The knock came just after midnight.
Not loud. Not hesitant. Three short raps, perfectly spaced.
Keiran didn't move.
The fog outside was thick again—so thick it pressed against the glass like breath. The moons were hidden behind it, though he could feel them in his bones: pulling, tightening, like strings on a bowed instrument.
Another knock.
He opened the door.
She was waiting.
Cloaked in grey, hood drawn low, silver-threaded gauntlets glinting faintly under the hallway lamp. She wore no crest, no badge. But Keiran knew what she was.
A Memory Warden.
Not a street enforcer. Not a Forger.
This one moved like she'd never had to run.
She stepped inside without waiting for permission.
"You're late," she said, voice quiet. Not accusatory. Just… disappointed.
Keiran closed the door. "You were watching."
"Yes."
"Why?"
She turned to face him.
"Because you erased a memory from a living subject with no training, no conduit, and no anchor."
He didn't answer.
Her hood fell back as she walked farther into the room.
She was older than he expected. Mid-thirties, maybe. Eyes the color of smoke. A long scar across her jaw that glinted faintly with embedded Runes—binding scripts.
"You were tagged by a Sentinel," she said. "I read the docket. 3C. Unstable brand. False identity. Unknown recall."
She stepped closer.
"But you're not Vayne. Not anymore."
Keiran tensed. "Then what am I?"
She paused.
"Echo-born."
His breath caught. "That's not a real—"
"It wasn't. Not until now."
From her sleeve, she drew a small, metallic wand. It vibrated softly in her hand, the tip glowing dull violet.
"I need to see what's behind your eyes," she said.
Keiran backed up. "No."
"You want answers? This is how we start."
He hesitated. Then nodded once.
The wand touched his temple.
Nothing.
Then—
A jolt.
Like wind exploding inward. Like a scream made of color.
Flashes.
A tower.
A woman falling backward through a mirror.
A circle of fire, and a voice screaming his name—but not his name. Another name. Older. Cut from stone.
The wand burned in her hand.
She yanked it away, staggering.
Keiran gasped, falling to one knee, his fingers digging into the floorboards.
The Warden stared at the wand. It was cracked down the center.
"That shouldn't be possible," she whispered.
"What did you see?" Keiran croaked.
She looked at him. Not afraid.
Respectful.
"Memories that aren't yours. And aren't his, either."
She moved to the door, her coat swirling like smoke.
"This isn't over," she said. "You're not just marked. You're tethered."
"To what?"
She opened the door.
"To something the Wardens buried a long time ago."
She tossed a small object toward him. He caught it out of instinct.
A stone. Polished smooth. Blank except for a shallow groove in the center.
"What is it?"
"If the mark starts speaking again," she said, "hold that to your chest. It may forget you."
"And if it doesn't?"
She met his eyes.
"Then nothing will."
She was gone the moment the door closed.
Keiran sat in silence for a long time, staring at the stone.
It was warm.
He didn't sleep.
Instead, he turned over the broken wand she'd left on the table. One half of it still hummed faintly.
He pressed the tip to the scar on his wrist.
The mark lit up—not violently. Just softly.
And a single image flared in his mind:
A child standing beneath two moons.
One silver. One dark.
Holding a candle that never burned out.
Crying a name:
"Keiran."
He dropped the wand.
The image vanished.
But the feeling didn't.
Recognition.
Somewhere—somewhen—he'd been there.
Or someone who shared his name had.
Later, just before dawn, he opened the window.
The sky had cleared slightly.
And there they were.
Vaelen and Ashrah.
The twin moons.
Not fully aligned.
But close.
Close enough to stir old names in stone. Old marks in blood.
Keiran touched the mark on his wrist.
It didn't burn.
It throbbed.
A heartbeat that didn't match his own.
And for the first time since he'd awakened—
He didn't feel alone.
He felt watched.
And somewhere deep inside that watching silence…
He felt something waiting.