Night fell with an eerie silence over Pacthaven, as if the city itself were holding its breath.
Kael, Lin, and Aelira arrived at the outer gates just as the last bell of twilight echoed across the stone towers. But this was not the Pacthaven Kael remembered. Smoke drifted from rooftops. Citizens moved quickly, eyes downcast. Barricades had been hastily constructed at key intersections, guarded not by city sentinels—but by elite enforcers wearing the insignia of the High Circle.
"They know we're coming," Aelira muttered, her eyes scanning the rooftops.
Kael kept walking, the scroll of the Forgotten tucked beneath his cloak. It pulsed faintly against his ribs, a reminder of the truth it held—and the blood it could summon if rejected.
Lin whispered, "There's fear in the air. But not just of the Forgotten. Something else."
They reached the plaza before the Grand Spire—where the Council held court. Once a place of law and declaration, it now stood guarded by arcane shields and spellcasters in full armor. A crowd had gathered. Angry. Restless.
Kael stepped into view.
And the crowd hushed.
Someone shouted, "He's one of them! The threadwalker!"
Another voice, "He defeated the Convergence! Let him speak!"
A flash of light crackled above. The barrier surrounding the Spire shimmered in warning.
Then the High Inquisitor appeared—robes flowing, voice amplified by spell.
"Kael of the Prism," he said coldly, "you stand before the Council, bearing forbidden knowledge. Stand down and surrender your relic."
Kael didn't blink. "I bring truth. Not threat."
"Truth?" The Inquisitor sneered. "The Forgotten speak of justice, but their kind left this realm in ash and madness."
Aelira growled, "Because you exiled them."
Lin stepped forward. "If you don't listen, you'll doom us all."
The Inquisitor raised his hand. "So be it. Let the city bear witness to what happens when heretics—"
He never finished the sentence.
The ground beneath the Spire ruptured in a flash of golden-red light. Glyphs—ancient and divine—unfurled from the stone like vines. A roar echoed, deep and old, as if the world itself was waking from a slumber.
And from beneath the Spire, it emerged.
A creature of thread and flame, neither beast nor god. A sentinel of old pacts—forgotten, broken, reawakened. Its eyes bore the sigil of the Thirteenth Pact.
Screams erupted.
Panic.
Fire.
The Council mages reacted too late. The beast tore through wards as if they were paper. It didn't kill indiscriminately—it struck only those wearing the mark of the High Circle.
Kael moved fast, activating a shield as civilians scattered.
"This isn't Veira's doing!" Lin cried.
"No," Kael said, eyes narrowing. "This is older. Deeper. A summon that was sealed below Pacthaven."
Aelira leapt onto a ruined archway. "The Thirteenth Pact must have placed it centuries ago… to awaken if their line was erased."
Kael knew what had to be done. He sprinted toward the creature, his inner Prism flaring with purpose. Threads of fate twisted in his path.
He shouted, "I bear the Echo Root!"
The creature paused mid-swing, golden eyes locking with his. Threads shimmered between them—recognition.
Kael reached out. "You do not need to destroy. The Pact has returned."
The creature trembled… then let out a mournful, burning roar and collapsed to its knees.
In the silence that followed, Kael raised the scroll high.
"People of Pacthaven," he shouted, his voice echoing through fire and rubble, "the Forgotten do not seek vengeance. They seek truth."
He broke the seal.
The scroll unfurled, revealing names—entire lineages wiped from record. Testimonies. Crimes committed by the High Circle. Pacts broken in secret.
A wave of understanding rippled across the square. Gasps. Cries.
And then, a scream—not of fear, but of anger.
A crowd surged toward the Grand Spire, not with torches, but with questions. With grief.
The city had awoken.
The fire no longer burned only buildings—it burned lies.
Aelira turned to Kael. "You've just started a revolution."
Kael looked to the smoke-ridden sky. "No. I just ended a silence."