As the echo of the Bonekeeper's final breath faded into the crumbling silence of Ghatakar, the chamber stood still—timeless, breathless.
Aarav knelt amid the broken remnants of bone and shadow, his palm extended toward the fractured remnants of the corrupted ring. From its core, a faint pulse of pure energy radiated—soft, yet persistent. The fractured bones curled away from the light, as if afraid of redemption. And then, with a whisper softer than wind, the true Ring of Bone and Soul emerged.
It was unlike the others.
The ring was forged not of metal or gemstone, but from a translucent material resembling moonstone and woven ash. Etched along its surface were names—countless names—so small they could not be read with the eyes, but felt with the soul. Each one was a story, a life lost, a memory unburied. The moment his fingers closed around it, Aarav felt them.
Voices.
Not screaming.
Not begging.
But… remembering.
A father cradling a dying child. A soldier writing his last letter. A mother humming to her stillborn baby. A friend falling into darkness with only hope in his heart.
The Ring pressed itself into his skin, becoming part of him.
And then the flood began.
He gasped, falling to one knee, his chest heaving. Visions cascaded through him—of death, sacrifice, courage, and betrayal. He saw his uncle's fall not just in power, but in grief. The Bonekeeper had tried to defy mortality, to hold onto a world that was already gone.
Aarav wept—not from pain, but from the unbearable beauty and sorrow of it all.
Behind him, Ishira stood silent, hands folded in mourning. Vayara pressed her lips together, holding back tears. Luan bowed his head, as if in reverence.
Then, the temple groaned.
Stones cracked. Towers tilted. The city of Ghatakar, now freed of its cursed heart, began to collapse.
Aarav stood, steadier than before. The Ring of Bone gleamed on his wrist, cold but alive.
The dead were at peace.
But Aarav… had changed.
He no longer carried just destiny.
Now, he carried memory.