"The Heir of Dust does not fight. He unravels."— Fragmented page from the Void-Grimoire
The wind didn't stir.The air, usually vibrant with invisible threads of Veyra, felt void.And atop the shattered ruins of Nareth's observatory stood a being wrapped in silence.
No aura. No heat.Just a presence so still, even time hesitated to approach.
The Heir of Dust had arrived.
Lyra's grip on her broken rune-stone tightened.
Vayren stepped forward instinctively, body tensing. His Mark spun once and stilled, almost as if holding its breath.
"He's here for you," Vayren said quietly.
"I know." She didn't blink. "But we're not running."
"Didn't plan to."
The Heir of Dust raised his blade. It was not a sword in the traditional sense—it shimmered like broken glass, its edge laced with runes that crumbled as they appeared.
He moved without sound.
And then the world broke.
A wave of entropy surged outward from his blade—a dome of unraveling light. It didn't burn. It didn't freeze. It aged.
The ground cracked and crumbled. Grass turned to ash in an instant. Lyra raised her hand and cast her sigil.
"Runesurge: Burning Reflection!"
Fire burst forward, a barrier of radiant flame.
But it dimmed mid-air, losing its heat. Its age was stolen.
"His strikes decay everything," she muttered.
"He's not cutting us," Vayren said, Veilbrand in hand. "He's erasing what we are."
The Heir of Dust landed between them in an instant. No flash. No force. Just motion.
Vayren swung.
"Echo: Premonition Break."
Veilbrand gleamed as Vayren predicted the Dustblade's arc. His body moved through the gaps in time he hadn't yet lived. He parried—
And his coat sleeve disintegrated.
Not sliced. Not burned. Just gone.
His forearm began to fade, skin paling, veins flickering like forgotten ink.
"You can't block him," Lyra said. "His blade targets our presence—our place in the world."
"Then we fight like ghosts."
Vayren closed his right eye. The left—the one now gazing into the Fold—flared faintly.
"Echo: Memory Override. Fragment Three."
Veilbrand's glow shifted.
Suddenly, Vayren remembered a version of himself who had never lost control. Who had trained with a man he had never met. Who had learned techniques not in his history, but in another life.
He slashed the air.
"Mirror-Born Bind."
Chains made of reflective shards wrapped around the Heir's arm, just long enough for Lyra to act.
She channeled her fire—this time slower. Deeper.
Her rune-stone flared and cracked completely.
"Infernal Glyph: Ashbrand."
Flame burst forth, forming not a serpent, but a whip of coiling regret. Each lash inscribed with names she couldn't remember.
She struck.
And for the first time, the Heir of Dust recoiled.
The cloak fell.
Beneath it was not a man—but a husk. A vessel of ash and echo, shaped like a corpse burned too clean. Its face was blank. A hole where a name used to be.
Then its blade split in two.
Time shuddered.
And for a heartbeat, Vayren saw a vision.
Himself—dead, cold, forgotten.Lyra—silenced, buried in fire.Veilbrand—shattered, crumbling into gray dust.
He stepped forward.
"Echo: Absolute Unname—Concept Lock."
He didn't strike the Heir's body.
He struck the idea of inevitability—the Heir's invincibility—its role as an enforcer.
And the Dust trembled.
Not from pain.
From confusion.
The blade cracked.
The air collapsed inward like an inhale held too long.
The ruins shattered.
When the silence returned, there was no body.
Only swirling sand.
The Heir was gone.
Scattered.
Lyra collapsed first.
Vayren dropped beside her, coughing.
"He'll come back," she murmured.
"I know," he replied.
"But so will we."
She stared at the sky, blinking slowly.
"I think I saw something when I struck him."
"What?"
"A memory... I don't think it was mine."
Vayren met her gaze.
"I think he was one of us once."
Far across the continent, the sky above Sanctum Auris cracked in seven directions.
And somewhere in the forgotten realm between stars and prophecy,a girl with black wings opened her eyes.
"The Hollow Star still lives," she whispered."And the relics are waking."