The journey back from Threshold Prime was quieter than Kael expected.
The air felt different — lighter, yes, but aware. Like the trees were listening more closely now. Like the trail beneath their feet remembered the shape of their steps.
Nathaniel walked a few paces ahead, silent as ever. The map was rolled and tucked into his coat, the route back marked in memory. But Kael didn't need it. Every ridge, every outcrop felt familiar, as if he'd seen them in dreams long before he'd ever walked them.
Echo moved beside him, steady and calm, her new form blending with the light and shadow. Her paws barely touched the earth, and sometimes Kael could swear her thoughts reached him before she even spoke.
"They're dreaming of you," she said softly.
He looked down. "Who?"
"Others. Trainers. Sleepers. Children. People who never met you. They're dreaming you into memory."
He didn't respond right away.
Then: "That's not possible."
"It wasn't," she said. "Until now."
By the time they reached the outskirts of Vermilion again, League activity had increased.
Trainers in uniform patrolled routes in twos and threes. Surveillance drones hovered higher above the trees. Roadblocks had been placed along most major intersections, marked not with warning signs—but glyphs.
Faded, old glyphs.
Kael felt the weight of them immediately.
Nathaniel stopped short at one, crouching beside the carved signpost where the eye-symbol had been burned into the wood.
Do not remember aloud.
Kael frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"It's not a warning for you," Nathaniel said. "It's for the ones who haven't walked as far as you have."
"They're afraid," Echo said.
Nathaniel straightened. "They should be. They're watching dreams spread through the region like a signal no one turned on."
Kael's chest tightened. "Because of me."
"Because of what you carry," Nathaniel corrected. "But you're not the danger."
He glanced toward the trees.
"Not yet."
That night, they stayed in a League outpost cabin, deep in the forest and off the grid. Nathaniel made the call to an old contact — a monk, neutral and trusted — to confirm the glyph activity was spreading beyond Kanto's borders.
While he made the arrangements, Kael sat by the fire, Echo curled beside him, warm and silent.
Sleep didn't come easily.
And when it finally did, the dream wasn't his.
A hallway.
Lit by lanterns.
The scent of incense.
Old wood beneath bare feet.
Kael stood in front of a room lined with paper walls and candles. Inside, someone sat cross-legged in the center.
He couldn't see their face.
Just their silhouette.
The figure turned.
Spoke.
"You walked the edge and came back."
"So now… what are you?"
Kael tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. His body felt distant.
The figure rose.
Their face came into view.
It was himself.
But older.
Tired.
Not broken.
Just aware.
"If you keep walking," the older Kael said, "there's no going back to being just a name in someone else's story."
Kael whispered: "I don't want to be remembered that way."
His older self smiled gently.
"Then make sure what remembers you… is worth it."
He woke with a jolt.
The fire had burned low.
Echo lifted her head.
"You saw it," she said.
He nodded. "Not a warning. Not an echo."
"A version," Echo murmured. "One of many."
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady.
"I think the story's starting to reach past me."
At dawn, Nathaniel returned from the forest edge, his expression grim.
"There's been a new sighting," he said. "Lavender Tower."
Kael stood. "Tama?"
"No. Not her."
He unfolded a scrap of parchment.
Kael stared.
The glyph drawn there wasn't one he'd seen before. It wasn't part of the Unown alphabet. It wasn't even complete.
Echo stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"That's not memory," she said. "That's creation."
Nathaniel handed Kael the parchment. "They're not just remembering anymore."
"They're responding."
Kael stared at the page.
The glyph pulsed faintly beneath his fingers, though no ink moved.
And for the first time, he realized—
The story wasn't about what had been.
It was becoming something new.
Something that hadn't yet happened.