The rain did not stop for three days.
It fell over Dawnspire like the world itself was mourning — washing away ash, blood, and the faint shimmer of Riftlight that lingered in the soil.
When the storm finally broke, the valley smelled of wet stone and burnt air. The people rebuilt in silence, their laughter gone, replaced by wary glances toward the hill where Kairo sat alone.
He hadn't spoken since the battle.
Reika climbed the hill to find him, boots crunching on soaked grass. Kairo was staring out across the valley, cloak pulled tight, eyes dim.
"He's awake," she said quietly. "Noel. Mira's keeping him in the old chapel. The Rift doesn't react to him anymore… but the air around him feels wrong."
Kairo didn't move. "The Tyrant King's memories are re-forming. Each time the Rift surges, fragments return. By the next breach, there may not be a Noel left to save."
Reika crossed her arms. "So, what — you kill him? Is that the plan?"
Silence stretched between them. The kind of silence that carried centuries of guilt.
Finally, Kairo said, "If he becomes what I was, he'll burn this world again."
Reika's tone softened. "And if he doesn't? What if this is the one time the cycle breaks because you let it?"
Kairo turned to her, eyes blazing faintly. "Mercy won't break the cycle, Reika. Only truth will."
That night, Kairo descended into the chapel.
The building was little more than stone and shadow — an ancient shrine from before the Fall, its walls carved with faintly glowing Sigils.
Noel sat at the centre, staring into a bowl of Riftwater that pulsed like a living heart. His reflection shimmered — and for an instant, Kairo saw another face looking back. His own.
"You came," Noel said without looking up.
Kairo stopped a few feet away. "You remember everything now, don't you?"
"Not everything," Noel murmured. "Just enough to know what I used to be. What we were."
Kairo's jaw tightened. "You're not him."
Noel smiled sadly. "And yet, you're still me."
The Riftwater rippled — responding to their voices. Power recognized power. Memory recognised memory.
"I dreamed of a kingdom," Noel whispered. "Fire above the spires, ash in the streets. You called it salvation. I called it order. We were both wrong."
Kairo's voice was low. "Then prove it. Choose differently this time."
Noel looked up at him — eyes burning gold. "And if I can't?"
"Then I'll stop you."
The words echoed through the chapel, final and cold.
Outside, the children of Dawnspire trained under Reika's watchful gaze. Mira was distant — her white hair damp from the mist, her expression unreadable.
Taro tried to lighten the tension. "So… anyone else getting déjà vu? Last time someone said, 'I'll stop you,' the sky exploded."
Mira didn't smile. "It might again."
As night fell, Kairo returned to his small campfire at the edge of the village. He stared into the flames until the wind carried whispers only he could hear.
"You can't destroy what you are, Ashborn," the voice murmured. "You only pass it on."
Kairo closed his eyes. The firelight danced across his face — for a moment, flickering gold like the eyes of the king he once was.
He whispered to the darkness,
"Then I'll pass on something better."
In the distance, Noel stood at the chapel doorway, watching him through the rain.
The Rift pulsed faintly beneath the earth, answering a call neither of them had made — a heartbeat, ancient and inevitable.
The world of Amaranth was healing.
But even in healing, there is always something that refuses to die.
And that something — was waking again.