The route through Blackreach Hollows was quiet.
Not quiet—silent. The wind itself wouldn't speak here.
Yuuto moved softly, every step kicking up soot that stuck to him like memory. The odor of burned gods still clung to the air, a harsh smell of old myth and melted betrayal. Someplace far above a moon protruded from the burned-out sky. It was cracked.
Like everything else.
Kaela led a few steps in front, sword out but low. She hadn't spoken since the Citadel. Not since Valessia.
Not since the mirror.
Yuuto's Brand still stirred. Not blazing, not burning—merely. humming. Like it had started singing a tune only it could hear.
A war tune.
"Do you think she meant it?" he finally asked. His voice was rough, almost swallowed by the ashes.
Kaela didn't glance back. "Valessia doesn't speak unless it matters."
"So that threat—"
"Was a vow."
They rode over a ridge, the Hollowlands dropping away below them. What had been wasteland rock and obsidian steppes was now something else. Deformed.
There had been a growth here.
Of metal and blackened bone.
Spires of rusty steel and charred bone poked up from the earth like roots. Some leaned towards the heavens like supplicating fingers. Others curled inward—impaling themselves.
In the middle of the field was a blackstone monolith.
Yuuto squinted.
It wasn't a monolith.
It was a tombstone.
And his name was carved on it.
He froze. "That's—"
"I know," Kaela replied. Her voice wasn't shocked. It was… resigned.
"Is this some kind of threat?"
Kaela didn't respond.
Because the wind did.
A figure stepped from behind the monolith, draped in tattered blue flame. A Seeker's cloak—burnt at the edges. No face, only a mirrored mask reflecting starlight.
"I wondered if you'd come," the figure said. The voice echoed in a dozen tones. Male. Female. Neither.
Yuuto flared the Brand, fire rippling across his knuckles. "Who are you?"
The figure bowed slightly.
"I am the Archivist of the Flame. Keeper of what your kind forgot."
Yuuto's hands blazed hotter. "My kind?"
"You who wear the First Brand. You who tread in starfire without understanding the price."
The mask glowed.
"You do not yet comprehend the weight of memory."
Yuuto advanced a step. "I don't require memory. I require truth."
The Archivist lifted a hand—and air tore apart.
Memories surged the space around them like phantoms through a rift.
Kaela breathed in shock.
They witnessed cities constructed of living metal collapse under star-born fire.
They witnessed Starborn holding not swords—but constellations.
They witnessed the Ember Rebellion start—not as a revolution—but as a betrayal.
And at its core—
Yuuto.
Or someone who shared his face. Older. Colder.
With eyes that didn't burn—but devoured.
Yuuto crumpled onto his knees. The visions pierced through his mind like lightning. Too much. Too quickly.
Kaela clamped his arm.
"Stop this!" she cried to the Archivist.
The figure in the mask cocked its head. "He needs to see. Before he becomes what the flame once hammered him into being."
Yuuto clenched his teeth.
The Brand howled.
"No," he growled. "I'm not him. I'm not that. I choose—"
And then the memory broke apart.
The Archivist disappeared.
So did the gravestone.
Yuuto gasped, the world slowly spinning back into place. The heat dissipated. The air cleared.
Only Kaela was left, eyes wide and fearful.
"Yuuto."
He met her eyes. His face white. His fists trembling.
"I remember it now," he whispered.
"Not all of it. But enough."
She moved towards him. "And?"
He gazed down at his hands. At the weak glow still throbbing there.
"I wasn't chosen by the Brand."
A silence.
"I was designed for it."
Far to the west, where the Hollowlands clashed with the dying seas, Ceyrion stood on the edge of an old pier. In his hand, the piece of the Citadel's mirror blazed with renewed intensity.
The stars overhead flickered out, one by one.
And from beneath the sea, something started to rise.