another awakening."
"But I just got here!"
"Then take what you've learned and run. Like we always do."
The chamber began collapsing, memories shattering like glass. The Archive groaned, the runes dimming.
A portal tore open beside Erik—marked with Saline's blood-rune.
A last gift.
He stepped through.
And emerged in a dark forest under a violet sky.
Far away. Unknown land.
He was alone again.
Except…
Behind him, something followed.
Not a soul.Not a Seer.Not a god.
But memory itself.
And it whispered:"You are no longer just Erik. You are the Key."