The storm did not reduce, rather it intensified. Necrotic winds shredded the sky into veils of green and black, each bolt of lightning slammed into the ground with enough force to break a rock.
The air became thick and saturated with Veil-energy, until the Crest's breath came heavy as if they were inhaling smoke. And then… the memories they had endured twisted and solidified.
Three shapes emerged from the storm, each was dragging its chains of illusion behind them. Kelvin's breath was caught up when he saw it first, himself.
But not the man he had become, the leader, the fighter, the partner to Xerion. What stepped from the mist was the boy he once was.
With his eyes wide opened he trembled, while clutching onto a splintered wooden sword in his tiny hands. The child's face was pale with fear and his lips was trembling as he whispered, "Run… please… just run."
