The Sanctuary Chamber was nothing like Elara expected.
Tucked beneath the eastern tower of the academy, it had once been used for oath-binding rituals and truth-weaving. Now, layers of enchantments shimmered along its marble walls, glowing faintly like a living heartbeat.
Kieran placed the golden orb on the pedestal at the room's center. "Here, her memory will be safe. The wards won't let anything from the outside touch it."
Elara stared at it, her thoughts a storm. Seraphine was her sister. Not by blood—but by bond. The one person who had tried to protect her from the very system they both grew up inside.
"She didn't just save me," Elara whispered. "She knew this day would come."
Kieran met her gaze. "And now that it has, you have to decide what to do with the truth."
Before she could respond, a gust of wind swirled through the chamber, flickering the candles. A strange chill followed, not cold but... hollow. Familiar.
"Someone's coming," Elara murmured, eyes narrowing.
From the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in black robes, a silver mask hiding their face. The mask was flawless, polished like a mirror. No eyes. No mouth. Just a perfect reflection.
"You've awakened the memory vault," the figure said, their voice layered—male and female, old and young. "And now the balance has shifted."
Kieran drew his blade. "Identify yourself."
The masked figure didn't flinch. "I am known only as the Archivist. I serve the Order of Null—the last keepers of forgotten truths."
Elara stepped forward. "What do you want?"
"To warn you," the Archivist replied. "Now that you've touched the seventh letter and absorbed a protected memory, you've become part of the Binding Spiral. It is irreversible."
"The what?"
Kieran's grip tightened. "That's myth. The Binding Spiral was just a theory Seraphine wrote about—an untraceable connection between memory and reality."
"It was never a theory," the Archivist replied. "And she wasn't the first to find it—only the last who dared."
Elara's heart pounded. "Why me?"
"Because Seraphine left you her imprint," the Archivist said. "And with it, access to the final archive—The Echoing Mask. The place where even memories forget themselves."
Elara's eyes widened. "Where is it?"
The mask tilted slightly. "Not where. When."
A silence fell. Even Kieran looked shaken.
"She hid it in a folded timeline," the Archivist explained. "Locked it between realities using her own memories as the anchor. To find it, you must retrace her steps—not in this world, but in her past. Through dreams. Through the seventh letter."
Elara touched the vial hanging from her neck. It had once held a single tear from Seraphine. Now it pulsed faintly—alive.
"If I do this," she asked, "will I survive it?"
"You will not return unchanged," the Archivist said. "But perhaps… you will return truthful."
The room dimmed. The Archivist stepped back into the shadows.
"But beware," their voice echoed one last time. "Others seek the archive too. And not all wear masks you can see."
The chamber fell silent again.
Elara looked at Kieran. "Do you believe them?"
"I believe Seraphine knew more than she ever told us. And I believe you were meant to finish what she started."
Elara looked down at the orb one more time. Then she took the seventh letter from her coat and unfolded it again.
This time, words had appeared—ones that hadn't been there before.
> "To see the Echoing Mask, you must wear one first"
Elara's breath hitched as reality began to melt around her. The chamber faded into mist, and the seventh letter in her hand glowed with a violet hue. She clutched it tighter, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
She opened her eyes.
And found herself in a city that didn't exist.
A mirror-world. Familiar, yet warped. The skies were stained crimson, buildings rose and twisted like vines of metal, and every reflection—glass, water, or steel—showed moments from memories not her own. Children she had never met. People she didn't know, crying. Laughing. Dying.
"Welcome," a voice said.
Elara turned sharply.
Seraphine stood beside her. But not quite her—this Seraphine was younger, maybe fifteen, dressed in academy robes and staring into the distance with wide, haunted eyes.
"You're not really her," Elara said slowly.
"No," the vision answered. "I'm what she left behind. Her imprint. A guide for those who dare follow."
Elara looked around the red-streaked city. "This is the folded timeline?"
"One layer of it," the imprint answered. "To find the Echoing Mask, you must navigate through three shards of her past. Each holds a truth she could not face while alive. Only by facing them will you find the archive."
Before Elara could speak again, the city flickered—and changed.
She now stood in a small dormitory room. An old piano sat in the corner. Her younger self lay asleep on the bed, barely eight years old.
Elara's heart clenched. "Why am I seeing this?"
"Because this is when she chose you," said the imprint.
The door burst open. Seraphine—older now—rushed in, clutching a vial. Her hands trembled. Her face pale.
"Forgive me," she whispered to the sleeping Elara. "They would have taken you. This is the only way."
She injected the vial into young Elara's arm.
The vision froze.
Elara turned to the imprint. "What did she give me?"
"Part of herself. Her potential. Her failures. Her pain. You weren't just protected, Elara. You were prepared."
The scene shattered. The next shard formed instantly.
This time, it was the Grand Hall. Empty. Silent. Except for Seraphine, standing before the council, defiant.
"You lied to us," one of the elders growled.
"I protected a child," Seraphine snapped. "One you were going to erase."
"That child is a variable."
"That child is the key."
The vision blurred.
Elara stumbled as the world collapsed inward.
The third shard began.
She was in a circular chamber of mirrors.
And every mirror showed a version of herself.
But only one wore the silver mask.
The one at the far end.
Elara approached it, heart pounding. The masked version stared back, unmoving.
"The Echoing Mask doesn't hide truth," the imprint whispered. "It reveals the one you fear the most."
Elara raised a trembling hand toward the mirror.