The underground chamber felt like an entirely different world—too clean, too quiet, too... controlled.
Unlike the crumbling skeleton of Black Hollow above, this place was carved from precision. No cobbled roads. No rusted lanterns. Just obsidian-black floors that reflected faint white lights pulsing from the ceiling like distant stars. The air was sterilized, the scent of iron and tech humming faintly beneath each breath. And everywhere Kael looked, shadows moved—coated figures, some armored, others cloaked, all bearing that same haunting emblem.
The symbol from the card.
The one that changed everything.
Kael stood at the threshold of the vast hall, tense but still. His hand rested against the hilt tucked inside his cloak, just in case. His eyes darted from one stranger to another, registering every subtle shift in posture, every glance, every breath.
No one said anything.
They just… stared.
Some curious. Some cautious. A few almost reverent.
But not a single one dared to approach him.
"So this is what it's like to be 'seen.' Not admired. Not accepted. Just… observed. Like an anomaly."
His voice barely reached a whisper. "I thought you said this place was safe."
The masked man beside him gave a humorless chuckle, the sound muffled beneath damp fabric. "Safe?" He tilted his head, silver eyes gleaming. "There's no such thing for people like you."
Kael's jaw tightened. "People like me?"
"Marked. Awakened. Chosen." The words came casually, but each one landed like a nail driven into the skin. "Call it whatever you want, but once the card responded to you—once the sword chose you—your path diverged from the rest of the world. The only way forward now…" He motioned into the shadows. "…is through it."
Kael barely had time to react before a new presence sliced through the tension.
A woman emerged from the inner corridor, walking with the kind of command that didn't require raised voices or force. She didn't look old, but her hair shimmered like threads of liquid silver, and her violet-glowing eyes—inhuman, ancient—made everyone instinctively lower their gaze.
The room stilled.
"Bring him," she said, her voice low and steady, yet undeniable.
Kael's feet moved.
Not because he wanted to.
Because something in her tone didn't allow for refusal.
He followed her through a curved archway into a secondary chamber—part war room, part lab, and completely foreign. The walls were lined with flickering screens and spinning projections. Arcane glyphs danced around glowing rings of data, and long-forgotten blueprints hovered mid-air like ghost maps.
In the center of it all, a single table displayed the Facility.
Its towers. Its lower tunnels. Its security perimeter. All of it rotating silently.
Kael stopped, unable to ignore the chill running down his spine.
"So," he said, "are you going to tell me why I'm here?"
The woman turned, finally facing him fully.
"You're Kael Solhart."
He said nothing. He didn't deny it.
"Who are you?" he asked instead.
"Elira," she answered smoothly. "I lead what's left of the Remnants."
"The Remnants?"
"A resistance. What remains of it, anyway. We existed long before the Facility overtook the Outer Sectors. And we'll exist long after it falls. That is… if we have the right weapon."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You're calling me a weapon now?"
Elira didn't smile—but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes.
"You're more than that. You're compatible."
Kael's pulse spiked. "With what?"
Elira pointed at the rotating hologram of the Facility.
"That sword you used wasn't just old tech. It was a Relic of the First Era. One of the last remnants of a time before memory—before the world was rewritten."
Relic? First Era? What the hell is she talking about...?
Kael stepped back slightly. "You're saying that blade… chose me?"
"It did. And relics like that don't resonate with just anyone. Not unless the soul it once belonged to has returned."
Kael froze.
"…Returned?"
Elira's voice lowered.
"You don't just carry a relic, Kael. You remember it. You responded because you've touched it before. In a life buried under time and war."
Kael staggered, bracing a hand against the table. His mind swirled. The fragmented dreams. The blue fire. That name in a foreign tongue echoing in his head—
"Calyth'ir..."
"I see flashes," he whispered. "A burning city. A younger version of me holding that blade. Something old. Something powerful."
Elira nodded once, like that confirmed everything.
"You're not just marked, Kael. You're a Reawakened."
The word hit harder than it should've. It wasn't just a title—it was a sentence.
"Then… I really did die, didn't I?"
Or maybe I never truly lived in this world to begin with.
"What happens now?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Elira approached the table again, her tone colder now—strategic. Focused.
"Now we train you. We reforge what's left. Because you need to remember how to fight like you once did. You need to become who you were before they erased you."
"And the Facility?" Kael asked.
Her eyes darkened. "They'll come for you. Not to kill you—but to claim you. To extract the very power that sets you apart. That's what they do with the Reawakened. They break them. Turn them into weapons they can control."
"And if I resist?"
Elira's voice sharpened.
"Then you'd better be strong enough to decide your fate before they do it for you."
Kael slowly sat down.
His breath was steady, but inside—inside was a storm.
He didn't feel ready. He didn't feel chosen. But something inside him stirred—a whisper from a past life, a fire from a forgotten age.
"I was a swordsman once. A soldier. A mage. A captain."
"I don't remember how to be him yet... but I will."
"Because this time, I choose who I become."
Elira watched him quietly. "You're afraid."
Kael didn't deny it.
"Yeah. I am."
"Good." She turned away. "Fear reminds you that you're still human. But choice… choice is what makes you more."
As the chamber dimmed and the projections faded, Kael clenched his fist.
Power doesn't come from destiny. It comes from decision.
I'm not here to be a hero.
I'm here to survive. To remember. To rise.
"Kael Solhart—reborn, remembered, and rising."
"The world isn't waiting for a savior. But it may kneel before the forgotten."