The massive, rusted gates of the Soul Foundry loomed before us, consuming the horizon. They were constructed from a metal I had never seen before—heavy, fractured, and coated with a layer of pulsating purple rust. Ancient symbols, identical to those I had seen on the Wanderer stones and bearing the one on my own palm, writhed across their surface. An ominous silence enveloped the gates, broken only by a low, barely audible hum. It was the hum of stillness. The hum of a place that absorbed all Echos.
The path of dancing sand I had created led us directly to the heart of this ancient structure. The Void Whisperers had vanished from sight, left behind in the chaos of the Sand of Oblivion. Yet, I felt their presence. They were close. Their voices, though muffled, still attempted to reach my mind, mingling with the gates' hum. "A trap... it's all a trap..."—the scarred voice whispered.—"Here, truth will be destroyed." My Book of Signs pulsed in my chest, ready for action. I knew this place was crucial. Not just for my memories, but for the fate of Eonum.
I approached the gates. They were immense, their height exceeding fifty feet. The surface felt cold to the touch, despite the glow of the twin suns. I placed my hand on one of the ancient symbols. Blue light flowed from my palm, absorbing into the metal. The gates trembled. The rust on their surface rippled, and the hum of stillness grew louder, almost deafening. I felt the Book of Signs within my mind activating new connections, filling gaps in my memory. The Soul Foundry. It was not merely a factory, but the Great Heart of Eonum. A place where Archetypes were created, distilled from pure Void, and then dispersed across all Eons. This is where the first Collector was made. And this is where... I, Elaraith, was born. One of the prime Archetypes, tasked with archiving and maintaining order.
The gates' hum escalated to a roar, and the purple rust flared with an intense, dark light. The rusted bolts, massive and cracked, groaned as they began to retract. Slowly, with immense effort, the gates of the Soul Foundry began to open, revealing the darkness beyond. The darkness was not empty. It was full. Full of swirling, ethereal forms that shimmered in the distance. I felt Echos within them. Countless Echos, essences of forgotten beings, truths, lies, concepts—all swirling in a chaotic dance. The air was heavy, permeated with an energy that was both overwhelming and profoundly familiar.
I stepped inside, and the Collector followed me. As soon as we crossed the threshold, the gates slammed shut behind us with a resounding boom, cutting us off from the outside world. The sound was like a verdict. Now we were trapped in the heart of the Void itself. Twilight reigned within. Light seeped from above, from invisible sources, illuminating spiral, rusted corridors that wound upwards and downwards, disappearing into the gloom. Ancient inscriptions still adorned the walls, fragments of formulas for creating Archetypes, histories of the Great Dream, and the cycles of Erasure. Despite the surrounding darkness, I felt no fear. I felt... a return home.
We journeyed through the Soul Foundry. The Collector, though silent, seemed to know the way perfectly, leading me through a labyrinth of corridors that smelled of metal, dust, and ancient magic. Sometimes, he paused by broken machinery, whose gigantic gears and rusted levers stood motionless, surrounded by a layer of ethereal dust. These were machines for distilling Memory, for shaping Archetypes. I touched them, and the Book of Signs in my head pulsed, revealing their functions, reminding me of my role in their creation. I felt my power growing, my understanding of the world becoming more complete.
Then I heard it. A voice. Not a whisper from the sand, not the chaos of the Whisperers, but a voice that was... mine. My own thoughts, but amplified, emanating from every corner of the Soul Foundry. "Welcome home, Archivist." It was the Architect's voice. But not the one who had fled. This was a voice that was simultaneously the Architect's and... someone else's. Someone I remembered, but could not name. "The Soul Foundry. It is here that all that is, is created. And it is here that all that was, is destroyed." Then, in the center of my mind, a vision appeared. The Prime Echo. The pulsating, blue-black sphere. But this time it was not hidden. It was visible. And it was larger than ever. It was the heart of the Foundry itself. And within it, at its very center, I saw two figures. Two silhouettes. One, clad in black, its face obscured by shadow. The Architect. And the other... the one with the scars. Both were part of the Prime Echo. Both were connected. They were two aspects of the same Truth. "You are the key, Archivist. But a key can both open and close. Destroy. Or create." The voice of the Architect, and simultaneously of the scarred one, resonated in my mind, leaving no doubt. This was the final confrontation. In the very heart of Eonum.
The Collector stopped. His obsidian eye, which had always been unemotional, now seemed to carry the weight of ancient wisdom and unspoken sorrow. He looked at me, and his clay body trembled slightly. I felt us approaching the center of the Foundry. To the place where the Prime Echo pulsed in full. To the place where Truth and Lie ceased to matter. To the place where I would have to make the ultimate decision that would determine the fate of all Eons.