"You cannot outrun what was born with you."
---
Zayne's knuckles turned white as he pressed a trembling hand against the crystal. The boy within didn't stir, but his chest rose faintly—breathing, not lifeless. Suspended in a timeless sleep.
Velka crouched beside him, whispering, "You're sure that's…?"
Zayne nodded slowly, his voice barely audible. "He has Mother's eyes. And my jawline. It's like looking at myself… if I never escaped."
Whisp said nothing. He stood a few paces behind, arms crossed, eyes flicking around the Archive's chamber like a hawk scanning for threats.
Zayne turned to him. "You knew."
Whisp didn't flinch. "I suspected. No one ends up in the Echo Archive by accident. And that crystal isn't a memory vault—it's a soul prison."
Velka's gaze darkened. "You said this place was abandoned."
"I said it had no guards. That's not the same."
---
The hum of the marsh outside barely reached this deep into the structure, but the air was saturated with mana. It buzzed like static on Zayne's skin, charged with emotion—anger, fear, sorrow.
He stood and stepped back from the crystal. "I need answers. Why would they keep him alive?"
Velka shook her head. "No. The better question is—why didn't your mother tell you he existed?"
---
Zayne stared at the floor.
That question hurt more than he wanted to admit.
All his life, he'd thought it was just the three of them. Himself, his sister Lira, and their mother, Liora. The trio. The last remnant of a family that had chosen to disappear from the world.
Now, here was a fourth.
A boy, thirteen at most. Suspended in time. Preserved like a secret she never meant to reveal.
Why?
---
"I'm going to release him."
Whisp stepped forward, hand on his blade. "You don't know what he is."
Zayne turned his head sharply. "He's my brother."
"That may not be all he is."
Velka stepped between them. "Both of you stop. Zayne, you're too emotional to think straight. Whisp, she's your client, not your commander."
Whisp sneered but backed off.
Zayne walked around the pedestal, observing the inscriptions etched into the crystalline edges. Magic runes—some common, others so archaic they buzzed against his vision.
He muttered, "It's a binding seal. Multi-layered. Not just meant to preserve, but to contain something volatile."
He pressed a hand to the runes and focused.
Mana surged. Runes flared to life in violet and blue.
A flood of emotions slammed into him—fear, pain, longing, betrayal.
And then a whisper.
> "Don't let them in…"
Zayne's eyes widened. It wasn't from the boy.
It was from the crystal itself.
---
"Step back," he commanded.
Velka obeyed. Whisp hesitated, then followed.
Zayne held his right hand out, mana gathering into his palm like swirling ink. He reached deep into his mental arsenal, activating the rune his mother once carved into his inner wrist—a sigil for unweaving enchantments.
TL/N: "Unweaving" refers to a rare magical technique that allows a user to disassemble spells layer by layer, rather than brute-forcing them.
As he began, the Archive reacted.
Crystals on the walls hummed louder. The floor vibrated. The very air seemed to recoil at what he was doing.
The first rune collapsed under his touch. Then the second.
The third screamed.
A shrill wail echoed through the chamber—not sound, but pure magic. Velka doubled over, clutching her ears. Whisp fell to one knee.
But Zayne pressed forward, blood trickling from his nose.
On the final layer, the crystal cracked.
Then shattered.
---
A shockwave exploded outward, hurling them all against the walls.
Dust and mana particles filled the chamber like a thundercloud.
When it cleared, the crystal was gone.
And the boy was awake.
---
He knelt on the pedestal, coughing violently, eyes darting around in confusion. His limbs trembled, and the remnants of magic still clung to his skin like mist.
Zayne stepped forward.
The boy looked at him—and froze.
Their gazes locked.
For a moment, time slowed.
Then the boy lunged.
---
Zayne barely blocked the attack. The boy moved like a cornered beast—fast, erratic, striking not with training, but raw survival instinct.
Zayne spun, caught his arm, and flipped him down. The boy growled and lashed out with a burst of wind magic that knocked Zayne back several feet.
"Stop!" Zayne shouted. "I'm not here to hurt you!"
"LIAR!" the boy screamed, voice hoarse and broken. "You wear his face! You are them!"
He conjured another spell—this time flame—and hurled it forward.
Velka intercepted, forming a ward just in time.
Whisp unsheathed his blade, but Zayne held up a hand. "Don't."
The boy was shaking now, exhausted. Mana depleted. He sank to his knees, panting.
Zayne approached slowly and knelt beside him.
"I'm your brother," he said gently. "Zayne."
The boy blinked. Confusion crossed his face. "Zayne…?"
Zayne nodded. "Our mother is Liora. You look like her."
The boy's lips quivered.
"…Liora…?"
Then he collapsed in Zayne's arms.
---
They set up camp inside the Archive chamber. It was secure, shielded by ancient wards, and for now, no immediate threats lingered.
The boy—whose name, they soon learned, was Kael—slept deeply beside a low-burning magical fire. Velka stood watch, while Whisp sat sharpening his dagger with deliberate calm.
Zayne watched the flames flicker, Kael's words echoing in his mind.
> "You wear his face…"
Who did Kael think he was?
What did he see while trapped in that crystal?
And more importantly—why did he call Zayne a liar?
---
Velka eventually broke the silence.
"I did some digging through the Archive's records while you were out cold. Guess what I found?"
Zayne looked up. "Something useful?"
"Possibly. One of the memory prisms had a fragmented file—a message labeled 'Project Refrain.' It was damaged, but it mentioned both your name and Kael's."
Zayne's breath caught.
She continued. "It also referenced someone called The Composer."
Zayne frowned. "Sounds like a title."
"Right. The kind secret organizations love to give their pet monsters."
Whisp chimed in, voice unusually quiet. "There's a rumor. In the black circles. About a figure called the Composer. Said to manipulate bloodlines. Genetics. Create 'perfected' versions of people."
Zayne went still.
Kael had his features. His magic.
But slightly… sharper. Finer.
Engineered?
---
Before they could speak more, Kael stirred.
He sat up slowly, eyes fluttering open.
Zayne approached.
Kael stared at him, calmer this time. "You… you really are him."
Zayne nodded.
Kael rubbed his temples. "I was taken when I was four. They said you died. That I was the only one left."
"Taken by who?"
Kael's voice trembled. "A man with no name. He wore a cloak of shifting stars. He said Mother betrayed the design. That I had to replace what she ruined."
Zayne felt ice crawl down his spine.
Velka's eyes narrowed. "The Composer."
---
TL/N: "Cloak of shifting stars" likely refers to high-tier magical concealment cloaks that refract not just light, but time perception and memories. Used by elite mages and black-ops factions.
---
Kael clutched his arms. "He said I was 'his masterpiece.' But I wasn't enough. So he kept… fixing me."
Zayne's jaw clenched.
Kael looked up, tears in his eyes.
"They said I wasn't the first. Just the first to survive."
Kael's voice trembled, each word scraped raw from memory.
"They said I wasn't the first. Just the first to survive."
Zayne stared, jaw tight.
It wasn't just grief anymore. It was guilt. Rage. And something deeper—an unbearable sense of wrongness.
Velka knelt beside Kael, her voice soft but steady.
"Do you remember how they kept you alive? What they did to you?"
Kael hugged his knees. "They injected things. Magic… colors… songs. One of them had music in his veins, like every time he breathed, the air around him changed. They said it was part of the composition. Said I'd learn it one day."
Zayne leaned forward. "What did they call the place they took you to?"
Kael looked up, hesitating.
Then whispered:
> "The Stave."
---
TL/N: In music, a "stave" is a set of five lines used to notate musical scores. Its use here likely implies a facility designed with harmony or composition in mind—suggesting people are being "written" like music.
---
Whisp finally spoke from the shadows. "I've heard that name."
Zayne turned. "Where?"
"A failed project. Old world. Pre-Rebellion. The Composer's rumored base of operations—lost somewhere in the continent's underground leyline network. No map leads to it. Only whispers."
Zayne felt Kael's hand tug at his sleeve.
"There's a way," Kael said. "I don't remember how to get there… but there's someone who does. Her name is Saphren."
Velka's brows rose. "Saphren? That name rings bells. A half-elf hybrid. Spymaster for House Drayvahn. Went rogue a decade ago."
Kael nodded. "She was one of the failed compositions. But she got away. Before me."
---
Silence fell again.
Zayne's heart raced. His mind was already spinning a dozen strategies. Find Saphren. Get to The Stave. Learn the Composer's plan. Tear it all down.
But a darker thought tugged at the edge of his consciousness:
Why had his mother never told him any of this?
How deep was she involved?
He stood. "We leave tomorrow at dawn. Kael stays close. No arguments."
Whisp raised an eyebrow. "And what about the bounty on your head, Black-Eyed Prince?"
Velka frowned. "What bounty?"
Zayne rolled his neck. "I broke into the Iron Court's restricted vault last week."
Velka slapped her forehead. "Of course you did."
Whisp smirked. "The poster's flattering, at least."
---
Night passed fitfully.
Zayne couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the fire again. The massacre. His sister's blood.
And now—this younger brother. Another secret. Another responsibility.
He walked outside the Archive chamber into the mist-laced ruins.
A small spring bubbled beneath moonlight, framed by moss-covered stones.
He knelt and splashed cold water on his face.
And then he heard a voice.
"You think it's your fault."
Zayne turned sharply.
A woman stood behind him, cloaked in gray feathers, face hidden beneath a shadowed hood. Her eyes glowed faint silver.
Not hostile. But not friendly either.
"Who are you?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she said, "You remind me of him."
Zayne stiffened. "Of who?"
"The one who started the composition. The one your mother betrayed."
---
He reached for his blade.
She raised a finger. "No need. I'm not your enemy."
Zayne gritted his teeth. "Then tell me who you are."
The woman stepped closer. Her breath misted in the cold air.
"I'm the first failed harmony. The first to be discarded. The first to remember."
He stared, heart thudding.
"…You're Saphren."
She nodded. "And you, Zayne Aelthorn… are a discord long overdue."
---
TL/N: "Discord" is used here as a counterpoint to "harmony" in musical theory. Saphren implies that Zayne is a natural disruption to the Composer's plans—an unpredictable element.
---
Back inside the Archive, Kael stirred restlessly in his sleep. His breath came in uneven spurts. A thin web of blue lines flickered across his veins—mana instability.
Velka leaned in, watching him with concern. "He's surging."
Whisp glanced over. "He's not used to ambient mana flow. The seal kept his system controlled. His body's adjusting."
Velka asked quietly, "What if he doesn't adjust?"
Whisp didn't answer.
---
Outside, Zayne faced Saphren, who now sat on a broken stone column, legs crossed like a perched crow.
"Why did you come to me?" he asked.
"I didn't. The crystal's destruction sent a resonance across the Composer's network. I felt the echo. And I followed it here."
"You said my mother betrayed him."
"She was his muse. His first. But she couldn't bear what he became. So she ran. Took his work. You. And tried to hide you in the woods. But nothing stays hidden."
Zayne felt sick. "He created me?"
Saphren's face softened. "He wrote you. But you edited yourself."
---
Zayne turned away, needing air, space, truth.
Saphren stood and walked toward him, pulling a small orb from her cloak.
"This is a ley-seed. It will open the path to The Stave if fed with blood from a harmonic line."
Zayne took it carefully. It pulsed faintly in his palm.
"Where is it?"
"Deep beneath the Severed Spire. You'll need to descend the Choir Caverns. But beware… the Composer isn't alone anymore."
Zayne raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
Saphren's voice lowered. "He's found a new muse."
---
Back inside, Kael woke screaming.
Mana flared wildly, crackling like static in the air.
Velka and Whisp jumped to restrain him—but Zayne burst in and knelt beside him, grabbing his shoulders.
"Kael! Breathe!"
The younger boy's eyes were wild, glowing bright silver.
"I see it!" he cried. "The Stave… the Composer… the NOTES—"
Then he collapsed into Zayne's arms, unconscious.
Saphren stood at the doorway, watching silently.
Zayne looked to her, jaw clenched.
"This ends. I'm going to tear it all down."
Saphren nodded once.
"I hope you do. For both our sakes."