Ravenn's eyelids felt heavy, and his body was sluggish as he stirred from unconsciousness. His limbs ached as if he had been wrung of all his energy, his breath was slow and steady, yet each inhale carried the strange sensation of something new inside him.
He opened his eyes.
Soft candlelight flickered along the walls of a modest room. The bed beneath him was simple, the sheets slightly rough but warm. A small desk sat in the corner, bare save for an unlit lantern. His boots had been neatly placed at the foot of the bed, and a jacket was hung on a nearby hook.
For a moment, he lay there, unmoving.
It wasn't just his body that felt different—it was his soul. As he clenched his fists, he felt power coursing through him.
This was...
"Vis," he murmured.
It felt vast, similar to an ocean, but it was controlled. It responded yearningly as he called it out, as if it had been waiting for him to beckon it to life.
Ravenn's breath quickened. All these years, he had been ridiculed, disregarded, and abused because of this power that was now flowing through him. His mother had died because of this power, they had been thrown away because of this power.
Letting his fists relax, he sighed.
There was no use dwelling on the past. He had already made his oath, he was a Warden now. He didn't know all the specifics, but he would have his chance to shine, to show the Vaedricourts the mistake they had made in casting him out.
As he thought, though, he realized something important about before he had passed out previously.
'7 years old, turning 8.'
But… he had been six when he died. Had nearly two years passed while he was unconscious?
The thought sent a strange chill through him. He hadn't considered it before, but now, as he pieced together the moments leading up to his awakening, something about it felt off.
And it wasn't just the lost time—it was him.
The way he thought and reacted to everything around him, the calm acceptance he carried despite all that had changed. He had felt it in the others, too.
There was a weight in their gazes, a purpose in their movements, an understanding beyond their years.
It wasn't something easily noticed, but once he focused on it, he saw the signs were everywhere.
Maybe Karlen could be excused. They were both from noble lineage and had received advanced education, their lessons bordering on what commoners twice their age would learn. The oldest among the Vessels had time on their side, allowing them to develop naturally. But the others—children as young as himself and Karlen—were too aware, too composed.
It wasn't just intelligence. It was something deeper.
And now that he had noticed it, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't normal.
The knowledge in his mind, the instincts in his body—some of it wasn't his. He understood things he had never been taught, knew words he had never spoken before, felt lessons he had never lived through.
It was unnerving.
Was this a side effect of becoming a Vessel?
His fingers curled slightly, his mind turning over the realization. There was only one person here who could give him an answer.
'I'll have to ask Orin when I see him.'
He decided to focus on something else, how he had passed out in the first place. There was the voice—his voice—yet not entirely his, layered with something else.
What had it said?
'The balance has shifted.'
The memory sent a shiver down his spine. He had spoken those words, but they had not come from him. There was another presence, something he had felt inside of him, something that was powerful.
Ravenn sat up slowly, pressing a hand against his forehead, and then grabbed a strand of his now long hair. Once dark, it now gleamed in the dim light a shade of pale lavender that hadn't been there before. His reflection in the nearby water basin showed the same thing had happened to his eyes—they were different, silver like tempered steel.
He flexed his fingers. His body still felt like his own, but stronger now.
Then he heard it.
The sharp clash of weapons meeting. A rush of wind. Voices shouting, but not in distress—in focus.
Training.
Ravenn exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. His legs wobbled momentarily, but he steadied himself, pulling on his boots and slipping his coat over his shoulders. The cool air of the halls sharpened his senses as he stepped outside his room.
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He made his way down the hall, the sound of training growing clearer with each step. The floor creaked faintly beneath his feet, and the scent of burning wood and cool earth drifted through the air. There was something about how the halls breathed—despite being deep within the stronghold, the place was alive. The energy of the Wardens lingered in the very walls, woven into the foundation like a heartbeat thrumming beneath the surface.
His fingers brushed the wood along the hallway as he passed. It was smooth, but he could feel the imperfections beneath the surface—the small indentations where time had left its mark.
The soft glow of lanterns cast shifting shadows, and as he walked, he noted the many doors. Each one reflected its occupant. One door's fiery warmth pulsed with a faint heat, while another had the scent of an ocean breeze, the sounds of waves distinctly coming off it. Some doors felt neutral, calm, and unassuming. Others were far from ordinary.
One, in particular, caught his attention. It was smooth, like polished steel, yet it shimmered faintly in the dim light, as though its surface were disturbed water. He reached out, but just as his fingertips neared, the air around it vibrated subtly enough to make him pause. The moment passed, and he withdrew his hand.
Then, another sharp clash of weapons, followed by a burst of wind felt even through the many halls.
Ravenn refocused, picking up his pace as he navigated the Warden's home. He reached an open doorway where light spilled through, illuminating a vast courtyard beyond. Stepping out, he was met with the sight of the Wardens in motion.
The training grounds stretched wide beneath the open sky, the crisp air carrying the scent of stone, damp earth, and the faintest hint of burning embers. His boots pressed lightly against the packed dirt as he moved forward, silver eyes scanning the scene.
In the center of the grounds, two figures clashed against each other—their movements fluid, relentless, their Vis flaring in controlled bursts. Each strike was sharp, every movement refined, the space between them alive with power.
Lyara Vale and Ronan Stryx.
Noticing him, they hesitated for only a moment before turning back to each other, grins stretching across their faces.
Lyara moved first.
One moment, she was still; the next, she was gone, her body blurring forward instantaneously. The ground beneath her barely stirred—no kick of dust, no strain in the air—just pure, seamless acceleration.
Ronan reacted instantly. He didn't move to block—he listened.
The second her foot shifted, he exhaled sharply and clapped his hands together. The crack split through the air like a whip, a concussive blast erupting from the point of impact. The force struck out in all directions, a wall of compressed sound meant to stagger anything within its reach.
But Lyara was already prepared for it.
The moment his hands met, her body flickered. Speed surged through her veins, and she redirected herself, not stopping, not slowing, but altering the trajectory of her dash mid-motion.
She rolled through the blast, a layer of Vis surrounding her defensively, as she spun low and kicked off the ground at an impossible angle. Her foot lashed out—
Ronan tilted his head as she flew past him, leg extended.
Her momentum through the air suddenly stopped, and Lyara's body was suspended in midair as she whipped her other leg around, aiming at Ronan's neck.
Ronan's stance shifted, and he exhaled sharply. He snapped his fingers, a high-frequency sound cutting through the air—not an attack, but a distraction. The sharp, piercing noise disrupted the senses for just a breath, throwing off Lyara's precision.
She faltered, barely managing to land and jump away before Ronan moved again.
Before she could fully adjust, Ronan stomped down hard. The sound of his foot meeting the ground wasn't loud, but the effect was.
A deep, resonant boom pulsed outward, not through the air, but through the earth itself. The vibration traveled faster than a shout, faster than even Lyara could step, reaching her before she could fully recover from the first momentary lapse.
The force traveled up her legs in an instant, disrupting her balance.
Ronan capitalized on the distraction, his hands moving in a blur as he ran around her.
*SNAP*
A sound behind her. An auditory trick, making her hear him where he wasn't. She dizzily turned toward the sound, vision so blurry that she could barely make out the shape of the large temple in the distance.
*SNAP*
She turned once more, locking herself into a tight defensive stance.
*SNAP*
And then he was behind her.
A sharp, compressed burst of sound exploded outward from his palm as he thrust it forward. The attack was very clearly meant to end it, holding enough force to knock her out of the training circle.
Except—
Lyara's body shimmered just as his palm neared her back.
Ronan's attack connected, but by the time the force that should have sent her flying transferred from his hand and towards her, she had already moved herself just beyond the impact zone. The shockwave trailed behind her as she reappeared, a small boom following her movements.
Ravenn's eyes widened, grappling with what he had just witnessed. She had just broken the sound barrier. He looked around, yet no one looked even remotely surprised.
Ronan's eyes narrowed—just for a second.
Then, Lyara was already on him.
Her fist rocketed forward, enhanced by the sheer force of her Vis. She wasn't just moving fast; she was making her attacks and the shockwaves from her attacks faster.
Ronan didn't move out of the way.
Instead, he breathed in—
And roared.
The sheer force of his voice split the air, not just deafening but explosive, an expanding shockwave strong enough to send loose stones scattering across the courtyard. Lyara's strike faltered just before it landed, the overwhelming force of the sound warping the air between them as she was blown backwards.
For a fraction of a second, they were at a standstill, Ronan with an annoyed look on his face and Lyara looking mostly unbothered.
Then, they both disappeared, both with a burst of sound as they appeared and vanished again all over the training ground, their speed kicking up as time went on.
The fight was far from over.
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Ravenn's eyes narrowed as he tried to follow the fight.
At first, it was hopeless. Lyara and Ronan moved like blurs, faster than any trained warrior he'd ever seen—faster even than his old tutor during sparring drills. Every motion was efficient, deliberate—no wasted energy or hesitation.
It should've been impossible to track.
But then, slowly, something shifted.
Not in them.
In him.
It started as a strange glint—faint, almost imperceptible—a shimmer in the air behind Lyara's last step, or the brief blur trailing Ronan's strike after it landed. Ravenn blinked. No… they weren't there in the present. These were residuals. Like fading footprints across time.
He was seeing their past movements, moments that had already happened.
Afterimages.
They lingered just long enough to give him a second chance to process what had happened. His breath hitched as he realized that was the only reason he was managing to follow the fight at all. Not because he'd caught up.
Because he was watching what had already happened.
"Noticing something, are we?"
Ravenn flinched. Orin stood beside him now, hands folded behind his back, the same unreadable calm in his expression—but his eyes gleamed with a knowing light.
"You see something, don't you?" Orin asked, voice low.
Ravenn hesitated. His gaze drifted back toward the sparring ground.
Lyara twisted midair, her body a blur—and yet, behind her, a translucent afterimage still hovered at the edge of vision, a ghost of a previous landing from just seconds ago. Ronan's last slash still shimmered faintly in its trail, like the memory of thunder after lightning.
A word echoed in his mind. The name he had spoken aloud not long ago. His oath. His new truth.
'The Vessel of…'
"…Echoes," Ravenn murmured.
Orin's hand came to rest on his head, light but grounding. Ravenn didn't pull away. There was something steady in the touch, something that told him not to run from what he'd just discovered.
"Echoes," Orin repeated, as if trying the word for the first time. He let it hang in the air, like a ripple in still water. His fingers brushed gently through Ravenn's hair before falling back to his side.
"You are unlike any Vessel before you," he said at last. "Never in all my years have we had a Vessel of Echoes. And the records… they speak of no Keeper by that name either."
His voice dropped, gaze distant.
"And that makes things uncertain."
Ravenn turned toward him. "What do you mean?"
Orin didn't answer at once. He watched the duel in silence, letting the sound of clashing Vis and feet on stone fill the space between them. Then:
"I knew the path of the Wardens before you came here," he said slowly. "Even with the coming war, the tensions rising beyond these walls… I had a direction. A way to guide them. To prepare them."
He exhaled.
"But you…"
He looked down at Ravenn, something unreadable flickering in his violet eyes.
"You changed that."
"The balance has shifted."
Ravenn's throat tightened. His mind reeled, still trying to process what he had just learned—what he was hearing.
"I don't know the course to take for you," Orin admitted. "Nor for the Wardens, now that you are among them. The prophecy you carried—your presence—it's changed everything."
He curled his fingers slightly at his side. A rare gesture. A fracture in Orin's usual poise.
"Your existence alone rewrites the expectations placed upon us. It throws the future into uncertainty."
Ravenn's voice was quiet, barely a breath.
"What am I supposed to do, then?"
Orin's eyes met his.
"For now? Learn."
He gestured to the clash still unfolding before them. Ronan unleashed a sonic wave that cracked the stone near Lyara's feet. She dodged without missing a beat, already spinning to retaliate.
"Understand who you are," Orin continued, "and what your power truly means."
His tone, though calm, was resolute.
"The world may not have been prepared for you, Ravenn. But that doesn't mean you must remain unprepared for it."