The blade had a voice.
But it didn't speak in words.
It spoke in memories.
---
Aedric hadn't slept in days.
Ever since he drew Vyrmath from the pedestal in the Temple of Forgotten Names, the world around him had felt thinner — like a dream trying to wake up.
And every time he touched the hilt, flashes invaded his mind:
A battlefield of burning skies,
A woman with hair of midnight chains,
A voice whispering "Flame was never yours alone."
---
He stood now in the center of the Watchtower, the blade resting beside him, still pulsing with low red light.
Lyara sat across from him, breathing heavily, her palm glowing with Fate's Mark, slowly changing shape.
It was no longer just a spiral.
It had become… an eye.
---
💫 Lyara's Vision
Her breath hitched.
Then stopped.
And then — she fell backward.
Eyes wide open, glowing like mirrors catching starlight.
> The room vanished.
> Time shattered.
> She was floating in flame.
---
Aedric stood before her — but not as she knew him.
He was taller. His eyes burned blue-black. His arms were wrapped in chains of starlight.
Behind him: a throne made of gods' skulls.
Before him: a bleeding world.
He raised Vyrmath — now massive, wreathed in living fire.
And whispered:
> "This is what they made me."
Then — he turned the blade on himself.
---
Lyara screamed.
She snapped back to reality, gasping.
Blood dripped from her nose.
Aedric grabbed her. "What did you see?"
She blinked up at him, voice trembling.
"You kill yourself…"
"…to save the world."
---
A silence deeper than death fell between them.
Outside, the storm that had been gathering for days broke across the sky.
And above the citadel, a single crack of red lightning tore the heavens open.
The gods were watching.
---
⚔️ Aedric's Awakening
He looked at the blade again.
Vyrmath.
A soul-drinker.
But more than that — a memory-forger.
It was made from the bones of the first fallen god, bound by the last Flameborn before him.
And now… it whispered a choice:
> "If you want power to destroy Caelen… I will give it."
> "But your soul will burn."
Aedric didn't speak.
He just gripped the hilt.
And fire exploded around him.
---
Flame coiled up his arms, across his back, through his veins.
Symbols burned onto his skin — glyphs older than language.
Lyara backed away.
Selene, watching from the door, fell to her knees.
He screamed — but it wasn't pain.
It was clarity.
The truth of his rebirth.
---
He wasn't just Aedric.
He wasn't just the prince betrayed.
He was the last remnant of an ancient entity.
A godkiller reborn in mortal flesh.
---
🌒 Meanwhile: Caelen's Trap
Far across the Citadel, in the Tower of Bells, Caelen Valtoris stood in the Circle of Mirrors.
A dozen nobles, sorcerers, and divine priests surrounded him.
All staring at the same blood-mirror projection:
Aedric's transformation.
The markings. The blade. The flare of cursed power.
"This," Caelen said softly, "is why we must act."
"The Trial of Blood begins tonight."
---
The High Priest of Solenor looked uncertain.
"But he passed the Trial of Flame…"
Caelen smiled — calm, dangerous.
"This isn't about trials."
"This is about containment."
"And if he won't kneel…"
He turned.
"…he will burn again."
---
🌌 Final Scene: Aedric's Silence
Night fell.
Aedric sat at the edge of the Watchtower roof, Vyrmath across his lap.
His eyes no longer glowed.
They burned.
Below, the world prepared for war.
But above, he whispered one word:
> "I remember."
---