The vault did not open like a door.
It breathed, exhaling memory through flame.
Golden light coiled in slow arcs above the floor, not dancing—but searching. Vareth's Edicts had failed to erase the foundation, but they had severed the name. What remained of Sykaion was form without title, memory without label.
And still, the flame pulsed.
Zeraphine stood before it now, hands open, eyes wide. Her breath caught—not from fear, but recognition.
"I remember the way he looked at people. Like he saw more than they confessed. Like their sorrow made them valuable."
Arlyss, still bleeding from the riot skirmish outside, stepped forward with gritted teeth. "He told me once: if belief ever cost you your blade, swing anyway. I didn't understand. Now I do."
The girl Anchor kneeled beside the flame, head bowed.
"He can return. But someone has to give him their name. Names are not just identifiers in the vault. They are keys."
Zeraphine looked at Arlyss.
Arlyss looked at Zeraphine.
Neither spoke.
And then the flame shifted.
A figure emerged—not fully formed, flickering between memory-states. No face. No voice.
But presence.
A question hung in the vault: Who do you say I am?
Zeraphine whispered, "You are the one who chose mercy over control."
Arlyss said, "You are the man who made me want to survive again."
The flame surged.
But it wasn't enough.
The vault flickered—stalled.
"Not enough witness," the Anchor said. "We need more voices."
Outside, a child approached the shop. She carried a cracked token.
"He told me I was allowed to forget my father's last words. He said I didn't have to carry guilt to prove I cared."
A man in torn robes followed. "He gave me back the memory of my wife's laughter. I'd sold it. He bought it back with nothing."
A crowd formed.
One by one, voices rose.
"He never said no when we needed yes."
"He didn't ask for loyalty. He asked what we feared most."
"He told me I mattered before I believed it."
Each voice etched a glow into the air.
And then, the flame solidified.
The figure stepped forward, now full. Eyes gold, presence undeniable. But he did not speak.
Because in the moment he returned, something ancient inside the vault awoke.
A forgotten protocol.
> IDENTITY RESTORED: SYKAION-SEYROS
MEMORY ANCHOR: 1,004 WITNESSES
FLAME STATUS: SUSTAINED
> NEW ARTICLE:
Article XII: A name is not a brand, a power, or a key. A name is the memory others choose to carry when we are gone.
And finally, Sykaion opened his mouth.
Not to explain.
Not to teach.
But to ask:
"Are you still with me?"
A thousand voices answered.
"Yes."
And somewhere, in the darkness of what was once Vareth's cathedral, the blackened throne shattered.