Chapter 12: The One Who Remembers
The wraith was only the beginning.
After the attack, Caedros sealed its skies—no airships left, no gates opened. Not until the threat was contained.
But the true threat wasn't Andrew.
It was what followed him.
They arrived in silence.
A single traveler.
Wrapped in a cloak of desert silk, blades at both hips, a scar across her cheek like a lightning strike. Her name passed quietly through the noble channels like a ghost story:
Nysera of Valtuun.
Once known as the Whisperblade.
A survivor of the Endblade's final war.
And now, a hunter of shadow-wielders.
She came not to fight—but to speak.
And the moment she saw Andrew, standing in the marble courtyard of the tournament compound, her hand twitched toward her sword.
Not out of fear.
Out of memory.
"I watched you burn the Aether Palaces," she said, no greeting. "I saw you raise an army from corpses and break the continent of Halvyr in half."
Andrew didn't flinch. "That wasn't me."
She stepped closer, eyes locked to his. "Tell that to the millions who died screaming your name."
Ashren pulsed faintly at his side—almost guilty.
"I didn't come here to kill you," Nysera said. "If I thought you were still him, I'd have slit your throat while you were dreaming. But I see it."
She paused.
"You're trying."
Andrew's jaw clenched. "And what if that's not enough?"
"Then you'll become what they fear. But you get to decide what happens first."
She turned away, but stopped at the gate.
"If the shadows ever take you again… I'll be the one who ends you. Not because I hate you. But because I loved the man you could have been. And I won't let that be buried by what you were."
After she left, Andrew stood alone in the courtyard.
Ashren was silent.
But in its reflection, he saw something new: not the Endblade.
Not the monster.
But a man with the power to rewrite his fate.
That night, Mihai found him again—leaning against a wall like a specter.
"She lived," Andrew said quietly.
"She did," Mihai nodded. "Barely. I told you… not all shadows stay loyal. Some break away. Some remember pain, not purpose."
Andrew turned to him.
"I don't want followers. I don't want an empire."
Mihai gave a sad smile. "Then lead by something stronger than fear. Build something worth following."
And in the shadows of the capital, something stirred once more—not a wraith, not a survivor.
But a god-forged being.
Watching Andrew.
Waiting.
Because if the Endblade truly lived again…
Then balance itself would break.