The space between worlds folded inward.
Each step Erik took wasn't just a movement—it was a choice. With every stride, he shed another layer of the reality he knew. The sky above faded from violet to void, and stars stopped twinkling—as if afraid to watch what came next.
The fourth glyph on his chest pulsed with heat, guiding him like a heartbeat too ancient to belong to any living man.
Then, the Vault appeared.
It wasn't a building. Not a cave or a door.
It was a tear.
A vertical rip in the fabric of reality, stitched together with threads made of languages no one had spoken for millennia. The edges shimmered with trapped screams, moments caught mid-collapse—worlds, memories, and names that had been erased before they were ever known.
It wasn't meant to be opened.
But Erik reached out anyway.
The fourth glyph ignited.
The tear pulled apart.
And the Vault let him in.
—
Inside was silence.
True silence. No air. No thought. No concept of movement.
Just... him.
He floated in a space where color didn't exist—only shades of absence. Yet somehow, he knew he wasn't alone.
Veyrion buzzed weakly, like a wounded beast caught in the cold.
The soul inside him whispered:
You've crossed into the Axis Void. The place where stories are kept unborn. Realities that were almost true live here, hidden... forgotten.
Erik turned slowly. Shapes drifted in the distance—like shadows without bodies. They pulsed with emotion, not form. Fear. Rage. Hope. Grief.
"Why does this place feel familiar?" Erik asked aloud, voice strangely clear.
Because you've been here before, the soul replied. Long ago. You helped create it.
Erik froze. "What?"
The Vault isn't just a prison. It's a library of things too dangerous to be written. You chose to lock them away after the First Collapse. This is where you buried truths you couldn't destroy.
He drifted deeper. The floating fragments sharpened—images flashing across his vision.
—A throne made of names, each etched with blood.—A sword larger than any mountain, stuck in a sunless sea.—A version of Erik kneeling before a crying child who called him "Father."
Each scene lasted only a heartbeat.
Each one felt like a memory.
"What am I supposed to find here?" he asked.
Something stirred in the distance.
A shimmer. A ripple.
A figure began to form—not a god, not a devil, not an Architect.
But something else.
Erik braced himself.
When the figure fully emerged, he gasped.
It was him.
But older. Worn. Radiating a quiet, unshakable power. His eyes glowed silver-blue, and a fifth glyph blazed across his chest—burning even in this place.
"You made it," the older Erik said.
"Who… are you?" Erik asked, heart pounding.
The older version smiled.
"I'm the version of you that never forgot. The one who stayed behind to guard the Vault."
"Why?"
"Because someone had to. You weren't supposed to awaken yet. The world wasn't ready."
"Then why did I?"
"Because the Architects are stirring. The gods are fragmenting. The devils are rewriting their pacts. And the Seer… has already seen too far."
Younger Erik stepped forward. "Then what do I do?"
"Take back what you sealed."
The older Erik reached into the void and pulled forth an object wrapped in layers of broken light. It unraveled itself in the air, revealing a crystal shard—pulsing red, silver, and black.
"This is the Original Glyph," he said. "The root of all others. The first word ever spoken in the void. It holds no power... because it is power."
Erik stared at it.
"If I take it—"
"You remember everything," his older self said. "Every version. Every life. Every death. Every betrayal. Every loss. You'll see who turned on you. Who you trusted. Who you failed. And what you did to end the First Realm."
Veyrion throbbed.
Even the soul inside quivered.
Don't do this, it pleaded. Once you remember everything, you'll never be the same.
Erik's hand hovered.
And then closed around the shard.
—
He screamed.
Not from pain—but from knowing.
Thousands of lifetimes crashed into him. Victories and horrors. Embraces and executions. Rebirths and betrayals. He saw his hands burn entire continents to protect a child who no longer remembered his name. He saw himself create Veyrion from a dying star's whisper. He saw the First Seer kneel to him. He saw himself strike her down when she asked to forget.
And worst of all…
He saw how he became the thing the Architects feared most.
Not a destroyer.
But a rewrite.
He wasn't meant to be a god or devil.
He was meant to be a reset button.
A being created not to rule… but to erase and rebuild.
His will shaped law. His emotions shaped time.
The Architects didn't fear him because he opposed them.
They feared him because he could replace them.
Erik fell to his knees in the Vault, gasping, trembling.
His older self stepped back, nodding.
"You're not ready to wield all of it yet. But now, you remember."
He handed Erik a glowing coin—silver on one side, void-black on the other.
"What's this?"
"A failsafe. If you ever lose control again… flip it."
"What happens if I do?"
"You either save the world… or end it."
The Vault trembled.
The older Erik turned, vanishing into the darkness.
"I'll be waiting," he said. "On the other side."
A portal opened behind Erik.
The world beyond shimmered with a strange golden-red light.
Erik turned to the tear.
And stepped through.
—
He emerged in a wasteland.
Ash fell from a gray sky.
Ruins stretched for miles. Statues of forgotten gods broken in half. Temples burned and hollowed.
And in the center of the ruins…
Stood a woman.
Back turned.
Hair white.
Eyes glowing with golden tears.
The First Seer.
She turned as he approached.
And smiled.
"So," she said. "You finally remember."
Erik gripped the coin in one hand, Veyrion in the other.
And for the first time—
He truly felt what he was becoming.