Evin didn't remember standing.
One moment he was on his knees, the Binding Lattice collapsing in sparks and silver dust; the next he was upright, trembling, breathing hard, swaying like a flame fighting a storm. The chamber felt colder. The air felt sharper. Even the stone seemed to draw back, as though afraid to share the same floor with him.
The Sanctifiers did not move.
They couldn't.
The shadows behind Evin gathered like a cloak—not swirling, not dramatic, but dense and close, layering around him like hundreds of overlapping silhouettes. Human silhouettes. Some tall, some small, some shaking, some steady. All faint. All wrong. Their forms flickered like half-finished memories.
But they stood.
Watching.
Witnessing.
For the first time in centuries, the Sanctifiers looked afraid.
"You are harboring remnants," the lead Sanctifier whispered, voice thin behind the chain veil. "That is… forbidden."
Evin's voice was barely audible. "Not my rule."
"They will consume you."
"No," Evin said, his throat raw. "They held on. Because you didn't."
The Sanctifiers exchanged glances, something like panic finally cracking through their composure.
"Protocol override," one hissed. "We retreat. Now."
The leader raised a trembling hand. "No. We cannot leave him unbound."
"Unbound?" Evin echoed bitterly. "You tried to erase me."
The Sanctifier flinched. "The Lattice should have—"
"'Should have'," Evin snapped. "That's the Church's problem. You always think your rules define reality. But they don't. They never did."
The shadows behind him shifted, like a crowd leaning forward to hear better.
The Sanctifier inhaled sharply. "Those memories—those fragments—do not belong to you."
Evin's voice dropped to a pained whisper. "Someone has to carry them."
One of the Sanctifiers stepped back, nearly tripping over his own robe. "He's echoing. He's echoing them."
Echoing.
Yes.
That felt right.
The remnants weren't possessing him. They weren't directing him. They were standing with him, lending weight to his presence the way grief lends weight to silence. He wasn't their master. He wasn't their vessel.
He was their trace, their imprint, their continuation.
And the Church, for all its power, had no doctrine for something that refused to vanish.
The lead Sanctifier pointed at him, hand shaking. "You are contaminated."
Evin smiled without humor. "Then your fire did a terrible job."
"Seize him!" the Sanctifier shouted.
But no one moved.
Not because they refused.
Because they couldn't.
The remnants, faint and broken as they were, stepped forward with Evin. And though their feet made no sound, the air bent with their movement. The temperature dropped. The shadows thickened. The pressure in the chamber shifted like a tide against stone.
One Sanctifier fell to one knee, gasping. "The room—won't obey—"
Evin exhaled, long and shaky. "Welcome to my world."
But the Veil whispered something else to him—silent, resonant:
Not yet.
The remnants quietly receded, not vanishing, but pulling back just enough that the Sanctifiers could breathe again.
Evin staggered. His legs nearly gave out.
The Sanctifiers scrambled back toward the door, robes tangling in haste. Fear trumped protocol now. It wasn't about doctrine. It wasn't about authority.
It was about survival.
The leader paused in the doorway, mask chains trembling.
"This is not power," the Sanctifier said. "It is corruption."
Evin met the Sanctifier's gaze through the veil. "Then it's your corruption. Not mine."
The Sanctifier's voice cracked. "You will bring ruin."
Evin didn't answer.
The Sanctifiers fled.
The heavy door slammed shut.
Evin slumped to the floor, shaking violently as the remnants faded from sight. Every muscle in his body spasmed. His vision blurred. He tasted iron. His fingers twitched uncontrollably.
He wasn't fine.
He wasn't stable.
He wasn't in control.
He was surviving. Barely.
"Stop," he whispered, clutching his head. "Just—stop. I can't—I can't be all of you."
The shadows steadied.
Not leaving.
Not overwhelming.
Just… steady.
A presence—soft, faint, barely there—pressed against the edge of his awareness like a hand on a shoulder.
Not comforting.
Confirming.
We remain. But not through you.
Evin let out a broken breath.
He wasn't their savior.
He wasn't their puppet.
He was simply not letting them be erased.
His body trembled viciously. Exhaustion hit him like a falling wall. The chamber swayed. The stone floor lurched.
He collapsed fully onto his side, consciousness flickering.
Before darkness overtook him, he heard distant shouting outside the chamber.
"…classified breach…"
"…Sanctifiers retreating…"
"…containment compromised…"
"…crimson protocol escalation…"
Then—
"…terminate the anomaly before it spreads."
Evin's fading mind barely registered the words.
But the Veil did.
It tightened around him like a shield.
And from somewhere far down the corridor, a familiar voice shouted—
"EVIN!"
Rell.
Desperate. Defiant. Moving toward the danger instead of away from it.
Stakes rising.
All lines crossing.
And for the first time, Evin realized—
He wasn't the only one who wouldn't disappear.