Arthur is in the cabin sitting alone while Kierran , Lucas and Old man Tom are asleep
Rain taps the cabin roof.
Arthur stares into the fire — and the past rises.
Flash:
Middle school hallway. Lockers slamming.
A voice: *"Ravenheart? More like *Welfareheart*."*
Laughter. A shove. His books scatter.
Flash:
Classroom. Teacher hands back tests. His — marked *"See me after."*
He's smart. But quiet.
And in that school — quiet meant *weak*.
Flash:
Locker room. Someone's drawn a raven with broken wings.
Under it: *"Fly away, freak."*
He never told anyone.
Not Mom. Not Lucas.not Dad. Not Layla
Just buried it.
Like everything else.
Now — the fire crackles.
And for the first time…
he lets himself *feel* the weight.
Arthur frowns, staring into the flames.
*Why now? Why that memory — of all things?*
It wasn't the worst day.
Wasn't the first time he was called a freak.
So why does it *stick*?
Was it the look on the teacher's face?
Or the way the raven drawing… *moved* when he blinked?
Something about that moment —
it wasn't just bullying.
It felt like…
a *test*.
And he still doesn't know what he failed.
Arthur stands, silent.
Without a word, he steps out — into the storm.
Rain hammers down, cold and heavy, soaking through his clothes in seconds. Thunder rumbles — but he doesn't flinch.
He walks to the edge of the cliff, where the waterfall roars beside him, blending with the downpour.
No shelter.
No reason.
Just the need to feel something *real*.
The past won't leave.
And the rain?
It doesn't judge.
It just falls — like grief.
A sharp pulse — behind Arthur's eyes.
** MEMORY FRAGMENT RECOVERED — SOURCE: Dancing Rain **
**DECRYPTION: Fragment **
*"—not a student… he's a vessel—"*
*"—the raven drawing… it wasn't a joke. It was a* marker *—"*
*"—if he remembers, the seal breaks—"*
Then — gone.
Arthur staggers, gripping his head.
The rain soaks him.
But the chill?
That's not from the storm.
Something's been *watching* him…
since *before* the Collapse.
Arthur blinks — rain stinging his face.
"What… was that?"
He touches his temple.
No pain. Just a hollow echo, like a door creaked open in his mind — then slammed shut.
*Vessel? Marker?*
Was he… *chosen* back then?
Or *tagged*?
And why now?
Why here?
The rain keeps falling.
But the silence inside his head?
It's louder than ever.
(Meanwhile...)
On the border of Ashen shroud continent
Alex Lionheart stands at the edge of the ridge — rain parting around him like he's not even there.
A pulse.
A voice — not spoken, but *implanted* in his mind.
**"Come."**
He turns.
No hesitation.
Steps into a rift — the air splitting like fabric.
Inside: a vast chamber. No walls. No ceiling.
Only darkness — and a single throne, floating in the void.
On it — a figure cloaked in shadow.
Face unseen.
Hands folded.
The **First Watcher**.
"Lionheart," the voice echoes. "The vessel stirs."
"You want him brought in?" Alex asks — calm, cold.
"No."
The First Watcher leans forward — shadows shifting like smoke.
"Lionheart. You will act — but not directly."
**"Seed doubt in Arthur. Let him question his memories. His bond with Lucas."**
**"Nudge Kierran toward power — but make it *costly*."**
**"Let him feel strong… until the strength begins to burn."**
A pause.
"And Tom?"
The First Watcher stills.
"…We cannot touch him as of right now . He is veiled. *Unseen* by design."
"Then let the others fray."
"The mind breaks easier when it's alone."
Alex nods.
"Understood."
The Watchers move not with force —
but with silence.
And lies.
"Let him *remember*."
"Then… we'll see if he breaks."
Alex bows and leaves .
The First Watcher speaks — slow, like stone grinding in the deep:
**"You do not find your truth.
You survive the lies long enough for it to find *you*."**
A beat.
Then:
**"And by then… most are already gone."**
The words don't echo.
They *settle* — like ash.
Not a warning.
A verdict.
Morning light — pale and sharp — cuts through the cabin window.
Tom is already up, tracing a route on a worn map.
Arthur and Kierran stir, stiff from sleep.
"We move today," Tom says. "Border Zone Theta is 1,200 km — mostly through Aether storms and patrols from the royal palace which is found in the Ashen shroud continent ."
Kierran: "Can we cut through the Hollow Belt?"
Tom shakes his head. "Faster — but unstable. One tremor, and the ground *swallows* you."
Arthur: "Then we go the long way — but stay hidden."
Tom taps the map. "Two paths. Both deadly.
We choose — and we don't look back."
The clock ticks.
The mission begins.
Lucas stirs — eyes snapping open.
The cabin's quiet — but voices murmur outside.
Tom. Arthur. Kierran.
He sits up slowly.
Too calm.
Too aware.
Steps to the door — silent.
Peers out.
They're planning. Moving.
*Without him.*
A flicker in his eyes — red, just for a breath.
Then he smiles.
Soft.
Wrong.
"Wouldn't want to miss the fun," he whispers.
And steps into the light.
Kierran turns as Lucas approaches.
"We're heading to the Border Zone Theta — edge of the Black Continent. Alexi's signal's there (Arthur's mother). We move fast, stay off the grids."
Lucas blinks — slow.
"Black Continent? That's suicide. Nothing comes back from there."
Arthur watches him — the way he says it.
Not fear.
*Recognition.*
Kierran doesn't notice.
"We don't have a choice."
Lucas smiles — faint.
"Yeah.
We do."
But he says no more.
Tom then glances at Lucas and asks:
" Young man ... Your name is Lucas right
... Tell me have you awakened yet?"
Lucas simply smiles and nods
"Want me to show you my stats ?"
Arthur listens but he knows something is off ... He just can't put his finger on it
(Arthur's inner mind )
" Is that really Lucas ?"
"Why is he so calm?"
"Why isn't he concerned about my mom...about Layla ?"
Suddenly a feminine voice speaks
**"You seek answers,"** it whispers. **"But some truths burn the one who finds them."**
Arthur freezes.
**"Choose wisely, Smile of Heaven.
For the path you walk…
leads not to her —
but to what you *became* to save her."**
Silence returns.
No one else heard it.
And the worst part?
He *knows* that voice.
But can't remember where from...
Arthur grips his head — *Who was that?*
The voice… familiar. Warm. *Motherly?*
No — deeper. Younger. Like wind through a rose garden.
He digs — memory by memory — but every time he almost grasps it…
the thought *slips*, like water through fingers.
Then —
A flicker in the rain-streaked window.
His reflection…
*smiles* —
but *he* isn't smiling.
And in the glass, the words form — not spoken, but *written* in condensation:
**"You're not losing your mind, Arthur."**
**You're seeing the older *Me *.**
Then — the reflection *winks*.
And Arthur realizes —
*It's not his reflection at all.*