The glass reflected a future that didn't belong to him.
Elior stared, motionless, at the man sitting behind the high-tech desk in that sterile office, skyline glittering like a sea of stars behind him. The man was clean-cut, older—mid-thirties, perhaps—with sharp eyes and the kind of calm, calculated stillness Elior had only seen in predators.
And yet… he wore Elior's face.
Same eyes. Same jawline. But colder. More worn.
"You're not supposed to be here yet," the man said, his voice smooth and eerily familiar. He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Or rather… you weren't supposed to remember this part."
Elior took a step back, his pulse racing. "Who are you?"
The man sighed. "I'm you, obviously. Or I was. Before the reset."
"Reset?"
"Memories locked. Body overwritten. You died, and they threw you into that world like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong picture."
The room trembled slightly, the skyline outside rippling like heatwaves over asphalt.
"This is a memory vault," the man said. "Not real. Not entirely. But real enough to show you what they didn't want you to see."
Elior clenched his fists. "Who's 'they'?"
"The Architects," the other Elior said. "The ones who built Vel'Thara. The ones who made it a… playground, as they call it. Your death wasn't random. Your betrayal wasn't chance."
He stood up, walking around the desk. "They recycled you. Me. Us. Over and over again. Each time, they drop us into a new scenario, tweak a few variables, and watch what we do."
"Why?" Elior asked, voice low.
"Because to them, we're entertainment. Test subjects. Simulations running endlessly in the name of 'progress.'"
The glass window behind them cracked, a spiderweb of fractures creeping across the surface. The vault was collapsing.
"You have to wake up," the man said, his voice urgent now. "You've taken the first step. But there's more. Deeper truths. You must find the others—like you. Fractured echoes across the system."
"Others?" Elior repeated.
"Some will help you. Some will try to kill you."
The vault began to shake violently. The office lights blinked out, and a deep, guttural roar echoed from beyond the walls.
"One last thing," the man said, stepping close and gripping Elior's shoulder. "Whatever happens—don't trust the Kaelith legacy. You weren't born into that family… you were placed there."
Then the vault shattered into light.
Elior gasped as reality snapped back into place. The garden. The chaos. Sirenya's voice calling his name from somewhere above.
The strange girl was gone.
All around him, the Skygarden had turned into a carnivorous nightmare. Vines hissed and lunged. Flowering pods screeched and flailed. He barely rolled aside as one snapped at his arm, its petals lined with glistening teeth.
Then a beam of silver light split the air.
Sirenya dropped from above like an avenging blade, slicing through the nearest vine with her broadsword. She landed beside Elior, breath heavy, armor glowing faintly from energy runes.
"You idiot!" she snapped, pulling him to his feet. "What were you thinking coming down here alone?"
Elior didn't answer. Not yet. His mind was still trying to piece together what he'd seen… what he now knew.
They fought their way through the garden—Sirenya carving a path, Elior using the fragmented instincts of someone who'd fought and died before. He was clumsy, but not helpless. Not anymore.
Finally, they reached the exit arch. The vines stopped chasing, writhing in retreat like they'd been repelled.
"What happened?" Sirenya asked once they were safely inside the estate walls.
Elior stared back at the Skygarden, now still and silent. Just a beautiful, monstrous lie.
"Something's wrong with this world," he said. "With all of it."
Sirenya blinked. "That's… a bold claim."
"I'm starting to remember things," he continued. "Not just dreams. Flashbacks. Whole lives. And people who look like me."
Sirenya frowned. "You were only unconscious for two weeks."
"I've lived longer than that," he said quietly.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Come. We'll speak to Lady Nyra. She's the only one who might understand."
"Who?"
"My aunt," Sirenya said. "She used to serve as an Arbiter of the Outer Gates—before she retired. She's seen the borders of this world... and beyond."
"Beyond?" Elior asked.
Sirenya gave him a look that almost passed for a smirk. "You're not the only one who's seen things they weren't meant to."
Later that night, deep within the estate's hidden wing, Elior met Lady Nyra.
She was old—not in the way of wrinkles, but in the way mountains were old. Her eyes were milky with cataracts, but they still pierced through Elior like moonlight through smoke. She wore a cloak of feathers similar to Lady Virel's, but richer, older… real.
"You've been touched by the Veil," she said, the moment Elior stepped into her chamber. "I can smell the static on your soul."
"Then you believe me?" he asked.
Nyra nodded slowly. "You are not the first Kaelith to awaken. Nor the first to die."
Elior's jaw clenched. "How many?"
"Too many," she said. "But you might be the last."
She reached out, placing her hand on his forehead. "I will not unlock what was hidden, but I can strengthen what has begun. The Fragment you absorbed… it's not just a memory. It's a key. You must find the others."
"How many are there?" he asked.
Nyra smiled faintly. "Thirteen fragments. Scattered across Vel'Thara. Each one will bring you closer to the core. To the Architects' playground."
"And if I find them all?"
Nyra's expression darkened. "Then the game ends."
Elior nodded.
A war was coming.
Not just between humans and Dreylith.
Not just between houses and traitors.
But between the players—and the ones pulling the strings.
And this time, Elior wouldn't be a pawn.
He would be the storm.