The mountain known as Selnar's Spine had no trails.
No villages. No outposts. No birdsong.
Just jagged rock and ancient silence, carved by wind and time. It was said that only the truly desperate sought the summit, for at the peak lay the hidden refuge of the Mindkeepers—an order sworn to record the world's memories without judgment or interference.
Ael had never been desperate before.
Now, he walked with urgency.
Each step took him further from the voices of Vel's followers and the broken village below. Further into the forgotten heights, where the sky pressed down like a blade and magic thinned with the air.
Nirra climbed beside him, face pale but determined. "Are you sure they'll even let us in?"
"They'll let you in," Ael said. "They owe your lineage."
She blinked. "I… didn't know that."
"Your great-grandmother was one of them. She broke the vow to help your people during the First Silence. That's why your blood remembers dreams."
Nirra fell silent.
So did the wind.
—
At the summit, the stone opened for them—not with spell or key, but with memory.
Ael stepped forward and whispered, "I remember what was lost."
The mountain heard him.
The cliff face groaned. Cracked. Shifted.
A narrow archway appeared, pulsing with runes that shimmered like drops of starlight in water.
They entered.
Inside, the Vault of the Mindkeepers was not a library. It was a hive of memory. Crystalline constructs floated in the air, each holding impressions of voices, dreams, and moments plucked from time.
Mindkeepers in gray robes moved without sound, their eyes glowing faintly, mouths stitched shut with threads of soulweave.
They greeted Nirra with a nod.
When they looked at Ael… their eyes widened.
Not in fear.
Not in awe.
In recognition.
He ignored the questions behind their stares. There would be time for truth later.
They were led into the Hall of Fractured Thought, where the Vault stored forbidden records—memories too dangerous, too raw, or too misunderstood to be left among ordinary history.
Ael spoke aloud: "The Silence. The one that binds identity."
A glowing figure emerged from the center.
An elder Mindkeeper—though it was hard to say what made him elder. His form was translucent, his voice echoing from nowhere and everywhere.
"You have seen the Hollow Ones."
"Yes," Ael said. "And I've heard the one behind them speak."
"Then you seek the Nameless."
That word chilled the air around them.
Even Nirra flinched.
"Long ago," the Mindkeeper continued, "there were three paths the world could take:One of Control. One of Emotion. And one of Escape."
"The first gave us kings and tyrants. The second, dreamers and fools. The third… gave us the Name."
Ael narrowed his eyes. "Who are they?"
"Not who. What. A fragment of will left behind when the gods abandoned the world. It seeks not destruction, but stillness. It consumes memory, voice, and identity. In its mercy, it unravels pain. And in doing so, it erases self."
"The Name is not spoken. It is felt. In despair. In fatigue. In resignation. And once you accept it… you are never heard again."
Ael's hand clenched. "Can it be fought?"
"Only by remembering what it seeks to erase. Emotion. Memory. The will to endure even because it hurts."
"But you, Ael Rynhart…" The Mindkeeper's eyes pulsed. "You are not whole."
Ael stiffened.
"There is a fragment of your soul missing. One you gave up when you first became king in your old life. It was sealed here—by your own command."
Nirra turned to him. "What did you give up?"
"…Love," Ael said quietly. "It made me weak. So I severed it."
The Mindkeeper gestured, and a crystal floated toward Ael—a deep red shard, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Reclaim it, and you will be whole again.But you must feel everything you once abandoned."
Ael reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the shard—
His breath caught.
A wave of warmth surged through him—not fire, but aching, human longing. Hands held. Laughter remembered. Regret buried deep.
He fell to his knees.
Not in pain.
But in memory.
Nirra knelt beside him, eyes wide with awe.
"You were never heartless," she whispered. "You were just broken."
Ael rose, eyes burning—not with magic, but with presence.
"I remember now."
And in the silence that followed, the Vault seemed to hold its breath.
Because the world had just regained a piece of its king.