"Every step forward unearths the echoes of those who never left."
---
The Obsidian Marsh was a graveyard pretending to be a swamp.
Black trees stretched like skeletal hands, leaves absent, roots veined with old mana. Every pool of water shimmered as if hiding secrets, and the air pulsed with a quiet hum—like a distant choir mourning forgotten gods.
Zayne adjusted the strap of his pack and stepped into the shallow bog. Beside him, Velka moved with silent precision, eyes scanning the fog for traps. Behind them, a newly hired guide—a masked man named Whisp—walked in eerie silence. He had offered his services for free, but Zayne knew better.
No one offered anything for free in a place like this.
---
"Tell me," Zayne asked as they trudged through knee-deep water, "why do they call it the 'Marsh That Hums'?"
Whisp answered without turning his head. His voice was hoarse, like wind scraping dry wood.
"Because the dead sing."
Velka scoffed. "Creepy metaphors don't work on us."
But even she looked unsettled when the humming grew louder.
It was faint. Tuneless. Almost like voices whispering a name not meant to be spoken.
Zayne.
He didn't flinch.
---
The deeper they walked, the more distorted time became.
At one point, Zayne blinked and saw a vision: himself as a child, running through the marsh, laughing, chasing something. His sister. Her giggles echoed—until they warped into screams.
He shook it off.
Velka grabbed his arm.
"You saw it too?"
Zayne nodded. "Illusions?"
"More like memory traps," Whisp muttered. "This place steals echoes of powerful thoughts and reflects them back. If your mind's weak, you stay stuck in someone else's nightmare."
Zayne glanced at him. "Sounds like you speak from experience."
Whisp said nothing.
---
By midday, they reached the threshold of a broken stone arch swallowed by vines. The runes carved into it were weathered, but Zayne's gaze locked onto one that matched a symbol in his mother's journal.
EA-13.
The Echo Archive.
Velka ran her fingers along the stone.
"No guards. No wards. Either it's abandoned… or it's waiting."
Zayne stepped through.
---
Inside, the temperature dropped. Magic lingered in the air like cold breath. Rows of crystalline pillars lined the walls, each humming in a different frequency. Memories. Trapped. Sealed. Ready to be played.
At the center was a pedestal holding a prism of black glass.
Zayne stepped closer.
His heart raced.
He recognized the markings.
This prism held one of his mother's memory recordings.
He placed both hands on it.
---
The room flashed.
Suddenly, he stood in a memory—not his, but hers.
Liora sat at a round table with three other mages. They wore masks of different colors—red, silver, and black. She was younger here. Harsher. Confident.
"…The child was born with entanglement. His fate isn't just his—it bleeds into the fabric of others."
The red-masked mage replied, "You're saying his presence distorts timelines?"
Liora nodded. "Yes. Even as an infant, he changed outcomes. People around him lived when they should've died. Others disappeared."
The silver mask leaned forward. "And you want to hide this?"
"He's my son," she snapped. "He's not a weapon."
The black mask stood. "Then you're a traitor."
The room darkened.
Liora screamed.
The memory collapsed.
---
Zayne staggered back into his body, gasping.
Velka steadied him.
"What did you see?"
He shook, fury building in his chest.
"They were experimenting with fate," he whispered. "And I was the result. A child born to bend possibility. My mother defected to protect me."
"And now they want her back," Velka said grimly. "To use you."
Zayne nodded.
Whisp finally spoke.
"Then you better not die in this place."
---
They explored deeper.
The Archive was broken into wings—each filled with more memory prisms, each telling a story. Zayne saw glimpses of his mother's escape from the Ouro Covenant. How she used illusion magic to mask their home. How she burned bridges. Betrayed old friends. Destroyed records.
She had been running her entire life.
All to give him a normal one.
But fate doesn't forget.
---
At the Archive's heart, they found something unexpected.
A living soul.
Bound in crystal. Eyes open. Breathing faintly.
A boy, maybe thirteen. His face looked eerily familiar.
Zayne stared.
Velka whispered, "He looks like you."
Zayne's blood ran cold.
"It's my brother."