The Vault of Echoes dimmed, the final vision seared into their minds like fire against frost.
Celestine stepped back from the crystal spire, her breath catching. She could still feel the weight of the vision pressing against her ribs—Malrik cloaked in stolen power, and that presence behind him. Whatever it was, it didn't belong in any realm she knew.
Elias was the first to speak. "That thing behind him... That wasn't human. Or Architect."
"It wasn't even alive," Alistair said, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "It was something else entirely."
Veyrion nodded slowly. "The Forgotten Ones. Whispers of them exist in the oldest texts. Even the Architects feared them. They were sealed in the Unseen Depths beyond the edges of the sanctums."
"And Malrik found them," Celestine whispered. "Or they found him."
A hum began to resonate from deeper within the sanctum, soft at first, like a song half-remembered. Celestine turned toward it instinctively, her Core answering the call. The floor beneath them shifted—smooth stone unfurling into a staircase, descending into the heart of the First Sanctum.
"We follow that?" Elias asked, incredulous. "Is there a reason we always go toward the ominous noises?"
Celestine gave him a faint smile. "Because the answers never come to us willingly."
The descent was long and silent, the air growing colder with every step. The light from Celestine's Core cast flickering shadows against the curved walls, revealing more sigils—these ones older, wilder, not bound by structure or symmetry.
At the bottom stood a door, its surface like obsidian mist swirling within iron boundaries.
A single symbol glowed at its center.
Celestine stepped forward and placed her hand over it. The moment she touched it, her vision shifted.
She stood in a different time.
A storm raged above a burning city. Architects screamed, running from a shadow that slithered through the skies. At the heart of the chaos stood a lone figure—armor cracked, one eye missing, but power radiating from every breath.
The Veiled Warden.
"I see you, heir of the Core," the Warden said, voice echoing from the past. "You seek to undo what has been set. But power alone will not stop what's coming."
Celestine opened her mouth to speak, but her words were swallowed by the storm.
The Warden raised a hand. "The veil between realms is weakening. Malrik is not the end. He is the door."
The vision shattered.
Celestine gasped, stumbling back into the present. The door before them was open.
Beyond it stood a vast chamber lined with arcane mirrors—each one flickering with scenes from possible futures.
In the center stood a pedestal, and atop it, a crystalline shard—radiant, unstable, thrumming with layered energy.
"The Fragment of the Veil," Veyrion whispered, awe-struck. "One of the last anchors between the realms."
Celestine reached for it—and the moment her fingers touched the surface, the mirrors around them began to shimmer.
Every future… every choice… every cost.
And in every one—Malrik stood ahead.
Waiting.