---
When Silas woke, the world was quiet.
The train station was gone—replaced by a long, cracked hallway filled with dim lanterns and faded murals on stone walls. He was lying on a bed of threadbare blankets. His head throbbed, but the glow in his veins had faded.
Nyra sat nearby, cross-legged, polishing a knife made of silverbone. Her eyes flicked up as he stirred.
"You're alive," she said simply.
"Not for lack of trying," he muttered, sitting up. "Where are we?"
"Old sanctuary. Beneath the ruins of the Cathedral District. It's called the Deep Archive."
He took it in—vaulted ceilings, rusted chains hanging like cobwebs, bookshelves carved into the walls. It felt like a place forgotten even by time.
A warm smell—cinnamon and firewood—wafted from a nearby hearth.
"You could've left me," Silas said.
Nyra raised an eyebrow. "And miss the opportunity to boss around the next Abyss-slayer? No chance."
He chuckled, then paused. "You said something earlier. That I'm not supposed to exist. What did you mean?"
Nyra grew still.
"After the Cataclysm, most Ash-lines were erased. Your kind—the Echo-Bearers—were hunted to extinction. But you? You're a Blank Memory. No record. No anchor. You shouldn't be real."
Silas frowned. "I am real."
"Yeah. That's the problem," she said softly.
Then she threw a small stone into his lap.
It had a symbol etched into it—like a key wrapped in flame.
"What's this?"
"Your first trial," she said. "The Archive doesn't open for just anyone. The seal will test your Ash. If you fail, the walls collapse. If you succeed, it unlocks your memories."
"My memories?"
"You didn't just wake up yesterday, Silas. The Veil steals things. Names. Pasts. People. You've lived before."
Silas clenched the stone, heart pounding. "Then let's open it."
---
The Hall of Forgotten Names – Within the Deep Archive
The stone flared as it touched a carved pedestal.
A circle of ghostlight spun outward, forming twelve pillars of light.
One by one, names echoed in the space—voices like chimes, some familiar, some alien.
"Silas of Black Hollow."
"Riven of the Ashmark."
"Valen the Riftborn."
"...Aetherbrand, Harbinger of the Broken Veil."
Silas staggered. Each name was him. Each one carried weight—memories, pain, love, wars fought and lost.
He dropped to his knees. "I... I don't understand."
The Archive spoke back:
"You are the Echo of a fallen god."
---
Flash.
He saw himself on a battlefield, wings of shattered stars behind him, sword raised against a creature of endless mouths.
Flash.
A city crumbling under a second moon. Children screaming his name—Silas? No. Riven.
Flash.
A girl. Holding his hand. Whispering, "Find me across the Veil. Promise."
---
The vision ended. The glow faded.
He stood, breathing hard.
"I remember pieces," he said. "Not everything. But enough."
Nyra stared at him with something between fear and awe. "You're not just an Echo-Bearer. You're a Veilforged. That sword... your bloodline... it's tied to the Fracture itself."
Silas looked at his hand. The sword flickered briefly in his palm before vanishing.
"I want to know everything," he said.
Nyra nodded. "Then we train. We hunt. And we prepare for war."
"But against who?"
Her eyes darkened. "The Court of Thorns. The ones who caused the Cataclysm. The ones who tore the Veil open."
"Where do we start?"
She smiled grimly. "We pay a visit to the Dead Markets. You'll need a weapon that doesn't live inside your bones."
---
Elsewhere – In a Tower of Silver Eyes
A man in a white coat stirred tea with a finger of bone.
On a table lay a map.
Twelve stars marked its surface. Eleven were fading.
Only one burned brightly.
"Found you, little Echo," he whispered.
Behind him, chained to the wall, a creature screamed a name:
"Silas!"
---
End of Chapter 4
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