There was no descent this time. No fall. No rupture of light or sound. Just a step forward—and a shift.
Joe found himself on a barren plain of glass, cracked in every direction. Each crack pulsed faintly with light, like veins under skin. The sky above shimmered with shifting constellations, and where stars should have been, there were names. Thousands of them, glowing faintly, some fading in and out, others flaring bright like dying suns.
Joe walked forward, boots clicking on the crystal floor.
"Where am I now?" he whispered.
The Warden appeared beside him. "You are in the Archive of Echoes. The layer beneath memory. The place where names go to wait."
"Wait for what?"
"For someone to remember them. Or for someone to become them."
Joe frowned. The sixth eye on his hand twitched. "What's my trial here?"
"Not all trials are about fighting," the Warden said. "This one is about knowing. About choosing who you truly are."
The stars pulsed. Then, the glass beneath his feet shifted. It rose, folding upward like the cover of a book, until it stood in front of him: a map. Etched in it were names—some familiar, some terrifying. And one that had been scratched out violently. His.
"What is this?"
"Your soul's reflection," the Warden said. "You are not the only Joe Kael that has ever lived. Or ever died. The fracture opened paths that were never meant to cross. Echoes of your possible selves exist here. This place holds all their names."
Joe's breath caught in his throat.
A light pulsed near the center of the map.
He touched it.
A memory—not his—rushed through him. He saw himself kneeling before a burning throne, blade in hand, his face smeared with ash and grief. Then it vanished.
"That was a version of me?"
"A version that chose differently. You must find the name that belongs to the self you are forging now."
Joe walked through the map, each step revealing pieces of other lives: a Joe who abandoned the fight, who fled into isolation. One who ruled. One who destroyed. One who died for others.
And then, in a quiet corner of the plain, he saw a name still being written—its lines shimmering like ink refusing to dry.
"This one's incomplete," he said.
The Warden nodded. "Because you haven't chosen yet."
Joe knelt. He placed his palm over the name.
The sixth eye closed. Not in retreat. In decision.
The name burned itself into the map.
Not just Joe Kael.
But something more.
Veilborn.
He stood.
The map shattered.
The stars blinked. The plain disappeared.
He stood once more in silence.
The Warden placed a hand on his shoulder. "The next Gate awaits. And now, it knows your name."
End of Chapter 7.