They moved at dawn.
Not because the light helped — light bent wrong in Lock-touched zones. But it was harder to be tracked when the shadowlines weren't sharp enough to hold footprints.
Lira led the way, chewing a protein strip, crossbow dangling loose. Cael followed at a distance.
They didn't talk much.
But something had shifted between them.
Not trust. Not yet.
But tension with direction.
Like they'd both realized they were standing on a slope — and gravity had picked sides.
Midway through the ridge, the terrain changed.
Stone flattened.
Wind stilled.
And a structure rose from the hill's heart like something that had grown there.
A monolith.
Twenty feet tall. Smooth black stone. No seams. No writing.
But the air around it hummed.
Cael stopped.
"What is that?"
Lira glanced over her shoulder.
"Memory reader."
"They used to chart reality distortions with those. The old researchers built them to track which way the world leaned."
"They don't talk. They reflect. If your resonance's unstable, it'll show you… something."
She smirked.
"If you're clean, you pass through."
"If not... it gets personal."
They approached slowly.
The monolith's hum turned subtle — almost like it was breathing.
Cael felt his teeth ache.
His mark stirred. Slight. Electric.
Don't activate. Please don't activate.
Lira stepped past it.
Nothing happened.
The air didn't shift.
The monolith stayed still.
Then Cael stepped forward.
The hum stopped.
The world hushed.
And the monolith lit up.
Not bright. Not loud.
But with a pulse — one beat of silver that matched the spiral on his arm exactly.
Cael froze.
Lira turned sharply.
"That's not normal."
Cael didn't speak.
He couldn't.
Because the monolith wasn't just reacting — it was looking at him.
And then something happened that Lira had never seen before.
The monolith whispered.
Only once.
A single word.
Soft.
"Keyborn."
Lira stepped between him and it.
Eyes wide now. Not with fear.
With understanding.
And something close to strategy.
"You need to move. Now."
"What—"
"It said a name. That means it remembers you."
"They're not supposed to remember."
"Go."
They ran.
A mile down the ridge, they stopped to catch breath behind a collapsed rail-arch. Cael doubled over.
"What did that mean?"
Lira didn't answer.
She stared back at the monolith on the hill.
And said:
"You're not carrying a Key."
"You are one."
Far above, on a jagged cliff overlooking the valley, a third figure watched through a long-range scope.
Solin.
Dark coat. Clean gloves. Eyes like frost on steel.
He lowered the scope and tapped his earpiece.
"The Keymark has made contact with a Monolith."
"Confirmed verbal response. Identity acknowledged."
He listened.
Nodded once.
"Yes. He's awake now."
End of Chapter 4: Monoliths Don't Lie