The relic path was too straight.
It cut through the lower chambers of Vareth like a blade—clean, angular, lit by soft lines of crimson glyphs that pulsed in time with Kael's steps.
He slowed.
"This isn't just a path," he said. "It's a design."
Elira nodded slowly. "Relic maps respond to intent. The Echoheart might be reshaping it as we move."
"So we're walking its will," Tovan muttered. "Not ours."
No one answered.
The passage narrowed, becoming more like a vein than a corridor. The walls were fused metal and obsidian, black veins of relic crystal running through them.
Kael's pulse matched the humming around them.
He heard whispers again—nothing he could understand. Just pressure and tone, like memory scraping against his skull.
Tovan cursed behind him. "My gear's dead. Compass spun out. Light's flickering."
"That's relic pressure," Elira said. "Don't trust your eyes in here."
The path ended at a circular antechamber.
Part excavation. Part shrine.
Stone blocks carved with fragmented runes encircled a central pedestal, cracked and blackened. At its heart, a pillar of red light pulsed like a living wound.
Kael stepped closer—and the Echoheart burned against his chest.
Hard.
He gasped, stumbling. "It's... reacting."
Elira reached for him. "Kael—what's it doing?"
The relic pulled from his grasp—not physically, but energetically. A burst of pressure rushed through the chamber.
Then light.
The red pillar flared—and the room vanished.
A memory.
Six figures. Cloaked in battle-scarred relic armor. They stood in a circle, arms raised, relics glowing. In the center: a seething, formless mass of shifting shadow and screaming runes.
One of the figures held the Echoheart.
Kael froze.
The figure looked like him.
"Seal it. Even if we fall, the cycle must hold."
A blast of light surged—and the memory shattered.
Kael dropped to one knee, gasping. Elira knelt beside him.
Tovan had his weapon drawn. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know," Kael said, voice hoarse. "But that was the same relic. And that man... he had my face."
Elira stared at the red-lit pillar. "That wasn't a reflection. It was an imprint. Someone in the past—or the future."
Kael looked up.
"It wasn't just someone like me," he said, staring at the light. "It felt like it was… remembering me."
The altar was trembling.
A fissure cracked through its base. From deep below, a sound rumbled—low at first, then building.
Not mechanical.
Not magical.
Hungry.
Tovan raised his voice. "We've triggered something. Get ready!"
The floor split—and from beneath, heat surged upward, heavy with the stench of iron and ash. The red light pulsed like a heartbeat—
—and something began to rise.