The chamber thrummed with ancient power, not loud but constant, like a low hum beneath the skin. Every breath Eira took felt charged, like the air itself was alive with memory. The deeper they walked into the underground vault, the heavier the silence grew, not empty, but filled with ghosts too long buried.
Thorne led with quiet urgency, the flickering torch casting jagged shadows on the curved walls. His eyes flicked toward each passing alcove, tense, as if expecting the past to step out and confront him. The weight in his expression was different now, less guarded, more burdened. He looked like a man chasing something he'd once left behind.
They stopped before a wide stone archway, its frame etched with runes that glimmered faintly as they neared. The air here felt thick, like it hadn't been stirred in generations.
"This is it," Thorne murmured, his voice hollow.
Kaela stood beside him, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Her gaze swept the doorway, sharp and solemn. "The Hall of Memory."
Eira inched closer, her pulse quickening. The runes responded to her presence, flaring softly as if recognizing her blood. Something inside the chamber pulled at her. Not violently, but insistently, like a voice whispering her name from a long-forgotten dream.
"What's in there?" she asked.
Thorne stared at the glowing runes. "Pieces of who we were. What we lost. Things we tried to forget."
Then he stepped through, his shoulders squared like a man facing judgment.
The others followed.
The chamber beyond was vast. Its ceiling disappeared into darkness, and the floor stretched endlessly in either direction. Towering crystalline monoliths stood in silent rows, each one pulsing with inner light. As they passed, scenes flickered within images caught mid-motion, like frozen echoes of a world gone by. A battlefield beneath a crimson sky. A woman cradling a lifeless child. A tower falling to fire.
Eira's breath caught in her throat. There was grief here, woven into the walls. It pressed against her chest, not cruelly, but like a hand trying to make her remember.
Lena's voice was soft. "This place was a sanctuary for the last of the Mageborn. Their memories. Their warnings. Their grief."
Eira stepped toward one of the crystals. Her fingers hovered inches from its surface, then, drawn by instinct, she touched it.
A pulse of light. Then sound.
The image swelled into view: a woman standing alone in a ruined chamber, clutching a baby wrapped in blue silk. Her face was pale, streaked with tears, but there was fierce tenderness in her eyes.
Eira's breath caught.
"She's here," Kaela whispered. "Your mother."
The woman turned, her voice carrying through the memory like wind through trees.
"They'll come for her. They'll call her dangerous. But she must live. She must choose her own fate."
The memory fractured into light, then vanished.
Eira stumbled back. Her legs felt unsteady, her hands trembling.
"She knew," she whispered. "She knew I'd survive. She gave everything just to buy me time."
Kaela touched her arm gently. "And now it's your time. You're not alone."
Thorne remained still beside one of the crystals, his face remained unreadable but there was something in his eyes. Regret, maybe.
"She gave you more than time," he said. "She gave you a chance to be more than a weapon."
Before Eira could respond, the runes on the far wall pulsed red.
Kaela drew her sword in one fluid motion. "They found us."
Thorne's expression darkened. "No. He did."
A sound echoed through the vault, slow, heavy footsteps. They came like a rhythm from some grim ceremony, reverberating off the stone.
A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and cloaked in red-edged armor. The bone-white mask on his face was carved into a sneer, and his eyes cold, burning coals gleamed with cruel amusement.
"Hello, Thorne," he said, voice smooth as poison. "Still pretending you have a soul."
Eira froze. The aura radiating from him was suffocating. Wrong. He wasn't just dangerous. He was ancient, like something that had fed on darkness for far too long.
Thorne stepped forward, sword already in hand. "Harrower."
The name rang like a curse.
"Ah, so she knows now," Harrower said, turning his gaze to Eira. "The girl they whispered about. The last spark of rebellion. The legacy of everything we tried to extinguish."
Eira clenched her fists, the warmth of her magic simmering just beneath the surface.
"You have no idea what you carry, child," he said, smile growing wider. "And you're already too late."
He raised his hand.
The chamber screamed.
Crystals shattered, ancient memories torn to shards of light and sound. Eira dropped, covering her head. Lena pulled her to her feet, while Kaela leapt toward Harrower. Magic pulsed in jagged waves from his body, tearing through the air with cruel elegance.
Thorne met him in a clash of blades. Steel rang against steel, magic against shadow. But Harrower moved like he'd fought a hundred battles just like this. Thorne struggled to keep pace, blood already staining his side.
"You're weak," Harrower snarled. "Still trying to atone for sins no one remembers."
"I don't need redemption," Thorne spat, "just enough time to stop you."
Kaela lunged into the fray, and even together, they barely held him back.
Eira stood, heart racing. Her limbs trembled, not from fear, but from the force gathering within her. The warmth in her veins turned to fire.
She raised her hands.
"Harrower!" she shouted.
He turned. The golden light erupted, catching him full in the chest. He flew backward, slamming into the stone wall with a crack that shook the vault.
Silence fell.
Thorne dropped to one knee, breath ragged, blood streaking his jaw.
"You need to go," he rasped. "Now."
Eira stepped forward, her face fierce. "I'm not running anymore."