The rain eased by nightfall, leaving the ruins shrouded in mist.
What had once been a thriving city was now nothing more than broken arches and hollow towers, swallowed by vines and time.
Elric set up a small camp beneath the remains of a stone dome. His wards glowed faint blue in the damp air, flickering gently like fireflies.
Lyra perched on a crumbling wall, arms folded, her crimson eyes scanning the fog. "Still think this place is safe?"
Elric grunted, stirring the small fire. "Safe is a strong word. But the mana here is wild. It'll confuse any witch trying to trace us."
Kale knelt a few feet away, his hand pressed to the ground. The moment they'd stepped into the ruins, he'd felt it — a slow, rhythmic thrum beneath the soil, as though the earth still remembered pain.
Every pulse made his mark ache faintly.
"You feel it too, don't you?" the voice whispered. "Our sorrow. Our triumph. Our end."
Kale clenched his jaw. "Stop talking to me."
Lyra glanced at him. "What?"
He shook his head quickly. "Nothing."
But the voice didn't fade. It laughed — soft, ancient, mournful.
"These stones remember what your kind has forgotten."
Kale stood slowly, ignoring Elric's tired sigh. He wandered deeper into the ruins, drawn by the pulse beneath his feet. The mist thickened, the runes carved into the stones glowing faintly as he passed.
He didn't know where he was going — only that something was calling him.
The sound grew louder with every step, like whispers carried on the wind. The mist began to shimmer, and then… he saw them.
Figures. Dozens of them. Shadows formed of light and smoke, walking through the ruins as if time itself had rewound.
Wizards and witches, locked in battle — magic flashing across the air like lightning. The ground shook beneath each blast. The air crackled with mana so intense that Kale could taste it, metallic and sharp.
He stumbled back, but the vision swallowed him whole.
Suddenly, he wasn't just watching.
He was there.
The rain was gone. The world blazed with gold and crimson light. A figure stood before him — tall, robed in white and gold, eyes like burning stars.
Aurelion.
The real one.
Kale couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
Aurelion raised his hand, and the sky split apart. Hundreds of witches screamed as the light consumed them.
"Balance," Aurelion's voice thundered. "There must be balance!"
Kale felt the words burn through his chest — the same power, the same fury, the same grief.
But behind Aurelion stood another figure — a witch, cloaked in black, her hands glowing with silver fire. Her voice carried through the chaos.
"You were never meant to hold creation itself, Aurelion!"
"And yet I do," he replied. "Because none of you were strong enough to bear it!"
Their powers collided — gold and silver, light and void. The world screamed. The blast threw Kale backward, tearing the vision apart.
He hit the ground hard, gasping. The ruins were silent again — but he wasn't alone.
Lyra knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder. "Kale! Hey, wake up!"
His eyes flew open. For a moment, they glowed faintly gold.
Lyra froze. "Your eyes—"
The glow faded, leaving only his normal blue. "I saw him," Kale whispered hoarsely. "Aurelion. The battle. Everything."
Elric appeared, staff glowing as he checked Kale's pulse. "You were gone for almost ten minutes. What happened?"
Kale sat up slowly. "This place… it remembers. The mana holds echoes of the past. I saw the war — the last one."
Elric's eyes narrowed. "Then you saw the truth."
Kale nodded. "He wasn't just fighting them. He was trying to balance something. The mana itself. He said the world was unstable."
Elric sighed. "He believed witches hoarded too much magic, tilting creation toward chaos. But his solution destroyed everything. The witches called it madness. The wizards called it salvation."
Lyra crossed her arms. "And now that same madness is inside you."
Kale met her gaze. "I'm not him."
"Maybe not," she said quietly. "But you're walking the same path."
"And when he falls," the voice whispered in his mind, "you'll see that balance always demands blood."
Kale shuddered, pressing a hand to his chest.
Elric watched him silently. "From now on, you must learn to control these echoes. The ruins remember, Kale — and through you, they might remember too much."
Lyra looked up at the misty sky. "If these ruins remember Aurelion… then who else remembers him?"
Elric frowned. "You mean—"
"The witches," Lyra said. "If they feel his presence stirring again, they won't just send Hunters this time. They'll send the High Coven."
Elric went still. Even the fire crackled quieter at that name.
"The Coven…" Kale murmured. "Are they—"
"The ones who ended Aurelion," Elric said grimly. "And if they know he's waking in you, Kale… they'll finish what they started."
Kale stared into the mist, the echoes of battle still burning behind his eyes.
"Then let them come," the voice whispered inside him, cold and pleased. "Let them remember my name."
Kale's fingers tightened into a fist. "No," he whispered under his breath. "They'll remember mine."