The air in the forest smelled of damp earth and forgotten things.
Caedren and Neris traveled through the dense undergrowth, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of moss. Trees older than kingdoms loomed overhead, their branches tangling like the arms of ancient sentinels. The path had been lost to the world centuries ago, but the memory of it lingered in the wind, in the whispers of the trees, in the hush of the soil that yielded only to those who knew how to listen. This was no ordinary place—this was the Edge of Knowing, a place where time had once unraveled itself in the presence of Kael.
Neither spoke for a long while. They moved with reverence, as if walking through the soul of history itself. Birds did not sing here. Even the insects seemed to hold their breath.
"Are you certain this is the place?" Neris asked quietly.
Caedren nodded, his fingers brushing an old, lichen-covered stone marked with sigils. "The scrolls spoke of the trees that lean inward, of the clearing where wind forgets to blow. It's close."
They pushed deeper into the forest until, at last, the trees parted. A clearing opened before them, still and solemn, as if the world itself had stopped turning for this one sacred space. At its center stood a great stone circle—ancient, cracked with age, covered in runes that pulsed faintly even in daylight. The air was heavy here, not with danger, but with knowing.
At the heart of the circle, sat Vereis.
She was still as carved marble, yet alive in a way that defied time. Her eyes were blind, her hair as white as moonlight, and her presence hummed like a taut string stretched across centuries. She was not young, nor old—but something beyond both. Her hands were folded in her lap, and before her, a stone tablet rested, covered in symbols long forgotten.
Caedren and Neris stepped inside the circle. The moment they crossed its threshold, a breeze circled them once and vanished.
Vereis did not speak at first. Her head was tilted slightly as if she were listening—not to them, but to the air around them.
"You seek the past," she said, her voice like wind through hollow bones.
Caedren stepped forward and nodded. "I seek the truth of my name. I seek what the Chainfather tries to erase."
Vereis's sightless eyes turned toward him. "A name carries weight. More than any throne. More than any crown."
Her fingers brushed the stone tablet. The runes there flickered faintly, as if stirred by her touch.
"Do you know what you ask? To unravel the fabric of what has been—what was lived? The world has already forgotten what Kael stood for. And now, you wish to weave it back into the tapestry?"
Caedren stepped closer, kneeling before her.
"I don't just wish it. I need it."
Vereis's lips parted in a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. There was sadness there. And weariness.
"Then you must understand the cost of reclaiming a name," she whispered. "Not the blood it will spill, but the truth it will resurrect. Truth does not rise clean. It rises with the bones of those who buried it."
Her hands moved over the stone tablet again, tracing the grooves like the lines of an old scar. Caedren felt a tremor run through the earth beneath him. The symbols began to glow—faintly at first, then brighter, until the entire circle was filled with light.
"Ashend is not merely a shadow of the past," Vereis said, her voice now low and haunting. "It is the sum of all the forgotten names—those lost to time, to war, to shame. And you… you are not simply Caedren. You are a name that can dissolve the others. You carry a pattern old and dangerous."
Neris, standing beside Caedren, drew a sharp breath. "What do you mean?"
Vereis's blind gaze shifted toward her. "The names we carry do not belong only to us. They are a tapestry of all who have walked before us. If you choose to reclaim Kael's truth, if you seek to undo what the Chainfather has set in motion… you will not merely be fighting for yourself. You will be fighting for the world's memory."
Caedren clenched his fists. "I am not afraid."
"You should be," she said softly. "Because once a name is resurrected, it cannot be buried again. Not without a greater loss."
Then, slowly, she lifted one hand. The stone tablet cracked in two with a sound like thunder held in reverse. Beneath it, a hollow chamber was revealed, its walls carved with images of Kael's journey—his victories, his betrayals, his silence. And at the center, a shard of something dark and ancient—Kael's sword—rested, its edge dulled by centuries of disuse.
Caedren stared. It was not a weapon of war. It was a symbol of defiance. Of memory.
He reached for it. As his fingers brushed the hilt, a wave of cold washed over him. The world fell away.
He stood, not in the clearing, but in a memory. A field of fire. A thousand voices screaming. Kael walked ahead of him—cloaked, bleeding, alive in a way that terrified gods. The people he fought for had turned from him. The kings he opposed had twisted his truth. And Kael had stood alone, not to win, but to endure.
Then came the silence. The long years in exile. The peace he never tasted. The legacy he never claimed.
Caedren gasped and pulled back, his knees hitting the ground. He could still feel the weight of Kael's sorrow, the burden of his name. He had thought to carry it with honor—but now, he realized that it was not a mantle to be worn—it was a curse to be broken and reforged.
Vereis's voice pierced the fog of memory. "Take it," she said. "But know this: Kael's sword is not a weapon. It is a mirror. And in your hands, it will speak a truth that will fracture the world."
Caedren rose slowly, the sword heavy in his grip. The runes along the blade glowed faintly, pulsing with memory, with meaning.
Outside the circle, the winds began to stir. Leaves twisted unnaturally in the air. The forest groaned like something ancient waking. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, heavy with the promise of something terrible.
The Chainfather's reach was long, and his shadows stretched ever closer.
Neris placed a hand on Caedren's shoulder. "We should go. Whatever you awakened… it knows."
Caedren looked one last time at Vereis.
"Thank you," he said.
But the seer was already fading. Her body dissolving into the light, her purpose fulfilled. Only the stone circle remained.
As they stepped from the clearing, the first drops of rain began to fall—black, oily, and cold.
Caedren looked down at the sword, then to the horizon.
"The truth," he whispered, "cannot be forgotten."
And somewhere far beneath Vellmar, Ashend opened its eyes.
The hunt had begun.