It did not move like a man.
The Echo stepped from the cracked monolith in a slow, graceful glide, its cloak of cinders trailing behind it like smoke given form. Its crown was twisted bone. Its eyes were pits of molten silence.
No words.No roar.Just pressure.
As if the forest itself had begun to bow.
Dain raised his sword. "That thing is…you."
"No," Kael said. "It's what I left behind."
The Echo tilted its head.
Then it charged.
Lira vanished in a blink, her dagger flashing through the smoke.
It passed through the Echo—and melted.
Torin scrambled back, hands fumbling for a soundless chord on his lute. "That's not memory," he whispered. "That's vengeance."
Elyra summoned a barrier of light, flaring between the party and the Echo as it swept toward them like a flame looking for guilt.
It struck the shield.
And cracked it.
Not with brute force.
With reminder.
Kael could feel it. The Echo's attack wasn't physical. It was repetition.A loop of fury that had never been allowed to end.
"You were the God of Destruction.""You gave me form.""You abandoned me."
Kael stepped forward.
"Leave them," he said quietly.
The Echo stopped.
It turned to face him fully—and mirrored him.
Same height. Same posture. Same eyes. But the expression… was empty. Hungry.
"We are not done burning."
It lunged again, this time straight for Kael.
He did not draw a weapon.He did not raise his voice.He opened his hand.
And let the first thread of his name stir beneath his skin.
The ground shook.
Trees bent away. The very light recoiled.
The Echo faltered—but didn't fall.
It surged again.
And Kael, still calm, whispered: "Be still."
The flame around the Echo shattered.
Not from impact.From memory.
Kael walked forward, through fire that parted like mist.
And with each step, the Echo broke further. Cracks appeared in its form—splintering into glowing glyphs that flickered and died.
He reached out.
Touched its chest.
And whispered, "You're part of a story that's over."
The Echo crumpled.
Ash. Smoke. Silence.
Then—gone.
The forest was still again.
But not silent.
It hummed.
Like something very, very old was watching.
Kael turned.
Dain still held his sword—but his hands were shaking.
Lira stood frozen, her expression unreadable.
Torin looked pale, his fingers hovering above a lute string he hadn't dared pluck.
Only Elyra stepped forward.
Her voice was soft. Barely a whisper.
"That…thing…was part of you."
Kael nodded.
"And you destroyed it."
"I released it."
"But…" she hesitated. "You didn't even cast a spell. That wasn't magic."
Kael looked at her.
And said, simply:
"It was memory."
No one spoke as they left the glade.
The relic still pulsed faintly beneath the shattered monolith—an orb of blackened crystal wrapped in faded silver glyphs. Torin picked it up gently.
No one argued.
But as they walked, Kael felt the weight settle heavier on his shoulders.
The forest had let them live.
But now it knew.
Above them, high in the mist-wrapped canopy, a single silver feather drifted through the air.
It did not fall.
It waited.