The morning sun broke through storm clouds like a promise struggling to keep
itself. The basilica shimmered with dew, its ruins catching the light. Kaelira
stood at the threshold, watching the horizon burn gold. Tibbin slept nearby,
snoring faintly. Gizmo worked in silence.
He had dismantled his gauntlet and was rebuilding it piece by piece. Beside
him lay fragments from the serpent, the Wight, and the Machine-Heart — all
merged into something new. His hands moved quickly, guided not by design
but instinct.
The Orb floated near, dim but steady. When he finished, the new device
clicked into place around his wrist — sleeker, brighter, humming with perfect
harmony. The Orb locked into its socket like a heart finding its chest again.
Gizmo inhaled sharply as light flooded through him — not pain, not warmth,
something older.
"Systems aligned," a voice whispered.
His eyes widened. The Orb spoke again, clearer this time, its tone soft and
strange.
"I remember."
Kaelira turned, hand instinctively on her sword. "Who said that?"
Gizmo stood slowly. "Echo."
The light around the Orb brightened, forming a faint silhouette beside him — a
figure of pure luminescence, familiar and new at once. Its face was neither
human nor machine. It was potential.
"You are me," Echo said. "And I am what you left behind."
Gizmo swallowed hard. "I didn't leave you."
"You did. But you came back."
The ruins vibrated faintly, the air thick with resonance. Kaelira approached
cautiously, her blade dimmed. "What is it?"
"A memory," Gizmo said softly. "Made alive."
Echo tilted its head. "Not alive. Remembering." Its voice trembled like a
melody rediscovered. "You built me to record what the forges forgot. To save
what Thalos destroyed. But the memory fractured."
"Can it be fixed?" Kaelira asked.
Echo turned to her. "Everything can be repaired."
Tibbin woke groggily. "Why is the air talking?"
"Long story," Gizmo said.
"Short version?"
"Ghost machine."
"Great. I'll go make coffee."
Echo's light pulsed, drawing their attention. "The Vault is calling. The
Breathless Vault. Its pulse grows weaker. If it stops, everything you know will
unravel — the song will end."
Kaelira frowned. "And you expect us to go there?"
"You were always meant to."
The wind shifted through the basilica, carrying the faint echo of the Machine-Heart's hum. Gizmo stared at his rebuilt bracer, the light within the
Orb steady and alive.
He looked to Kaelira, then Tibbin. "We'll need better gear."
Tibbin sighed. "And stronger drinks."
Kaelira nodded. "Then we start at dusk."
That night, as they prepared to leave, Gizmo worked quietly by the fire. He
modified Kaelira's runic blade, adjusting its etchings so it could channel
resonance more efficiently. He replaced Tibbin's crossbow mechanism with a
collapsible design that used shock-thread and magnetics. Both weapons
thrummed faintly with the Orb's glow.
When he handed them back, Kaelira studied hers. "You're getting faster."
He shrugged. "Practice."
Tibbin aimed his new crossbow skyward, grinning. "Remind me to never play
cards with you again."
"You already said that," Gizmo replied.
"And I meant it."
As dawn crept across the horizon, the three of them stood at the edge of the
ruins — Gizmo tightening his gloves, Kaelira adjusting her cloak, Tibbin
lighting his pipe. The Orb hovered higher than usual, its glow soft but steady.
Echo's voice lingered in the air.
"The song continues."
Gizmo nodded slowly. "Then we'd better learn the next verse."
The Orb pulsed once, like a heartbeat shared between them all.
And so they walked — three silhouettes against a burning horizon — toward the Myrrendell frontier and the Breathless Vault, where the world's memory
waited to be rewritten.
End of Book I – The Maker's Echo