The remnants called themselves The Holdfast.
Not a tribe. Not a kingdom. A promise.
They'd survived the end of the world not by domination or erasure, but by remembering who they were—and who they refused to become. Their children were taught history as law. Their warriors trained not to conquer, but to endure. And now, they watched Reven as if waiting to see whether he would carry their hope or crush it.
He didn't sleep again.
Not because of the Flamecore or the shard, but because of what came after. If more Cores existed—if others like him were awakening—then every step forward meant putting the world in more danger.
And still, something pulled him toward the east.
Toward something older than memory.
Kaela found him on the western ridge just past dawn, sitting with his knees pulled up and the shard hovering between his palms like a slow pulse.
"You've been out here all night?"
Reven nodded. "The shard's changing."
She sat next to him, the warmth between them familiar now—less guarded, but still unspoken.
"How much longer until it's too much?"
He looked at her, and for once, didn't deflect.
"I don't know," he said. "But I can feel it moving. Like there's something inside me… waiting."
Kaela took the shard and turned it over between her fingers.
"It doesn't scare me," she said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You should be scared. It's not just memory. It's power. Fire. Knowledge no one should have access to."
"I've seen what you do with power," she said, then met his eyes. "You hesitate before using it."
"That's not strength. That's fear."
"No," she replied. "That's control."
There was a long pause. The wind shifted.
Then she asked, quietly, "Do you want me to stay?"
Reven blinked. "What?"
Kaela's voice didn't waver. "When this gets worse—when the shards start pulling you apart from the inside—do you still want me at your side?"
He looked away, then back. His throat felt tight.
"Yes."
Kaela didn't smile. She didn't need to. She reached over and slipped her hand into his. And the shard in her other hand burned a little brighter.
They returned to the Holdfast council chamber at midday.
Tarek was waiting with a scroll. The moment Reven stepped inside, he unrolled it.
"Coordinates," the old man said. "From our shard. It triangulated with yours overnight."
Reven stepped closer. "Where?"
Tarek tapped the scroll. "The southern scarlands. Near the edge of the Rift basin. Old Dominion ground. Forbidden for centuries."
Lirien arrived, her wings folding tight as she read the map. "That's where the Skyborn stopped expanding. We lost two fleets trying to cross it. Said the storms there carried voices."
Reven exhaled. "Another Core?"
"Possibly," Tarek said. "Or something worse."
Kaela cracked her knuckles. "We'll need provisions. Stealth. Backup."
Lirien turned to her. "And speed. If the shard called us, it might be calling others."
Tarek's gaze darkened. "It already has."
"What do you mean?" Reven asked.
Tarek pulled another scroll from a side drawer. This one had blood on the edge.
"We intercepted this from a scavenger caravan three nights ago. It's a mark."
The symbol was etched in charcoal—clean lines, a perfect spiral intersected with a blade. Reven recognized it instantly.
Veyna. The Bone Witch.
"She's hunting, too," Reven muttered.
Kaela stepped back, her expression tight. "She won't stop until she gets what she wants."
"She won't stop," Reven agreed, "until the world forgets again."
By nightfall, they were packed and ready. The Holdfast had given them rations, maps, and three relay beacons—small flares that could transmit a memory burst across dozens of miles. Kaela tested one, nodding at the clean signal. Lirien wore a new harness built for silent gliding, her feathers oiled and reinforced.
Reven strapped the shard pouch beneath his cloak.
At the gate, Tarek met him with one last gift: a blade.
Forged from Vaultsteel. Carved with runes. Balanced to Reven's hand.
"You're not just a bearer now," the old man said. "You're a symbol. Make sure you survive long enough to mean something."
Reven took the sword.
And they rode out into the dying dusk.
Toward the scarlands.
Toward the fire rising in the east.
Toward the truth that might break them all.