The ancient vault groaned as the ember-bound sigils along its surface unraveled like molten chains, each one flickering out with a whisper of heat. Ren's palm hovered inches above the obsidian interface, his breath caught in his throat. Behind him, Valka watched in tense silence, blades drawn but loose. The air felt thick—not just with heat, but with pressure. Like reality itself held its breath.
The final rune pulsed once, then dissolved into cinders.
The vault door sank inward, then split open with a slow, grinding hiss, revealing a spiraling staircase descending into a lightless abyss. The air wafting out was dry, but layered with something... wrong. Memory clung to it, like burnt parchment and old blood.
"You don't have to do this alone," Valka said, stepping beside him.
"I know," Ren replied, voice steady. "But I think whatever's down there—it's connected to me. Deeply."
They descended together.
The steps, though ancient, held firm beneath their feet. The deeper they went, the quieter the world above became. Sounds muffled. Even the flame on Ren's hand dimmed, burning not with heat, but with echoing resonance—like it recognized where it was.
At the bottom, the staircase opened into a circular chamber filled with floating crystal shards, each suspended mid-air like frozen memories. They spun slowly, reacting to Ren's presence. In the center stood a pedestal of blackstone, and on it, a warped helm—etched with the same sigils Ren had seen in his soulburn visions.
Ren stepped forward.
The helm pulsed.
His mind cracked open.
He wasn't in the chamber anymore.
He stood on a battlefield of flame and falling stars, bodies strewn across a sky-wounded land. His armor was seared, his hands dripping molten blood. Before him knelt another man—one-eyed, dying, and smiling.
"You never had a choice," the man said. "But you gave us one."
"Who are you?" Ren whispered, even as his lips moved in tandem with the memory.
"Your first mistake... and your last mercy."
The vision shattered. Ren gasped and fell to his knees. The crystals hummed violently, rearranging mid-air to form a spiraling web of symbols above his head.
Valka caught him. "What did you see?"
"Myself," Ren choked out. "Or... who I used to be. A commander. A killer. But also... a protector."
From behind the pedestal, a figure stepped forward—glimmering in half-light. Not human. Not spirit.
An Echoborn projection. An ancient one.
"Ren Calder," it intoned, voice layered with countless echoes, "you have awakened the Vault of Burnt Echoes. Within lies the path to your redemption—or your ruin. Choose wisely."
A second pedestal rose from the floor, bearing a book bound in flame-hardened leather. The title read: The Soulburn Protocol: Final Phase.
Ren reached out.
The flames did not burn.
They welcomed him.