The names had been spoken.
Each syllable Lin uttered struck the air like thunder—pulling secrets from stone, peeling veils from old lies. The names of the betrayers—those who had sealed the Thirteenth Pact and orchestrated the great erasure—now hung over Pacthaven like a curse lifted too late.
And yet, it was not too late.
Kael stood still as the final name echoed from Lin's lips. The starlight thread beneath him coiled up his legs like a vine, reaching his chest, then heart. The ground pulsed—once. The people stirred, as if waking from a long sleep of imposed obedience.
Then came the rupture.
Not from the sky this time—but from below.
The plaza shook as ancient glyphs erupted across the marble. A ring of violet fire spiraled outward, forming a sigil none had seen in an age: the Crest of the Sealed Bloodline.
Aelira moved instinctively, blades drawn. "That's… not just old magic. That's forbidden."
"It's a seal," Kael whispered. "A binding placed on the heirs of the betrayers."
Lin turned. "You think they cursed their own bloodlines?"
"No," Kael said, eyes darkening. "Someone else did."
The sigil flared.
From the flame rose a figure—an echo bound in memory. He had no face, only smoke. But in his hand was a blade of living shadow. The moment he appeared, the cloaked watchers from the Prism recoiled.
"You dare summon the Sealed?" one of them cried.
Kael did not flinch. "I didn't summon him. The scroll did. The truth did."
The echo turned toward Kael.
"You are not of my blood," it said in a voice like knives rustling. "Yet you carry the burden I cast long ago."
"I carry the burden you made necessary," Kael answered. "The betrayal shattered the Pacts. But your vengeance… sealed innocents too."
The echo hissed.
Then, slowly, it nodded. "Perhaps. But blood remembers."
With a scream like splitting earth, the blade in its hand plunged into the seal on the ground—and the fire vanished.
The plaza was quiet again, but the people had changed.
Some clutched their arms, their backs—where old sigils began to glow, flaring with dormant bloodline seals unraveling at last. The descendants of the betrayers—not all villains, not all willing—collapsed, overwhelmed by the rush of purged memory and restored connection.
The cloaked figures from the Prism flickered. One of them spoke.
"You've undone the Pact's balance. Justice will be demanded."
Kael turned to them.
"No. What I've done is make the truth undeniable. You want balance? Then you'll have to face what you've built on lies."
Lightning cracked across the sky.
This time, it wasn't magical—it was natural. The world itself was responding.
Aelira looked at Kael. "They won't let this go."
"They don't have to," he replied. "I'm not giving it back."
From the shadows of the crowd, a boy stepped forward. His eyes glowed faintly.
"You're the Echo-Bearer," he said. "Can we… follow you?"
Kael's answer was simple.
"No."
The boy blinked.
"You'll walk with me," Kael continued. "Not behind. Not beneath. With. The Age of Thrones is over. We rebuild together."
Behind him, Lin reached for his hand. Aelira stepped forward, eyes scanning the city now pulsing with threads of returning power.
For the first time in centuries, the pact-marked—betrayed and betrayed alike—stood on even ground.
Kael looked toward the High Circle's distant towers.
"I'm coming," he whispered. "And this time, I bring everyone with me."