They emerged in silence.
No sky welcomed them—only a ceiling of pale fire, arcing endlessly above a wasteland of bone-white sand. The air shimmered with unspoken language, and their bodies resisted form, shifting slightly with each breath, like names remembered too late.
Kael coughed and clutched his chest. His armor was flickering, disassembling itself into its truest form—ashes that had once been loyalty.
Lyra stumbled forward, her violet fire sputtering. "This place… it doesn't just strip memory. It tests identity."
The girl cried out as her hands became translucent, then whole, then young again. "Who… am I?"
Orion held the Book of Seedling Truths tight, anchoring himself with the last thing he knew. He could feel it burning inside his mind—this realm pulled not just at memory, but at the soul's root.
"Names," he said aloud. "We need to remember our names."
A whisper answered—not from any direction, but from within.
"Speak the name you fear most."
Kael dropped to one knee, blade shivering in his grip. "I can't…"
Lyra stepped to him. "You're Kael Veyra. You are not the weapon they made you. You are who you chose to be. Say it."
Kael gritted his teeth—and whispered, "Kael Veyra."
The sands pulsed beneath them.
One flame rekindled.
Then Lyra.
She turned to Orion, eyes wide with tears. "You saw me fall. You saw me burn. But I'm still here."
"You are Lyra Aetherune," Orion said. "You are not what the stars stole. You're what we saved."
She smiled—and her flame returned in full.
Two flames ignited.
The girl knelt in the sand, sobbing. "I don't remember what I was before."
"You don't need to," Orion said gently. "Because we'll make you something new."
He turned inward now.
Toward himself.
"Speak the name you fear most."
He opened his mouth.
And spoke a name not in words—but in feeling, in choice, in flame.
Orion. Sovereign of the Seed. Heir to the Fractured Light.
The realm answered.
Flames rose—seven in all, circling them.
Each flame was a name forgotten, now remembered.
The land reshaped.
A pathway of obsidian bloomed ahead, leading to a vast citadel carved from the first hour of time.
At its gates stood a woman clad in dusk-colored glass.
"You have passed through the Wane of Names," she said, voice like wind across cracked parchment. "And now… the Sovereigns of Possibility may enter the Vault of Origins."
Behind them, the sands howled.
Ahead of them, truth waited.