The First Sanctum no longer trembled.
Where there had once been chaos—light ripping through stone and time itself—now there was silence. Heavy. Anticipating.
Celestine stood at the center, her silhouette pulsing faintly with the Core's golden energy.
Elias kept his distance, arms crossed, gaze flicking between her and the darkened halls beyond. "You're glowing again," he muttered. "That a good sign or a terrifying one?"
Celestine didn't respond. She couldn't. The energy that had bound itself to her hadn't stopped moving since the bond began. It whispered in languages she didn't know, unlocking doors within her mind that hadn't existed moments before.
She could see the pathways of the Sanctum. Feel its heartbeat.
And hear them.
The Architects. Or… what remained of them.
Alistair stepped closer, voice low. "You're different."
She met his eyes. "I know."
"Still you?"
Celestine hesitated. Then nodded. "Yes. But I'm more now."
Alistair's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
From behind them, Veyrion approached, his cloak tattered from the collapse. "The Core is silent now—but not inert. What you've done… it should've been impossible."
"I didn't do it alone," Celestine said quietly.
Veyrion studied her. "No. But you carry it now. The bond will change you."
Elias scoffed. "She just lit up a buried ancient relic and kept it from swallowing us whole. I'd say she's earned a little change."
Celestine turned toward the inner sanctum. A corridor of cracked marble stretched ahead, lined with statues and collapsed braziers. But her steps were drawn to the far end—a sealed archway marked with a sigil she now understood: the Vault of Echoes.
"They stored memories here," she murmured. "Echoes of their fall. Their last warnings."
Alistair frowned. "You think they saw Malrik coming?"
"No," Veyrion said grimly. "But they knew someone like him would. Someone who would twist legacy into a weapon."
Celestine approached the arch. The Core inside her reacted, casting thin strands of light that danced across the surface—until the seal unlocked with a hiss.
Beyond the door was a chamber filled with suspended crystal spires. In each, flickered a scene—silent, fragmented images from a lost age.
An Architect crying out as the stars fell.
A betrayal within the Sanctum.
A throne shattered by blood and fire.
Celestine stepped among them, transfixed. "They wanted us to remember," she whispered. "So we wouldn't repeat it."
Suddenly, a spire pulsed—and her Core surged in reply.
A new vision formed.
Not a memory. A warning.
Malrik. Standing at the threshold of the Sanctum. Cloaked in voidlight, his eyes alight with power that was not his.
And behind him—something darker. Older.
A shadow that moved like smoke through glass.
Celestine's heart pounded. "He's coming."
Alistair drew his blade. "Then let's meet him properly."