"Even gods envy the simplicity of mortals. But a Titan? A Titan does not envy. A Titan dreams—and that is far more dangerous."—From the forbidden text Chronicles of the Waking Stone
After departing Miravas, Kael's party travels east toward Varn'del Aurelion, the Shattered Peninsula, where stone monoliths rise like frozen screams from the ground. These ancient ruins are remnants of a time before gods—when Titans walked the world, shaping mountains with their hands and drinking storms like water.
But something stirs.
The Ocular Lens begins to ache. Kael sees tremors beneath the rock—not earthquakes, but heartbeat pulses in stone. The land is waking.
At night, the group shelters beneath an obsidian arch inscribed with runes none can read—except for Kael. The godflame whispers.
"The language of stone. The dreaming tongue. We are not alone."
Then they hear it.
A voice, deep as the ocean's trench, rumbling from the land itself.
"Vaelorian. You carry flame. But once, you carried stone."
The mountain splits.
Not in an eruption—but an opening. The cliffs yawn like jaws, revealing a colossal temple hollowed into the world's bones: Dormun Khur, the slumbering prison of the Titan of Memory.
Kael steps inside. His heart beats slower. Time feels heavy.
In the central chamber stands a being of mountain and memory, a Titan bound by chains of celestial ore and draped in ghost-light. He is unmoving—but his thoughts thunder through the walls.
This is Khalhuzeth, the Rememberer, last of the Waking Titans, imprisoned by the gods during the War of Shattering. But he is not hostile.
"I dreamed of fire that spoke. You are it. I dreamed of death who doubts. That is you. I dreamed of a crown unchosen. That is... you."
Khalhuzeth has seen Kael in a hundred futures.
And offers him a gift.
"I will show you what the gods hide. I will teach you how to remember the truths they buried."
Kael is submerged into the Titan's dreamscape—a living memory of a time before time.
He sees:
The birth of the Nameless One, a starless flame falling into a world not yet made.
The forging of the Flameborne bloodline, not by gods, but by a Titan who infused fire into man to fight back against divine tyranny.
The first Vaelorian, not a king—but a traitor who betrayed both Titans and gods to create a third path: mortality with power.
In the vision, Kael walks with the first Titanflame bearer, who speaks with his own voice.
"You are not a chosen one. You are a recurrence. The world calls you not because you're special—but because you're needed again."
Kael awakens screaming.
He now knows a secret: his bloodline was forged not for rule—but for rebellion.
Khalhuzeth offers Kael a final question.
"Will you break my chains?"
If freed, the Titan could help Kael unravel the deceptions of the gods.
But his freedom would also endanger the balance of the world—for Titans cannot walk lightly. Their dreams reshape reality. Their memories change history itself.
Elias warns: "If you unleash a Titan, the gods will mark you fully. You won't just be hunted—you'll be condemned."
Kael answers:
"I don't serve gods. I don't serve Titans. I serve the truth."
He touches the chains, channeling both godflame and memory.
The mountain weeps.
Khalhuzeth's bonds break.
The temple trembles. Light floods the sky—not from the sun, but from Khalhuzeth's eyes, which hold the reflected history of the world.
He rises, no longer stone—but living will.
Kael staggers.
Khalhuzeth places a memory-brand on Kael's chest: a circular glyph made of shifting script.
"You are now a Keeper of Memory. Beware: not all truths can be spoken without blood."
Then, without another word, the Titan walks into the horizon, each step carving valleys into the land.
As Kael and his group flee the collapsing temple, the skies darken.
From the far north, three Divine Inquisitors—avatars of the Heavenly Concord—sense the Titan's awakening and begin their march toward Kael's path.
One, the Veil-Speaker, says:
"The traitor awakens Titans. The godless king walks. Let the purge begin."
Kael, unaware of their movement, clutches the burning glyph on his chest. Something ancient now flows through him—a power that remembers.
And it has chosen to remember war.