The dawn broke over Mbanza with a sickly hue—one that Kael claimed was the result of magical interference, not weather. Ever since the calepin had been bound to the dark reliquary, the flow of ambient magic had become erratic. Birds no longer chirped at sunrise. Wells ran dry for hours, then overflowed inexplicably. Even the oldest trees near the eastern cliffs had begun to lose their color.
Alaric prepared to leave again. He could no longer wait for Gobinot to strike—he had to anticipate, outmaneuver, outthink.
"You need to go beneath the city," said Nondo, tightening the clasps of his light armor. "There's a forgotten archive under the Temple of Murenga. Before it fell into disuse, it was said to house memory echoes—residual thoughts left behind by mages and sages who died in ritual."
"Why there?"
"Because Gobinot was seen there. Not long before the last attack. He's digging for resonance."
Descent into Murenga
The Temple of Murenga loomed like a scar from another age—stone pillars snapped by time, its great dome partially collapsed. A forgotten goddess once ruled the hearts of scholars here, and her name still stirred latent spells in the cracks of the altar.
Alaric, Nondo, and Kael descended through a narrow passage behind the sanctuary.
As they moved deeper, the torches began to flicker with blue flames—lit not by hand, but by thought. Every time Kael's mind wandered, a corridor glowed in response. Every time Alaric's heartbeat quickened, an echo hummed behind the walls.
They reached a wide chamber of mirrors—tarnished, cracked, suspended mid-air, some rotating on their own.
Kael stepped forward. "These are memory-wells. Fragments. We can see what happened here… if we're careful."
Nondo drew a protective sigil in the air. "One wrong thought, and they'll show you something you were never meant to see."
The Memory That Shouldn't Exist
Alaric reached out.
A mirror flashed.
And he saw himself—older, gaunter, wearing a crown of roots and bones. He was standing on a hill made of skulls, his hand gripping the calepin now turned into a scepter.
At his feet knelt Gobinot, whispering, "You were always meant to ascend, brother."
Kael yanked Alaric back.
"That's not a memory," he gasped. "That's a projection. A possible future."
"But why did I see it?" Alaric asked, his voice shaking.
Nondo looked between them. "Because this isn't just a battle for power. It's a battle for what kind of future your memory will create."
Alaric stared into the broken glass. One of the mirrors now bore his reflection—but with no eyes.
He stepped away.
"We're running out of time."