The ruins of Vareth rose like the bones of giants—twisted towers and broken spires jutting from the ground as if they'd clawed their way out of the past.
They stood at the city's edge by midday. Wind stirred the dust at their feet, but nothing else moved. The main gate loomed before them, massive and ancient—one half broken, the other half ajar, gaping just wide enough for a person to pass.
Kael took a step forward—and the Echoheart pulsed.
Symbols bloomed faintly across his forearm. They glowed for an instant, then faded as if absorbed into his skin. He didn't flinch. The others did.
"Kael," Elira said sharply. "You're… marked."
He looked down. "It's happened before."
"But not like this," she said. "These markings aren't just relic echoes. They're recognition."
Kael stared into the darkness beyond it. "No. It's waiting."
Tovan raised an eyebrow. "That gate's not open for just anyone."
Kael didn't respond. The glow crawled across his skin like memory—sharp, cold, and oddly familiar. It wasn't just light. It was recognition.
Far above them, a ruined tower sparked to life. One rune flared at its peak—then winked out.
Like an eye blinking in the dark.
The air inside the city changed the moment they crossed the threshold.
Heat radiated from stone that should have been cold. Old glyphs pulsed faintly along broken walls. The sky above them dimmed, even though the sun had not set. Dust hovered in the air like ash—but never settled.
"It's alive," Elira whispered. "The whole city."
Kael didn't disagree. With every step, the Echoheart beat stronger—almost impatient now. He heard voices faintly, layered whispers tangled in the wind. Fragments of conversation. Laughter. Screams. Orders shouted across time.
In the outer district, buildings stood half-collapsed and yet untouched by weather. Archways shimmered faintly with forgotten wards. And in the center of one broken plaza stood statues—no, not statues.
Constructs.
Stone forms frozen mid-movement, hands raised or mouths open in silent warning. Eyes dark. Watching.
Tovan drew his weapon instinctively. "I don't like this. They look ready to move."
Elira narrowed her eyes. "They're bound. But the bond's fraying."
At the far edge of the plaza, a voice broke the silence.
"You are early. Or perhaps… late."
A figure stepped from behind a cracked pillar—robed in ash-colored cloth, relic shards embedded in their arms and spine. Their eyes glowed with mirrored light, reflecting Kael's face back at him in fractured pieces.
Kael stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The figure smiled faintly. "I was once like you. Before the City remembered."
Elira moved beside Kael. "Are you Relicbound?"
"I am memory. Flesh wrapped in what was left of purpose." The figure's head tilted slightly. "You carry the Eye."
Kael's chest tightened. "The Echoheart."
"No. Not the relic. The Will behind it. You are its echo, not its first. The City remembers the last."
Tovan muttered, "What the hell does that mean?"
The figure turned to him, face unreadable. "It means this place is not sanctuary. It is sentence."
Without warning, the ground shuddered beneath them.
Glyphs along the walls flared briefly—then died.
The figure backed away, hands raised. "You will see soon enough. The gate opens, but not for you. Not yet."
They dropped something onto the stone—a relic shard, glowing with mirrored light—and vanished in a shimmer of distortion.
The plaza stilled again.
Kael approached the shard slowly.
Elira grabbed his arm. "Don't."
"If it's part of the Echoheart's legacy," he said, "I need to know."
"It could trigger whatever's still alive in this city."
"It already has."
He picked it up.
The shard pulsed once—and the constructs shifted.
Just slightly.
Their heads turned.
Toward him.