Chapter 40: The Memory That Screamed
The moment the gates of the Abyss whispered open, the very fabric of the Rift trembled—not from power alone, but from memory. Not all memories fade. Some resist. Some scream. And within this scream, Kael Min stepped forward.
He had not asked to be the bearer of such weight. The shadows that bled from his form were no longer just curses—they were echoes of all he had tried to forget. His steps were silent, but the ground remembered. The abandoned wing of the cathedral, once a library of forbidden prophecy, now reeked of silence too loud to bear. As he walked, the ink-black wisps curled behind him like mourning ribbons.
At the heart of the chamber stood a mirror—not the kind that reflected the face, but the kind that reflected the soul. This mirror was one of the Six Relics of Revelation, once shattered by Lucien Draeven himself in his early days of rebellion. But it had reformed. Not by magic. Not by gods. But by need.
Kael approached. His reflection did not mimic him. Instead, it stared.
"You again," the reflection said, its voice hollow and dry.
"I didn't come to speak to you," Kael murmured. "I came to see what I've become."
"Then look."
And he did.
He saw not just himself, but every iteration of the curse. Every shadow that had taken form from the emotions he tried so desperately to cage. The student who died when Kael smiled too earnestly. The teacher who vanished when he cried. He saw them all. Not as illusions—but as tethered souls. Bound to him. Bound by him.
He dropped to his knees. The weight was too real now. Too loud.
From the corner of the room, footsteps echoed. Bare, deliberate, and inhuman.
Elaris.
Her dark wings scraped against the ancient stone, shedding ash as she moved. In one hand she held the Wrathblade—its red crystal core humming with restrained screams. In the other, the fractured remains of a halo, still burning.
Kael did not look up.
"You were never meant to carry them all," she said.
"Then why was I born with this curse?"
"Curses are not born. They are carved. Layer by layer, scream by scream. You... are not the source. You are the vault."
Kael turned, his face hollow. "Then open me. Let them out."
Elaris shook her head. "Not yet. Not until you choose who deserves to forget."
Behind her, the Thread of Judgment shimmered in the distance—spiraling up into unseen realms, glowing with unresolved fate. And Kael, broken and raw, understood what must be done.
He stood, and the shadows quieted.
Meanwhile, across the scorched plains of the Mortal Plane, Sameer knelt before his generator. Not the small, wire-bound model of his early years, but a machine grown from his hands, dreams, and the ghost of his village. It no longer powered homes. It powered belief. Youth from across the Wastes had come, not for shelter, but for knowledge.
But today, something was wrong.
The power dimmed. The winds changed. And then, the ground beneath the generator whispered a name.
"Kael Min."
Sameer stepped back. That name—he hadn't heard it since the Cathedral collapsed. Since the Rift cracked wider and the world began unraveling.
He touched the side of the generator. It pulsed—almost like a heart.
And then it spoke.
"The vault nears collapse. Light must meet shadow."
The voice was not Sameer's own. It was the generator's AI—a consciousness that had evolved over time. Sameer had once built it to be reactive. Now it was predictive. Prophetic.
"What do I do?" Sameer whispered.
The machine pulsed again. "Go to the Witness. She waits."
Sameer tightened his grip on the tool belt. For years, he had walked with purpose. Now he ran with urgency.
In the forgotten Sanctuary of Binding, Eris watched The Witness.
The bound figure had not spoken since their last meeting. But today, the air around the ancient soul was thick with rupture. The chains glowed—a sign that judgment was near.
Eris stepped forward, her own body now a map of scars, sigils, and shadow-marks. She had sacrificed memory for truth. And truth for identity.
"The boy comes," The Witness finally said. "The one made of shadow."
"I know."
"And the Seraphim follows."
Eris swallowed hard. "I know."
"And the healer-king waits in silence, unable to choose which voice to obey."
She flinched. Lucien.
The Witness turned its broken eyes toward her. "You, Eris, must decide the path. Your soul is the only one not claimed."
Eris shook her head. "I came to forget."
"And now you must remember."
The wind in the sanctuary howled.
Lucien Draeven stood at the edge of the Stairway, the Crown of Dichotomy pulsing with red and blue light. Each pulse was a choice. Each choice, a sin.
He had judged kings, burned prophets, and healed killers. But none of it mattered now. Because the next name he must speak... was his own.
He stepped forward, the crown tightening its grip, thorns biting deeper. Blood dripped onto the white stones, forming runes that glowed with ancient prophecy.
"Kael Min," he whispered.
The stones responded. The Rift answered. And the Thread shook.
In that instant, all paths converged.
Kael reached the stairway first. His body nearly collapsing under the weight of tethered souls.
Elaris landed beside him, her wings folding.
"Do you still want to be normal?" she asked.
Kael didn't answer. He only looked up at the spiraling pathway, where fate hung in strands of light and shadow.
Sameer joined them moments later, his hands still covered in grease and belief. Eris followed—her presence silent, but her aura loud.
Then came Lucien.
Together, the five stood before the Thread of Judgment.
A voice, ancient and raw, echoed across the realms.
"One must fall. One must ascend. One must forget. One must remember. One must choose."
The Rift trembled.
Kael stepped forward.
"I will fall."
Lucien stepped beside him. "Then I will ascend."
Eris nodded. "I will remember."
Sameer clenched his fist. "Then I will forget."
All eyes turned to Elaris.
She lifted the Wrathblade. Its red crystal flared.
"Then I will choose."
And with that, the stairway split.
The Rift began to heal.
But healing always comes with sacrifice.
And the next scream… would be the world's rebirth.