The Shifting Vale was a place no map dared define.
Winds howled across fields that shimmered like water, and hills rose and fell in rhythm with an unseen pulse. Paths twisted when unlooked at, trees walked without roots, and voices from nowhere whispered in languages both ancient and unborn.
Yeo stood at its edge, exhausted yet resolute. The battle with the Remnant had left him bruised and bleeding, but it had also opened something inside him—a door, barely cracked, to a self that remembered.
Lirael's voice echoed in his memory: "The Vale protects what should not be found. It reshapes itself for every intruder. Only those with memory in their blood can pass."
Yeo took his first step in.
Instantly, the world shifted.
The ground beneath him melted into a mirror-like surface, and his reflection didn't mimic his movements. It stared back at him—smiling.
Then it spoke.
"You think you're him. But you're not whole."
Yeo reached out, but the reflection shattered into ravens made of black flame, scattering into the shifting wind.
He ran forward, through forests that screamed and skies that bled light. Each time he looked away, the landscape changed—trees became towers, rivers became staircases. Time bent.
At the center of it all stood a spire of crystal, half-buried in a valley that twisted like a spiral shell. That was where the Second Fragment waited. He could feel it.
But he wasn't alone.
A figure stood at the spire's base—tall, with silver hair and a mask of obsidian. Their presence pulled the light inward, like gravity. Yeo didn't recognize the figure, but something deeper did. A chill ran down his spine.
The masked figure spoke, voice calm and cruel. "You've begun to remember. How unfortunate. You were easier to control before."
Yeo summoned his energy, but the figure raised a hand—and the Vale itself responded.
Tendrils of reality unraveled. Yeo was thrown into a storm of fragmented scenes—a battlefield soaked in golden fire, a screaming child with wings of ash, a circle of gods arguing over fate. He fell through them like broken glass.
But at the center, one voice cut through:
"You left me."
Yeo crashed to the ground in front of the spire, eyes wide.
The masked figure approached. "You're not the only one who remembers now. And not all memories are kind."
But before the figure could strike, a blast of violet light erupted from the spire—protective energy, ancient and divine.
The masked one recoiled, sneering. "The Vale guards its own. For now."
In a blink, they vanished—swallowed by the twisting wind.
Yeo, breath ragged, reached out. The crystal spire hummed beneath his palm. His rune burned hot—and then, the Second Fragment flowed into him.
A surge of visions struck him: a golden city in the sky, a betrayal beneath its throne, a promise made to a child who would become a weapon.
He collapsed, overwhelmed.
But before darkness took him, he whispered:
"Two fragments… I'm starting to see."