The quiet didn't last.
Rina watched Kaelen in silence, her brow furrowed. His breathing had steadied, but his gaze remained distant—haunted. Whatever he had seen in that otherworldly place, it hadn't left him.
Not really.
She reached out gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Kaelen… you're back, but you're not here. What did it show you?"
He blinked, as if her voice had broken a trance. His eyes slowly focused on her—shadows still dancing behind them.
"A memory," he said hoarsely. "A life I don't remember living. And a flame—something ancient. Something…" He paused, eyes narrowing. "Mine."
Rina's expression turned wary. "You sure it wasn't some trick of the Rift?"
Kaelen shook his head. "No. It wasn't illusion. It was truth, buried so deep it had to burn its way back up."
His gaze dropped to the blade resting on the ground beside him—Nightfang. The once-cold weapon now shimmered with a faint pulse of heat. Not just darkness anymore. There was something beneath it now. Something waiting.
He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.
The moment he touched it, the world around him shifted again—only this time, not physically.
Emotionally. Spiritually.
Like a door cracking open inside his soul.
He stood again in a field of stars—but this place was familiar. Not the Rift. Not the Flame's memory.
His astral domain.
But now… it had changed.
The once-transparent floor beneath his feet now glowed with runic spirals, like a seal freshly activated. The void around him had become a canvas of drifting galaxies, and at its centre, seated atop a floating throne of obsidian and silver—
Umbrios.
The shadow-clad figure lounged casually, one leg crossed over the other, his draconic wing curling like smoke behind him. His top hat tilted slightly, obscuring his unlit eyes beneath a misted veil.
"You've come a long way, little lord," Umbrios said, his voice a velvet murmur layered with echoes. "You've remembered."
Kaelen stood firm. "What am I?"
Umbrios smirked. "A shard of something divine. A fragment of the eternal fire. A failed vessel, reforged in blood and ash."
He leaned forward. "You are becoming."
Kaelen stepped toward him, the runes underfoot responding to his movement with a soft glow. "I saw the flame. You knew, didn't you? You always knew."
Umbrios stood, tall and regal, his presence filling the realm with a cold, royal weight. "Of course. I was your first tether—the shadow to your soul. I did not tell you because you were not ready."
Kaelen's fists clenched. "And now I am?"
Umbrios grinned. "You burned. And you endured. That is the first step toward wielding."
Kaelen stared into the mist-veiled face of his spirit. "Wielding what?"
Umbrios raised his hand, and from the space beside the throne, Nightfang appeared—its current form still sleek, black, deadly.
But it pulsed now with dual energies—the creeping dusk of Umbrios… and the faint, golden shimmer of something else.
"The blade remembers," Umbrios said. "And soon, it will awaken further. But you must make a choice."
Kaelen's brow furrowed. "What kind of choice?"
The world shifted again—this time not through space, but through emotion. A weight settled over him.
"A sword that holds two souls must choose which to serve first," Umbrios said. "The darkness that gave it form… or the light that gave it meaning."
Kaelen didn't answer. He reached for the blade.
As his hand gripped the hilt, a flash surged through him—a scream.
Not of pain.
Not of rage.
But loss.
He saw Lyra.
A vision—her face bloodied, surrounded by flame and shadow, reaching for him—before being pulled away into light.
Kaelen gasped, dropping the blade. The vision vanished.
He staggered back, heart pounding.
Umbrios simply nodded. "She is calling to you, Kaelen. Across realms. Across time. Her path is converging with yours again… but not as she was."
Kaelen looked down at the blade.
It shuddered.
A voice echoed through the astral air—not Umbrios'.
"Kaelen…"
"…Find me."
Lyra.
He opened his eyes.
Back in the chamber.
Rina was staring at him like he'd vanished again—like he'd been gone for minutes.
"Your eyes," she whispered. "They were glowing. Both of them—one purple, one gold."
Kaelen didn't answer right away.
He looked at Nightfang. It pulsed. It breathed.
"I need to find her," he said softly. "She's close. I felt her. Something's happening—something's changing."
Rina raised a brow. "You sure this is the right time to go chasing shadows? We've still got no idea what this Rift is doing to our minds."
"No," he said, his voice firmer now. "It's not chasing shadows."
He picked up the blade. It no longer felt heavy.
"She's the light in this darkness."
He turned toward the exit of the chamber, where the ancient magic pulsed slower now, its surge calmed. As if… satisfied.
Rina followed, muttering, "Well then, hero… let's go find your Saint."