He didn't light the candle this time.
He didn't need to.
It followed him. Or rather—remembered him.
Even now, as he stepped through the Concordium's oldest stairwell, the air itself pulsed faintly with recognition. Doors didn't open for him.
They relented.
The mirrored spiral Thalen had given him was clutched tight in his palm. It wasn't just a key—it was a fragment. A broken rune that hummed faintly, like it had once belonged to someone who bled to protect it.
And every time Keiran looked at it, he felt his heartbeat skip.
Not his own.
Hers.
He followed the spiral downward.
Not through corridors marked with glyphs or pathlights. No.
This door wasn't mapped.
This place wasn't carved.
It was forgotten.
And somehow, that made it stronger.
At the end of the descent, he found it.
A wall of plain stone.
No inscriptions.
No hinge.
But the coin in his hand began to heat—and as it did, so did the mark on his wrist. Not pain. Not pressure.
Something closer to… longing.
Keiran pressed the mirrored spiral to the wall.
A pulse.
A soundless shudder that ran through the marrow of the stone.
Then, slowly, the wall faded.
Beyond it:
A single chamber.
Small. Perfectly round.
Lit by no flame.
But in the center, there she was.
Not a person.
Not even a full memory.
But a tether.
She stood, barefoot, robed in linen blackened by time.
Hair tied back. Head bowed. Hands clasped before her, as if in prayer.
And above her…
A stone.
Suspended.
Smooth. Round. Etched with a spiral flame.
It turned slowly in place, casting soft waves of light across her body.
And when Keiran stepped forward, the girl looked up.
And smiled.
"You found me," she said.
Her voice was soft.
Not ghostly.
Not mechanical.
Just… tired.
Keiran stepped closer.
"I—Lys?" he asked, voice uncertain.
She didn't move.
But the light around her shimmered slightly.
"No. Not Lys."
"She buried me here. So she wouldn't forget you."
"I'm the memory she gave up… to keep your name safe."
Keiran's breath caught.
"You're… her?"
"I'm the part she lost."
"The part they demanded."
"When the Concordium came to burn her name, she traded me instead."
"Her first memory of you."
"The night you lit her candle… and promised to remember her when no one else would."
A silence fell.
Keiran dropped to his knees.
The tether—this echo of a girl—watched him gently.
"She tried to carry your name across the dark," she said. "But it was too heavy."
"So she cut a piece of herself away."
"Me."
"And now… if you take me back… you'll remember everything."
His hands trembled.
"I don't know if I'm ready," he whispered.
"You are."
"Because she's fading."
"And when she does, your name will vanish too."
"Not from the world. From you."
"The mark only burns because she remembers."
Keiran stood.
Walked closer.
And reached out toward the stone.
It lowered—just a few inches.
Light bled from it like tears.
"This will hurt," the echo said softly. "Not like flame. Like grief."
"You'll remember the night she almost died for you."
"And how you left anyway."
He touched it.
And the world cracked.
Flashes.
A hall of mirrors.
Lys curled in his arms, blood soaking her side.
A candle between them—burning not with fire, but a piece of her name.
She pressed her forehead to his and said—
"If you survive, you forget me."
"If you die, I carry your name."
And he answered:
"Then live twice as hard."
Back in the chamber, Keiran gasped.
The stone flickered once, then shattered.
And the girl—the echo tether—
Smiled as she vanished.
Now alone, Keiran fell to his knees, chest burning.
Tears blurred his vision.
But not from pain.
From recognition.
He didn't just know her name now.
He remembered why he'd lit the candle that night.
Not to save her.
But to give her a reason to save herself.
He rose slowly.
The chamber's walls were already starting to fade.
The memory had been absorbed.
Not lost.
Just… returned.
When he stepped back into the stairwell, the candle on his wrist flared for the first time—
Not as a mark.
But as a promise.
One only two people in the world remembered.
And now, they were both waking up.