The storm had passed, but the Hollow was far from still. Watchfires lined the perimeter. Runes were being redrawn. People murmured prayers not from fear—but to remember.
But Chizzy couldn't stop thinking about the way Dren had screamed.
The emptiness in his eyes.
The claw marks on his mind.
She needed answers.
So when Elder Brivan quietly motioned for her to follow him into the Depth Archives beneath the Hollow's sanctuary, she didn't hesitate.
They walked in silence down the spiral stone stairs, lit only by floating ember-orbs. Dust coiled in the air like faded memories.
Brivan's voice was low. "I never told you everything about the Fifth Flame Circle."
"I figured," Chizzy said dryly.
He gave her a sad smile. "We keep secrets to protect. But sometimes those secrets protect themselves, even from truth."
They reached a heavy vault door carved with a symbol she hadn't seen before—two hands holding a burning scroll. Brivan touched his palm to the lock, and it clicked open with a sigh.
Inside, the room was lined with Keeper Tablets—etched stone records written in a forgotten script only a few could still read.
Brivan handed her one.
At first, it was just symbols. But then they shimmered. Reconfigured.
Chizzy gasped.
A face emerged—younger, kind-eyed, and unmistakably familiar.
Malrec.
The tablet spoke with a voice trapped in time:
"I am Keeper Malrec of the Fifth Flame, protector of memory, guardian of sacred recollection. I vow to hold what others cannot. I vow to carry even what burns."
The image faded.
"He… he was one of us?" Chizzy whispered.
Brivan nodded. "One of our finest. When the memory sickness began to spread in the southern provinces, Malrec volunteered to carry the infected shards himself. He believed no memory—no matter how painful—should be lost to silence."
"But something went wrong."
"His wife, Liera," Brivan said quietly. "She was a Memory Binder. They tried to preserve a dying city together. But the flame corrupted. The shards shattered inside her mind. She lost herself… and eventually, her life."
Chizzy stared at the tablet. "So he tried to forget."
"He begged us to remove his grief. When we refused, he vanished. Years later, memory sanctuaries started falling. Their vaults emptied. Whole bloodlines vanished without explanation."
She felt a cold fury rise. "He turned memory into a weapon."
"Yes. And he used it to birth something that should not exist."
Chizzy stepped back, heart pounding.
"I thought he was just a tyrant. A sorcerer trying to bend will. But he's… he's broken. Twisted by something he once tried to protect."
Brivan placed a hand on her shoulder. "That is what makes him dangerous. He remembers what it means to care—and chooses not to."
She clenched her fists. "Then we have to use what he's forgotten. The truth."
Brivan nodded. "There may be one hope. A counter-memoria—an echo left behind by someone Malrec once loved. If it still exists, it could reach what remains of him."
Chizzy looked at the broken scrolls around her. "Where?"
Brivan hesitated. "In the Ruined Sanctuary of Liera. Deep in the Weeping Marsh. Lost for decades."
"Then that's where I go," she said.
He shook his head. "It's cursed land. No one returns."
"I don't need to return," Chizzy said. "I just need to remember."
And as she turned toward the exit, the flame orb nearest her pulsed brighter than before—as if memory itself was listening.