The morning mist clung to the forest like a living veil.
Kael stood still, half-listening to the world breathe. Leaves rustled in a language he didn't yet know. The strange mark on his hand pulsed again, warm against the cold air. It was like a second heartbeat—guiding him, pulling him.
Behind him, Sylen remained quiet, sharpening his curved blade with a stone that glowed faintly red. Lira slept inside the leaf-hut, breathing peacefully, still unaware of the ancient storm stirring around her brother.
"Where are we going?" Kael asked at last.
Sylen didn't look up. "To a place forgotten by time. A vault left behind by your kind."
"My kind?"
"The Firstborn. Or at least what's left of their legacy."
Kael frowned. "But I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." Sylen met his eyes. "The blood doesn't lie. The seal on your hand wouldn't have awakened otherwise."
Kael stared at the spiral mark again, remembering the moment it appeared… how the fire had bent around him. How the soldier's blade had shattered before it even touched his skin.
That wasn't luck.
That was something else.
---
The journey took them deeper into the northern wilds. Past rotting bridges, half-sunken temples, and trees taller than watchtowers. Sylen called it the Whispering Fringe, a cursed place where magic once ruled freely.
It wasn't empty.
Kael saw faces in the fog. Shadow-things with eyes like coals. They didn't attack. They watched. Waited. As if judging something.
Sylen ignored them. Kael tried to.
By the time the sun reached its peak, they stood before an ancient cliff overgrown with vines and thick moss. A crescent-shaped arch of stone stood at its base, half-buried in the earth, glowing faintly beneath layers of dust.
"Is this it?" Kael asked.
Sylen nodded and stepped forward. "The Vault of Echoes."
Kael followed cautiously. The mark on his hand flared the moment they passed under the arch. The vines recoiled as if burned. The stone trembled.
Then the door opened.
A hiss of stale air burst from the hidden entrance. Inside, darkness swirled like mist. Strange lights flickered deep within, casting runes across the walls.
"This place was sealed thousands of years ago," Sylen murmured. "Only a descendant can open it. Looks like you pass."
Kael felt his skin crawl. Something was calling to him inside.
---
The Vault's halls were narrow and smooth, carved from obsidian and veins of silver. It didn't feel man-made. It felt grown—like the mountain itself had given birth to this place.
Echoes danced across the walls. Not just sounds—memories. Whispers in dead tongues. Visions of war, betrayal, fire raining from the skies.
Kael saw flickers in the corners of his eyes. Men in armor made of light. Beasts the size of castles. A figure standing alone at the heart of a battlefield, marked with the same spiral on his chest.
"Who was he?" Kael asked, watching the phantom fade.
"Your ancestor," Sylen said. "One of the last freeborn Firstbloods."
The deeper they walked, the louder the whispers became—until Kael stumbled to his knees, clutching his head.
"Blood of ruin… vessel of memory… awaken…"
Kael screamed as light flooded his vision. Images tore through his mind: a shattered throne, a silver flame, a symbol etched into the stars themselves.
Then it all went quiet.
---
When Kael opened his eyes, he was no longer in the corridor. He stood in a circular chamber bathed in blue light. In its center was a pedestal, and on it… a sword.
It wasn't made of metal. Its blade shimmered like crystal, veins of starlight running through its length. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, worn but solid.
The air around it thrummed.
Kael stepped forward, drawn by instinct. When his fingers touched the hilt, the Vault trembled.
The sword didn't feel cold. It felt alive.
His mark pulsed once—and the sword responded, releasing a wave of warmth into his veins.
Suddenly, Kael understood.
It wasn't just a weapon. It was a Key.
A memory-keeper.
A legacy blade.
And it had chosen him.
---
Outside the chamber, Sylen waited, arms crossed.
"You heard them, didn't you?" he said when Kael returned, sword in hand.
Kael nodded. "What were they?"
"Echoes. The Firstborn couldn't preserve their bodies… so they preserved their truths." Sylen studied him. "And now those truths live in you."
Kael's voice was hoarse. "Why me?"
"Because fate doesn't care if you're ready," Sylen replied. "Only if you're necessary."
He turned to walk. "Come. We need to leave. The Vault's power just lit up the skies like a beacon. The Order will come."
Kael followed, but paused at the entrance to look back.
The Vault door began closing, sealing the past once more.
But part of it now lived in him.
---
They didn't get far.
As they reached the riverbed, they heard it—a screech through the trees, unnatural and shrill.
Then silence.
Sylen's eyes narrowed. "They found us."
Kael tightened his grip on the sword.
From the mist came shadows. Hooded figures in black armor stepped from the trees, their faces masked by bone-white plates etched with blood runes. Three of them. Hunters of the Order.
"You were right, traitor," the lead one hissed, his voice echoing with magic. "He's awakened. Give him to us, and we may let your little sister live."
Kael stepped in front of Sylen. "You're not taking anyone."
The lead hunter chuckled. "Brave. But untrained."
Then they attacked.
---
The fight was chaos. The air crackled with magic. One hunter hurled a black spear of flame. Kael dodged on instinct—no, not instinct. Memory. His body moved in ways it never had before.
He parried a blow, and the legacy blade sang—a note of pure force rippling out, sending one attacker flying.
Sylen moved like water, slicing through another with a blade made of light.
But the third hunter was fast.
He reached the shelter. Reached for Lira.
"No!" Kael roared, flinging his sword like a spear.
The blade struck the hunter in the chest—shattering his armor, pinning him to the earth.
Kael ran to his sister, shielding her. She whimpered, but she was unharmed.
Sylen finished the last hunter, breathing hard.
The forest was quiet again.
But Kael wasn't the same boy anymore.
---
Later, as they buried the bodies, Kael asked, "They called you traitor. Why?"
Sylen looked at him, face unreadable. "Because I once served them. Before I learned what they really were."
"And what are they?"
"Slayers of the old world. Enemies of truth."
He looked toward the sky, where a strange storm gathered on the horizon.
"They will come. In greater numbers. With darker things."
Kael sat beside Lira, who clung to his cloak silently.
"I'll protect her," he said quietly. "No matter what."
Sylen nodded. "Then we train. You'll need more than memories to survive what's coming."
Kael looked at the legacy blade resting beside him.
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was becoming something else.
Something dangerous.
---