When Cael awoke, the world was silent.
Not quiet—silent.The kind of silence that breathes. That waits.
He stood at the foot of a broken cliff, where the wind didn't blow and no birds sang. The sky was the color of bruised steel, thick with clouds that churned but never moved. In the distance, looming above cracked obsidian hills, rose the Ashvault Gate—a titanic ring embedded in the mountain's chest, etched with runes older than language.
A whisper crawled down Cael's spine:
"Turn back, Traveler…"
He didn't. He couldn't.
Each step forward was met with resistance—not physical, but something deeper. The very world seemed to remember his presence and reject it, like a wound remembering the knife that made it.
He reached the base of the gate.
Up close, it was worse.The metal was scarred with thousands of sigil-teeth, like some creature had tried to chew its way through from the other side. The air shimmered. His skin itched.
That's when he saw her.
A girl, perhaps seventeen, crouched on the edge of the gate's arch. She wore black rags stitched with silver wire, her eyes glowing faint violet. She held a dagger made of glass and bone. Her face was gaunt, but sharp. Too sharp.
"Another dream-eater," she muttered. "Or just a fool?"
Cael didn't answer.
She jumped down—landed silently.
"Name," she said, circling him.
"Cael."
"You're not supposed to be here, Cael." She stopped in front of him. "This place remembers what it's lost. And it hates being reminded."
He looked up at the gate again. "What's behind it?"
She tilted her head. "Depends who asks."
Cael met her eyes. "Then who are you?"
She smiled—sharp and sad.
"I'm the gate's apology."
Far Below...
In the hollow beneath the mountain, the oldest soul stirred.Chained to a throne of petrified gods, the being with no name opened its mind.
And it remembered fire.
"The Threadwalker returns," it breathed."Let the Chains of Origin break... once more."
Back to the Surface
The girl led Cael to a ridge above the gate. They sat beneath a petrified tree that bled rust instead of sap.
"My name was once Veyra," she said. "But down here, they call me the Lost Binder."
"What do you bind?"
Her eyes dimmed.
"People. Time. Doors that should never open."
She glanced at his wrist—where the Flame Sigil still pulsed faintly.
"You carry the first of the Threads. But that's only one. There are seven. And one of them is locked inside the Dreamtomb."
Cael frowned. "Where is it?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she stood—and pointed past the Ashvault Gate, beyond the mist-wrapped ruins and the falling stone.
"There," she said."In the Hollow Sea. Where stars drown. Where no map dares mark."
Cael rose beside her, a weight settling in his chest.
"Then that's where I go."
Veyra looked at him strangely. "You're not afraid of forgetting, are you?"
He didn't answer.
But deep inside, he already felt memories slipping—not his own, but old ones. Ancient ones.
Memories that weren't content to remain buried anymore.