The mountains of Vhar's Divide loomed ahead like the ribs of a dead god, jagged and unwelcoming. Even the wind avoided this place, and every step toward it felt like walking against a curse that hadn't yet been spoken.
Kiel stood at the threshold of a massive cliffside carved with glyphs so old even his Seeker's mark strained to decipher them. Myra trailed behind, her expression unreadable.
"This is where they buried it?" she asked. "The Vault of Names?"
"No. This is where they chained it," Kiel answered. "The Vault isn't a place. It's a memory sealed so tightly it became its own dimension. And now… it's trying to wake up."
They reached an ancient platform—a circle of stone surrounded by twelve pillars, each bearing a symbol from a forgotten language. Kiel placed the two Chimes he had recovered—one a resonant sphere of fire, the other a cold shard of echoing light—into the center of the circle.
As the second Chime clicked into place, the ground rumbled. A deep tone, like the groan of a dying world, vibrated the air.
Then, with a crack of light, the space before them split.
Not shattered—peeled. Like a curtain being pulled back on reality itself.
Beyond the rift, a hallway stretched into impossible blackness, lined with floating sigils and spectral doors. The Vault had opened.
Myra shivered. "That place feels alive."
"It is," Kiel said. "Every name that's ever been erased, forgotten, or rewritten... this Vault holds the truth of them all. Including mine."
They stepped inside.
---
The Vault whispered to them.
Each name etched into its walls called out—a thousand voices murmuring in forgotten dialects. Altheon the Betrayer. Cerin of the Red Pact. Xelea the Unnamed. As they walked, the names grew more personal.
"Wait—" Myra froze, pointing. Her name, MYRA VANTH, glowed on the side of a column, but the etchings beneath it were... fragmented. Blurred.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means someone tampered with your past," Kiel said grimly. "They didn't just erase it—they rewrote it."
The truth struck Myra like a blade. "All my life… I've had flashes. People who knew me, things I should remember. This place can show me, can't it?"
"It can," Kiel said. "But the Vault exacts a price."
"I don't care."
She pressed her hand against the glowing sigil. Light engulfed her, and in a blink, she was gone.
Kiel turned, now alone. His name—ALTHARION VEIL—stood at the end of the corridor, pulsing with angry red light. As he approached it, the Vault spoke.
"You seek your true name," it said in a voice made of thunder and memory. "But do you remember what it cost you?"
Kiel didn't answer. He pressed his palm to the stone.
---
Memories flooded him.
He saw himself as a child, not a monster—but a prodigy. He saw the Council branding him Archon of Oblivion, not because he was evil—but because he was powerful enough to challenge them. He saw his friends betray him, not for justice—but out of fear. And most damning of all…
He saw the truth: Kiel never fell. He was pushed.
The Archon of Oblivion wasn't a villain.
He was a warning.
---
Kiel staggered back from the stone, breathing heavily. Myra reappeared beside him, eyes wide with fresh understanding—and sorrow.
"They made you into a weapon," she said.
"They made us both," Kiel answered. "But now we remember. And that means we can finally fight back."
Behind them, the Vault began to collapse—not from destruction, but release. It had served its purpose.
As the entrance sealed shut, the two stood in silence.
Then Kiel said, "We need the third Chime. And I know where it is."
Myra raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"In the hands of the Vesper Queen," he said grimly. "And she's been waiting for me."