The city was quiet, but beneath the silence, a storm of memories swirled in restless currents. Eira closed her eyes, the weight of the past pressing into her mind like a relentless tide. Memory was no simple gift—it was a burden, a battlefield where pain, hope, and regret warred endlessly.
Since the activation of the First Code and the forging of the mirror's new reality, memories had become volatile, shifting in darkness and light. The city whispered not just its history but the sorrows sewn deep into every soul, each loss echoing like a shadow that refused to fade.
Eira's power was tied to these memories—she felt them like shards piercing her spirit, fragments of battles fought and friends lost. The Name of Power had drawn her into the realm of remembrance, where every forgotten face and silenced voice demanded recognition.
In the dim light of her chamber, Eira sat before a fractured prism—an ancient artifact left from the Codex Realm, capable of revealing layers of memory both personal and collective. As she traced runes across its surface, visions unfolded—glimpses of joyous pasts, bitter betrayals, and sacrifices etched in sorrow.
The price of accessing these memories was deep. Each glimpse drained strength, tearing open old wounds and forcing her to relive grief too raw for words. But without reckoning with pain, there could be no true healing.
Voices rose from the prisms—whispers of the fallen, of those trapped in the mirror's depths, longing for peace. Their stories wove through Eira's soul, filling her with resolve and aching mercy.
Yet even as she embraced the sorrow, the hunger stirred anew. Memory could bind or unmake. To carry it was to walk a knife's edge between salvation and annihilation.
Outside, the remnants of the rebellion gathered, their own memories shadowed by loss and hope fragile as dawn. Eira knew that to lead them forward, she must master not only the power of the Name but the weight of the past that shaped every future.
The cost was undeniable. But sacrifice was the true currency of power. And memory—painful, sacred, endless—was its price.