The wind howled across the Hollow Expanse as Yeo stood at the threshold of the ruined temple. The warmth of Lirael's hidden sanctum had faded behind him. In its place: tension—cold, biting, ancient.
Somewhere beyond the ashen ridges, something was watching him.
He didn't need to ask who it was. Lirael had warned him: the gods had begun to remember, and their first messenger had arrived.
Yeo descended into the gray plains, every step stirring the dust of forgotten wars. The runes on his arm vibrated faintly, like a compass disturbed by a magnetic storm. The First Fragment pulsed beneath his tunic, hot against his chest.
And then—silence.
No wind. No sound.
Only a voice.
"Reclaimer."
Yeo turned.
A figure stood a dozen paces away. No footsteps had marked its arrival. Its cloak was woven from something darker than shadow—something that drank light. Its face was veiled, but its eyes—twin voids rimmed in gold—pierced through him.
"I know what you are," Yeo said, summoning the energy in his palm. "And I'm not afraid."
"No," the figure replied. "You are. But you carry it well."
It raised one hand. The ground beneath them fractured—cracks spidering across the earth in a perfect circle. In the distance, storms began to gather unnaturally fast.
"I am the Remnant of Silence," the figure said. "Voice of the gods. And you, Yeo of the Broken Line, carry what should not be awakened."
Yeo took a stance. "Then come take it."
The Remnant moved. Not with speed—but with absence. One moment it was still; the next, it was in front of him, blade in hand—a weapon of black glass etched with divine runes.
Yeo dodged. Barely.
The blade kissed the wind and sliced a boulder in two.
Yeo summoned the rune energy, forming his twin crescent sigils. He launched a counterstrike—raw force wrapped in spirals of flame. The Remnant raised its palm. The energy shattered like glass against an invisible wall.
"You are not ready," the Remnant said. "But still, you move toward awakening. That makes you dangerous."
The next blow sent Yeo flying. He landed hard, coughing blood, bones trembling.
But something stirred inside him.
Not rage. Not fear.
Memory.
The Fragment on his chest pulsed, and in a flash—he saw himself, a version from another life, wielding a staff that commanded light, defying gods. And that self merged into the now.
Yeo's eyes glowed silver.
He raised his hand—and for the first time, he didn't use the rune.
He became it.
A surge of ancient power erupted from him, clashing with the Remnant's dark energy in a burst that split the sky. The impact threw them both back.
The Remnant landed silently. For a moment, it stood still.
Then, it laughed.
"You are changing," it said. "Faster than we expected. That is... concerning."
It vanished, swallowed by the wind.
Yeo fell to one knee, panting. His vision blurred. Blood dripped from his fingers, but he was alive.
More than that—he had remembered power.
Behind him, the clouds cleared. And from the east, the path to the Shifting Vale revealed itself.
The gods had made their move.
And now, so would he.