Morning came grey and cold. A hush blanketed the Spire-Knot Citadel—not silence, but reverence. The kind of quiet cities wear when they prepare to bleed.
Kian stood at the center of the square, before the first of the unfinished walls that would encircle the Citadel's heart. Masons waited nearby, tools idle. Kess and Jerie watched from the scaffolding. Gellon leaned against a support beam, jaw tight.
And Daru sat cross-legged in the dust, drawing spirals with her finger. Waiting.
Kian raised his bracer.
[Architect Codex: Memory Anchorage Protocol]
▸ Construct Selected: South Bastion Wall – Segment 01
▸ Source of Anchor: [Kian Valhart]
▸ Type: Personal Memory – Class: Regret
▸ Confirm Sacrifice?
▸ Y/N
He didn't hesitate.
▸ Y
Light flared from the stone.
The glyphs carved by the builders twisted, glowing violet. The wall drank in the offering—and changed. Its texture shifted. The smooth granite took on the faint impression of hands reaching upward. The lines of a young boy's face crying out in the rain. A memory no one had seen—but now lived forever, embedded in the stone.
Veyna flinched. "That was…"
Jerie lowered his voice. "What did he give up?"
Seris, who had been watching from a rooftop perch, answered. "The day he buried his brother."
No one asked how she knew.
Throughout the day, others followed.
Kess gave a memory of her first experiment gone wrong—the one that cost her both her mentors. The energy shaped a pillar in the east wing, now humming faintly with arcane remorse.
Gellon offered the oath he made when his old company burned in the Hollowfang Wars. His memory was etched into the outer gate's keystone, lending it the strength of bitter resolve.
Even Jerie, reluctantly, offered something: the first time he killed someone. A wall of the barracks took the shape of that alley—crooked, narrow, silent.
Not all who gave were soldiers.
A cook gave the memory of her daughter's lullaby. A carpenter gave the sound of laughter at a long-lost tavern. The walls took it all, and the Citadel grew—not just in size, but in weight.
It became real.
It became alive.
But some memories could not be shared.
Seris stood before a vacant column of stone that waited to be shaped. She said nothing, did nothing. Then turned and walked away.
No one stopped her.
That night, Veyna sat alone atop the half-finished north watchtower. Rain threatened again, but hadn't yet arrived.
Kian joined her, silent.
She didn't look at him. "That wall remembers your brother."
"Yes."
"You never told me you had one."
"I never told anyone."
Silence.
Then she said, "When this is over—if it ever is—what are you building, Kian?"
He took a long breath.
"Not a kingdom. Not a fortress."
She looked at him now.
"Then what?"
He answered softly, "A place that doesn't forget who paid for it."
Far below, Daru stared out into the night. Her eyes, still too old for her face, flicked toward the hills.
"There's someone watching," she whispered.
Seris appeared beside her. "Where?"
Daru pointed toward the ridge.
At the edge of the valley, beneath a cover of rain-dark clouds, a figure in rusted armor watched the Citadel through a cracked spyglass. His face was half-mask, half-scar, and from his back rose the broken staves of an old banner—one painted in black and bone-white.
He lowered the glass.
"They've begun binding," he said to the soldier beside him.
"And?"
The figure smiled.
"Then it's time we tear their memories down."
[Codex Alert: External System Signature Detected]
▸ Identity: Unknown – Code Fragment Matches Obsidian Echo
▸ Priority: Critical Threat
▸ Prediction: Raid or Sabotage Likely Within 72 Hours
End of Chapter 47