The light that had consumed the temple faded, leaving a lingering hum in the air, like the aftershock of a long-forgotten symphony. Lucian stood still at the heart of the chamber, eyes glowing faintly gold, the crystalline time-capsule now shattered at his feet.
Isaiah lowered his blade. Clara kept her distance, still watching Lucian as if unsure whether the man before her was the same one who had descended into the temple minutes before.
"Are you alright?" Clara asked finally.
Lucian blinked slowly, then nodded. "I remember... everything."
He turned toward the mural, now slowly shifting, as if the walls themselves were recalibrating in response to his awakened presence. The cloaked man in the art now fully resembled Lucian—not just in face, but in bearing, aura, even the way the figures around him bent slightly in reverence.
Clara looked at Isaiah, her voice hushed. "That means the myths weren't just stories. They were real... and Lucian wasn't just part of them. He shaped them."
Lucian's voice came with a gravity that silenced the chamber. "I was once called the Everking. Ruler of the Mythic Concord, Guardian of the Veil. I stood against the Unnamed. And I failed."
Isaiah's brow furrowed. "Unnamed? The prophecy said he shattered the pantheon. But no myths mention him."
"That's because they were rewritten," Lucian replied. "After our fall, the survivors feared the truth would invite him back. So they erased him—struck his name, his image, his deeds. Only the consequences remained."
He looked down at his hands, the mythic shards now orbiting them in synchronized harmony.
"But myths are persistent. They whisper. They bleed through cracks. And now, the Unnamed stirs again."
---
Back on the Astris, they set sail eastward. Clara and Isaiah worked tirelessly to decode the remaining shards. Velkyr flew ahead, scouting for signs of arcane disturbances. Below deck, Lucian meditated—though it was no longer just meditation.
He was remembering.
He saw himself leading an army of beasts, demi-gods, and mortals against a titan of nothingness. He saw stars fall from the sky. Heard songs that turned into blades. And at the end of it all, he remembered sealing the Unnamed behind a veil of myth, locking the prison with the very shards he now reclaimed.
But that seal was fracturing.
One shard remained.
And it was not in any temple.
It was embedded in a living myth.
---
They made landfall on an island not found on any modern map. Trees bore leaves of silver and bark that shimmered in multiple timelines. Animals stared with too-human eyes. Myth flowed here like blood.
The final shard pulsed beneath the island's surface. But something guarded it.
Lucian stepped forward. "We're not alone."
From the treeline emerged a figure cloaked in woven moonlight. Her face was neither old nor young—timeless and terrible. Her voice rang like chimes twisted in wind.
"So, the Everking returns. The myths have been restless."
Isaiah tensed. Clara drew a warding sigil.
Lucian raised his hand. "You are the Sentinel. Last of the Veil-Keepers. I remember you."
The woman inclined her head. "And yet you bring mortals. One born of shadow. One of ink."
"They are part of the story now," Lucian said.
The Sentinel stepped aside, revealing a path lined with statues—warriors, scholars, beasts, each frozen in perfect detail. All bore marks of combat. All looked skyward in their final moments.
"You seek the living myth," she said. "But it does not sleep. It remembers the pain of being caged. And it hates you."
Lucian did not flinch. "Then I will make it remember why it once chose to trust me."
---
They entered a clearing of white sand and black stone. In its center coiled a beast of light and shadow—massive, serpentine, its scales shifting with scenes of forgotten stories. A thousand eyes blinked open along its body.
The living myth.
It rose slowly, impossibly vast.
Lucian stepped forward.
"I am Lucian. Once your king. I return not to bind you, but to ask for your shard."
The creature spoke without words, embedding thoughts into their minds: You left me in the dark. For ages uncounted. You fled the war. I bore the cost.
Lucian's voice cracked slightly. "Yes. And I will bear it now. Let me fight him again."
The creature lunged.
Isaiah threw a shield of shadows. Clara fired glyphs of light. Lucian stood unmoved, arms wide, eyes glowing gold.
"Remember me!" he shouted.
The beast froze inches from his face.
It recoiled, shaking, its body convulsing with memories.
And then it wept.
The final shard floated from its heart, embedding itself into Lucian's chest. The others converged, forming a corona of mythic light.
The myths had chosen.
Lucian was whole.
And somewhere far beyond the sky, in a place no stars shone, the Unnamed opened his eyes.