The ash didn't lie.
I could feel it in every footstep.
This was the exact path where they dragged me — shackled, stripped of title, with the blood of my knights still drying on my chest. I remembered the sound of the crowd. Not cheering. Watching. Hoping I'd scream. Hoping I'd beg.
I didn't give them that then.
I wouldn't give it to them now.
The ground beneath my boots hummed with power, weak but waking.
"System Scan: Soul-tagged landmark detected."
"Identified: Thronebridge Hall. Status: Dormant."
"Authorization: Restoring ancestral command structure…"
The wind rose, carrying voices from long ago — distorted, faded memories I had buried across a hundred timelines.
"You don't belong here."
That was what they told me.
The High Priest. My uncle. My fiancée.
The ones who lined up to watch me die.
"The gods no longer favor your blood. The throne will reject you."
Lie.
Lie.
Lie.
They never understood it wasn't the gods who gave me power.
It was the fire they lit beneath me — and the curse I earned when I survived it.
I stepped across the cracked blackstone archway, now half-buried in moss and soot. In its prime, this bridge carried kings to war and nobles to glory.
Now it carried a ghost.
But not for long.
"System Sync: Bloodline resonance achieved."
"Cursed Heir Status: Reinitialized."
"Warning: Region-wide memory distortion weakening…"
They'd tried to erase me from the land itself.
Erase my name from the throne.
Erase my voice from the songbooks.
Erase my crown from the bloodlines.
And still, the kingdom remembered.
And it hated them for it.
The ground trembled.
Not an earthquake. No.
It was recognition.
I reached the center of the thronebridge. The spot where they took my sword before dragging me to the altar. I remembered the moment they stripped me of my command, my magic, and my dignity.
But I also remembered something else.
The glyph I carved there.
With my own blood.
In my final moment of rebellion.
I knelt. Brushed aside the dust and ash.
And there it was.
Still glowing, faint and red.
"Glyph match confirmed."
"Unlocking soul-sealed memory anchor…"
The wind died.
Time stilled.
The kingdom… spoke
It didn't speak in words.
It spoke in pressure.
In the sudden weight behind my ribs. In the pull in my blood. In the chill that ran through the marrow of the bridge.
The kingdom didn't whisper my name.
It dragged it out of the glyph like it had been choking on it for centuries.
"System Warning: Soul Echo reached MAX resonance."
"Glyph anchor unlocked."
"Releasing memory-seal fragment: Version_37"
"Proceed with caution."
That last line wasn't protocol.
It was a warning.
⸻
I stood, trembling—not from fear, but from familiarity.
There was something else in the glyph now.
A pulse.
A second rhythm beneath mine.
And it didn't match me.
It was faster. Sharper. Hungrier.
This is mine, I thought.
But it feels like… it wants me gone.
I reached toward the glyph with my hand.
And it recoiled.
The crimson light twisted and turned black, swirling around my fingers like a storm made of memory.
⸻
"System Integrity at risk."
"Recovered memory stream incompatible with user morality tier."
"Override available: Merge (Y/N)?"
"…Override what?" I said aloud.
"You," the system replied.
⸻
A shadow rose from the glyph.
It looked like me.
Same height. Same frame. Same scar down the brow.
But the eyes were all wrong. They were empty. Not lifeless—but purged. Like someone had gutted the soul from behind them and replaced it with purpose.
"You never finished the rebellion," it said.
"I did."
I stepped back. The sword on my back stirred, sensing hostility.
"Who are you?"
"I'm what you would've been… if you hadn't hesitated."
⸻
Plot twist:
The glyph wasn't a memory—it was a memory prison.
And what I had carved into the stone 113 lives ago wasn't a symbol of resistance.
It was a lock.
A seal.
And now I had opened it.
"Version_37 fully downloaded."
"Cognitive merge imminent."
"Warning: two souls cannot rule one throne."