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Dawn broke pink and gentle… yet the valley felt heavier than ever. I rose as the light spread, leaving my camp beneath the oak in silence. Seven fragments pulsed softly in my palm… steady heartbeats woven of abyss and dawn. But beneath them… another echo stirred, faint yet insistent… a call to witness what faith had left behind.
I followed instinct, moving east where the canyon walls opened into a wide plain. Mist curled low among shattered pillars of stone, relics of an ancient faith that once claimed to bind the world. I stepped through the columns… each one scarred by sword and spell, their carvings worn to near nothing. The echoes called me forward, whispers of prayers and curses braided in the wind.
---
The source lay at the plain's center… a shattered shrine stained red. Broken idols lay face down in the dust, half melted by fire or corrupted by ritual. Pools of dried blood darkened the floor, mingling with ash and sand. The air tasted of copper and salt, a reminder that faith could wound as deeply as any blade.
I walked among the ruin, fragments flaring with each step. I felt the echoes… not in sound, but in memory. Voices half heard… prayers unfinished… oaths broken… faith betrayed.
I knelt in front of an altar stone cracked through its center. I pressed my palms to its surface, feeling the cold of carved rock beneath my skin. The fragments flared… seven sparks igniting in a burst of warmth. The crack in the stone glowed faint red, then dimmed as the abyss within reached out.
Visions rushed in…
A priestess raising her hands to Heaven's sky, tears streaming as the temple burned.
A knight kneeling at the altar, blood seeping from his wounds as he vowed to protect the weak.
A child offering a single flower of white to a shattered idol, voice echoing in the silent hall.
And then… a final moment.
A monk standing alone in the dark, eyes closed in prayer, heart opened to a presence it could not name.
---
I gasped and stumbled back, fragments flaring to steady glow. The wind stilled. The echoes retreated as though startled by my presence. I steadied my breath, letting the shrine's sorrow settle around me like dust.
> "You bear the mark of the abyss," a voice whispered in my mind. Not Heaven, not the abyss. Something… ancient and wounded.
> "But you walk among the echoes of faith lost."
I crouched again, pressing my palm to the crack in the altar. The fragments hummed against my skin, eager, insistent. I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me… each one a shard of faith and blood.
> "Will you take their voice?"
I opened my eyes. My reflection shimmered in a bowl of broken obsidian behind the altar… a face marked by sorrow and resolve. I nodded once.
> "I will."
---
The altar glowed beneath my hand. The fragments pulsed brighter… a tide of light and shadow weaving through my veins. The bloodstains across the stone cracked floor bubbled as if alive, rising into the air as crimson mist. The pillars trembled… shards of stone falling like tears.
I felt a presence join me… the voices now clear enough to hear. A chorus of prayers, some pleading for mercy, others cursing their betrayers. Their tones wove together into a single melody of longing and regret.
> "Speak," the voice said.
I inhaled deep. The fragments flared in readiness. I let the chorus flow through me… the broken hymn of blood and faith… echoing in my mind, filling my chest. I raised my hand and let the mist swirl around my fingers.
The mist coalesced into shapes… specters of those who had fallen here. A priestess with hollow eyes, a knight in broken armor, a child with a wilted flower. They circled me, silent and mournful.
---
I closed my eyes and let the fragments guide me… seven lights dancing beneath the skin, and an eighth flicker still faint. I focused on the sorrow in their eyes… the devotion twisted into pain. I allowed their voices to pour into me… the echo of faith, the pulse of sacrifice.
A surge of warmth shot through my palm. A ninth spark ignited… fierce, bright… a flame of remembrance. The specters around me glowed for a moment, then bowed as one. Their forms dissolved into petals of crimson and white… drifting into the mist before vanishing.
The altar cracked deeper, new runes etched themselves in the stone… lines of red weaving around the sacred carvings. My palm stung with power… memory and power mingled into a new resonance… the ninth fragment born.
---
I staggered to my feet, breath heaving. The ruins lay silent once more, the broken pillars now still and empty. The wind rose, carrying away the last whispers of the lost. I pressed a hand to my chest, fragments pulsing in turn… nine lights shining just beneath the skin.
Tears welled in my eyes… not from sorrow, but from the weight of what I had carried. The voices of faith lost now sang through me… a melody of hope and despair entwined. I knelt and whispered:
> "Your prayers… your sacrifice… will guide my path."
The valley answered with the rustle of grass.
---
I left the shrine behind, walking east toward the canyon's mouth. My cloak was stained with ash and blood residue, fragments glowing through the fabric. The dagger of the first fragment had shaped me… each new spark carving lines across my soul. Now, with nine ablaze, I felt a resonance in every breath.
I paused at a shallow river, its waters clear and fast. I knelt and washed my hands, watching the blood wash into the current. The water rippled across my reflection… nine sparks dancing in my palm. The abyss whispered of balance… of using faith as strength, not chains.
I drank deeply, letting the water flow through me… cleansing, not purifying… binding, not breaking.
---
Later that day I found a path winding into a forest of black pines. Their needles whispered in the wind… a lullaby of dusk. I caught sight of a lone figure ahead… black robes stark against the pale mist. They stood beside a monolith of white stone, its surface carved with scenes of devotion and battle.
I approached slowly, senses alert. The figure did not turn… did not move. Only waited.
As I drew near, the monolith's carvings glowed faintly… scenes of a warrior king kneeling before the gods, offering his blood as tribute. The figure reached out a hand, palm open, and the carving's glow pulsed in answer.
I stepped beside them, fragments flaring in my palm. The figure turned then… a woman with hair of silver, eyes like polished iron. No crest on her robe… only a single mark on her palm… a fragment of crimson light.
She spoke without words… a thought in my mind.
> "You carry their echoes… as I do mine."
I nodded. She inclined her head, and her fragment pulsed softly, matching my nine lights with warmth.
> "We walk different paths… yet share a heartbeat."
I met her gaze… no fear, only recognition. I extended my palm, fragments bright.
> "Then let us share strength."
She pressed her hand to mine, and the fragments blazed into a chord of light. The forest trembled as two souls bound in memory and will.
---
Night fell as I continued on, companion now at my side. The Forgotten Heart's echo still beat within me… a pulse deep and unbroken. Nine fragments glowed in my palm, each a testament to sorrow and faith. The tenth… awaited its spark.
We walked through moonlit pines, the valley stretching silent and vast. I did not feel alone. The echoes of blood and faith guided my steps, a chorus of devotion rising with each beat of my heart.
And in that moment… I knew that even beyond the abyss… even beyond Heaven's grace… our hearts would never be forgotten.
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