The map was more memory than terrain.
Kael ran his fingers along the creases as Nathaniel led them deeper into the overgrowth, past signs of trail markers long consumed by moss and root. The glyphs on the edges of the parchment shimmered faintly in moonlight—Galen's notes had been scrawled in ink, but the resonance felt embedded in the parchment itself.
"Most of this path doesn't exist anymore," Nathaniel said as they ducked beneath a low branch. "The forest reclaimed it after the collapse."
"What collapse?" Kael asked.
Nathaniel didn't answer immediately.
Echo padded beside him, her ears flicking. "He means the day the seal fractured."
Kael glanced at her, then at Nathaniel.
"The one Galen triggered?" he asked.
"No," Nathaniel said. "The one that happened before Galen found the egg."
The climb took hours.
They reached the base of a ridge just before dawn. Nathaniel stopped, one hand resting on a jagged rock. He nodded toward the slope.
"That's it. Top of this incline. We called it Threshold Prime."
Kael peered upward. The ridge wasn't high, but the energy changed immediately. The air thickened. His skin tingled. Echo's fur bristled faintly as she stepped forward.
"I feel it," she said. "It remembers us."
Kael took the lead.
The final ascent felt both short and infinite.
And when they reached the summit, the world changed again.
Threshold Prime was a flat expanse of pale stone surrounded by fallen pillars. No shrine. No ruins. Just an open space etched with spiraling glyphs and a symbol in the center:
❂
Not the crescent eye. Not the flame.
The sun-split glyph.
Kael knelt beside it.
"It's deeper than anything we've seen before," he whispered.
Nathaniel stood at the edge of the circle. "This is where it all converges. Memory. Voice. Intention."
Echo stepped onto the glyph.
The mark on her shoulder pulsed once—brighter than ever.
The wind died.
And something responded.
A light rose from the glyphs. Not harsh. Not golden. Just steady — like a heartbeat resurfacing after a long sleep.
Then came the voice.
"Who walks carrying the burden of remembrance?"
Kael didn't hesitate. "I do."
"And who walks carrying the burden of silence?"
Nathaniel stepped forward. "I do."
"And who walks carrying the burden of becoming?"
Echo raised her head. "I do."
The glyph flared once.
Then the stone beneath them opened — not downward, but inward.
The space they entered wasn't a chamber.
It was a field of suspended light, like walking through memory stitched together by music. Figures flickered at the edges — shadows of Trainers, of children, of people who had once stood where they stood now.
And at the center:
A pillar.
Floating above it: a crystalline sphere, swirling with fragments of voice.
Kael stepped closer.
"This is what Galen was searching for," Nathaniel said. "The true origin of Amaranth."
Echo narrowed her eyes. "That's not Amaranth anymore."
Kael understood immediately. "It's what Amaranth was. Before it turned."
The voices inside the sphere were soft, uncoordinated — whispers from a hundred timelines.
Kael heard echoes of Galen. Of himself. Of trainers he had never met. All weaving through each other like breath.
He reached out.
But Echo stepped in front of him.
"Be careful. This isn't just memory. It's choice."
Kael looked at Nathaniel.
"What did Galen plan to do here?"
Nathaniel exhaled. "He was going to release it. Let the memory go."
"Why didn't he?"
Nathaniel hesitated. "Because he met you."
Kael blinked.
Nathaniel continued. "He realized… not all memory is meant to be lost. Some is meant to change. And you were the proof."
The crystal pulsed.
Kael reached out again.
This time, Echo didn't stop him.
His hand touched the sphere.
And it asked him one question:
"Will you forget… or will you carry?"
The silence was enormous.
He didn't look at Nathaniel. He didn't look at Echo.
He looked inward.
At the letter.
At the Festival.
At the monolith.
At Tama.
At Galen.
And he whispered:
"I will carry."
The crystal shone brighter.
Then fractured — not into pieces, but into paths.
Each memory threaded outward, folding into Kael's chest, his mind, his very name.
And none of them felt heavy.
They felt true.
When the light dimmed, the chamber faded.
Threshold Prime was still.
The glyphs no longer glowed.
The sun crept over the ridge.
Kael stood beside Echo, hand still outstretched, heart racing.
He turned to Nathaniel.
"It's done."
Nathaniel looked at him like he'd aged a decade in a second.
"No," the man said. "It's begun."