The storm breaks above Aethermark Academy, tearing at the sky like a beast unchained. Thunder echoes like the roar of gods in battle. And somewhere beneath it all, Kael Evenhart stands in a chamber older than the school itself, his eyes still glowing with knowledge that shouldn't exist.
Naia watches him carefully, wand in hand, unsure if the boy in front of her is still Kael—or something the Door has made of him.
"Talk to me," she says, her voice low. "Tell me what's happening."
Kael touches the cold stone wall. His hand glows faintly, and runes appear—not etched, not burned, but remembered.
"I know my name now," he says.
Naia frowns. "You… forgot it?"
"No. I was given this name. Kael Evenhart is the shell."
He turns to her. The silver light in his eyes dims, just a little, softening.
"My real name is Vaeren."
The word hums in the air like a tuning fork.
Naia blinks, her blood going cold. "Vaeren? That name's in the forbidden texts… the founder of the Locks—the one who sealed the Realmgate."
He nods. "I wasn't just chosen to open the Door. I was the one who closed it first. And now…"
He looks up.
"…I've come back to finish what I started."
Meanwhile, high in the spires of the Inquisition's black citadel, Magister Lurien examines a torn, dust-covered scroll with trembling fingers. The ink is fresh now—bleeding through time.
One name glows faintly on the parchment: Vaeren.
"No," Lurien whispers, backing away. "He was erased. Sealed. His memory wiped from the bloodlines."
Another inquisitor enters. "What is it, Magister?"
Lurien's voice shakes.
"The world is remembering what it begged to forget."
Back at the academy, Kael—no, Vaeren—moves through the broken scriptorium, guided by instinct older than flesh. He places his palm on a hidden symbol etched in the floor. The stone shifts, revealing a spiral staircase plunging into the earth.
Naia hesitates. "You sure you want to go deeper? You just got back from wherever the hell that Door took you."
Vaeren smiles. "I didn't get back. I brought it with me."
They descend.
The air grows colder. The stone darker. With each step, Kael's memories resurface—not as dreams, but as living, breathing truths.
He sees flashes—
A war across stars and timelines.
Beasts with no eyes that devour entire languages.
A woman made of glass and sorrow, screaming his true name.
Himself, kneeling before the First Lock… as he crafted it.
At the bottom of the staircase is a circular chamber—walls lined with mirrors, each reflecting a different Kael. A soldier. A king. A traitor. A child holding fire. A man with a knife in his heart.
They all speak at once:
"You left us.""You died before we could become.""You swore to stay buried."
Kael flinches, hand to his head. The voices press in.
Naia grabs his arm. "This isn't you."
"No," he gasps. "This is all of me."
He steps forward and places his palm on the mirror directly in front of him.
It ripples.
And from the reflection steps out another version of him—cloaked in ancient armor, eyes black as obsidian.
The mirror-Kael smiles coldly.
"You're too late," it says. "The seals are already breaking. And you're not the only one who remembers."