Her name was Raya.
And thirteen years ago, she watched Lengaza vanish into light.
She was only eight then, trembling beneath the rubble of the Citadel, holding onto a memory the world tried to burn.
"He told me he'd come back."
"And he will," her mentor had said. "When the world needs him most."
But the world forgot him.
Except her.
Now older, Raya stood alone in the core of the old observatory, once a powerful information vault—now her own personal ghost town.
Walls etched with dates, coordinates, scribbled notes in a hundred languages. She had tracked energy patterns, intercepted encrypted comms, listened to whispers on forbidden frequencies.
Lengaza wasn't just a name to her.
He was the key.
And they were supposed to destroy him.
"You never woke up like you were supposed to," she said softly, touching the screen again. "I thought… maybe they won."
But the signal was clear.
He was awake now.
She stepped out into the cold night. Her cloak wrapped tighter around her, wind hissing past metal spires.
Far below, the city flickered with life—but none of it knew what was coming.
She pulled out the ring on her necklace. Burned into its surface: the Crest of the Ancients. Same one Lengaza bore on his hand. Same one carved into the stone obelisk.
"If he remembers me…"
"If he remembers what they did…"
She didn't finish.
Because behind her, a shadow moved.
"You've activated the Beacon," said a voice.
She spun. Blaster drawn.
"You always were too curious, Raya," the figure said, stepping out from the dark. His face—half-machine, half-scar. "He's not yours to awaken."
"He was never yours to erase."
Boom.
She fired.
But he was already gone.
Back in the forest, Lengaza collapsed to one knee, gasping. His vision blurred.
"What is it?" Nyra cried.
"Someone just fired a pulse gun," he whispered, eyes wide. "In Sector Nine."
Nyra stared.
"That's across the continent. How could you know that?"
Lengaza's hand trembled.
"Because I… felt it."
The ties were waking up.
And the storm was returning.