The echo still rang.
His name. Not Raen. Not the one he'd stolen. Not the one he'd rebuilt himself around with blood and secrets.
The name only one person should've known—the girl who burned.
And she was here, smiling. Not with warmth, not even cruelty. Something in between. Like she'd rehearsed this moment, lived it a thousand times in some splintered dimension where truth looped endlessly.
Raen's knees locked. The air thickened around his spine like wet smoke.
She stepped forward, bare feet pressing against the cracked, blackened ground of the Ashveiled sanctum. Her skin glowed faintly, like it remembered fire. Her eyes held the color of dying embers—gold burned into red.
"You don't remember it all, do you?" she whispered.
"I remember enough."
"No. You remember the lie you chose."
The Threadrift stirred beneath their feet, coils of thought and shadow twisting like drowned memories clawing to the surface.
