Kael stepped beneath the suspended lattice of memory threads. The air here didn't just shimmer—it resisted. Like it was aware. Aware of him. Of what was about to be undone.
He reached for the dark shard at the center. The silver threads around it pulsed once, then unwound like slow smoke in water.
His fingertips brushed the surface.
The world disappeared.
He stood in a high tower, walls of glass showing a sky fractured by lightning and fire. Across from him stood Lira, younger but unmistakable—eyes fierce, her jaw clenched with grief.
"You can't," she said.
"I have to," Rin replied—Kael's voice, but older. Hardened.
"If you seal yourself, no one will know how to stop it. No one will know what you saw."
"That's the point," Rin said.
He turned toward a memory console—an altar of crystal and sigil-bound stone.
"They'll chase the fragments, fight each other for meaning, waste years on old lies. That will keep them busy. It's the only way."
Lira stepped forward. "You're not a god, Rin."
"No," he said. "But I saw what's coming. I saw what memory can do when it's left unchecked. I saw what the Sovereign becomes."
Kael—Rin—input a final command into the console. Light laced through the walls.
"You'll be alone," she whispered.
"I won't remember being alone."
Lira reached out, grabbing his wrist.
"If I find you again—if you come back to me—what do you want me to do?"
Rin paused.
He looked at her as if memorizing her face one final time.
"Don't let me remember," he said. "Not unless you truly believe the world needs me."
The shard released him.
Kael fell back, gasping.
Lira caught him, hands firm on his shoulders.
His voice was hoarse.
"I chose it. I chose to forget."
Lira nodded once, her expression unreadable.
"And now?"
Kael stood slowly, looking around the chamber at the lattice of memory threads. The weight of his past pressed against his chest—not crushing, but coiled like a question.
"Now I have to decide if that choice still holds."