They had found a ruined watchtower atop a barren hill. The stones lay scattered, half-buried in dirt and dead vines. It was empty, quiet—exactly what they needed.
Rye sat with her back against a broken wall. The wind cut cold across her face. Jor and Eris sharpened their weapons a few feet away. Maeron studied a tattered map by lantern light. Elian knelt before the fire, staring at the broken blue emerald.
Rye closed her eyes. Every muscle ached. Her mind felt hollow—like someone had scooped out pieces of her thoughts.
"Elian," she said softly. "Why do I feel… empty?"
He didn't look up. His voice was low. "The sword took something from you."
She opened her eyes. "What do you mean?"
He rose and stood beside her. "Every time you use it without true bond, it feeds on your soul. You lose fragments—memories, feelings, time you can't get back."
Her heart stuttered. "I—I didn't know."
He laid a hand on her shoulder. "I warned you it's dangerous."
She forced herself to stand. "We need water and food. And rest. I'm fine."
But she wasn't. That emptiness thrummed through her chest.
They set off at first light, climbing down the hill toward a small river. The grass was brittle underfoot. A lone heron lifted off in alarm. The world felt too calm.
Rye rode behind Elian on a stolen mount, her sword strapped across her back. She watched the riverbank for movement—any sign of the Veyruun who might still hunt them.
They reached the water and dismounted. While the others filled canteens, Rye knelt at the edge and splashed her face. The cold bit her skin awake.
She nearly dropped the canteen when she saw her reflection—hollow eyes, stained cheeks, hair tangled with dust.
"Rye!" a voice hissed.
She looked up. Three Veyruun scouts crept behind reeds on the opposite bank. Their eyes glowed silver in the dawn. One held a javelin tipped with bone.
Elian cursed. "Get back!"
The others drew weapons. Rye stood, heart pounding. She stepped forward, hands flexing on her sword's hilt. The blade felt like ice.
The largest scout snarled and threw the javelin. Rye dived aside. The shaft thudded into the soft earth where she had knelt.
She rolled and sprang to her feet. Then, instinct took over.
She drew the sword.
Instantly, red light spiked along the blade's edge, humming like a living thing. It burned hot in her hand, pulsing with every beat of her heart.
She raced forward. The first scout brought his arm up to block. Her blade cut through bone and sinew. He fell with a gurgled cry.
The other two backed away, claws slashing at the air. Rye pressed the attack, red light trailing each strike. Sparks flew. The second scout leapt at her, but she sidestepped, slashed—his shoulder gave way.
The final scout hissed and charged, faster than the others. Rye braced as he slammed into her. The sword bit deep into his chest. His howl shook her bones.
They lay still.
The red glow faded. The sword returned to dull steel.
Rye dropped to her knees, chest heaving. Her vision blurred. Blood welled at the corner of her mouth, but she tasted something else—salt, tears she didn't know she'd shed.
"Elian," she whispered. "I… did it."
He knelt beside her. "You did."
His voice sounded distant. His hand hovered over her arm.
Something clicked in her mind — a missing piece.
"Elian?" she said. "What… happened to me?"
He frowned. "You fought well. Too well, almost. The sword responded only to those with Veyruun blood. That's why it woke."
She closed her eyes again. Another empty ache bloomed inside her head.
"Elian… did I—" She stopped, panic tightening her throat. "Did I remember… something just now?"
He watched her face. "What did you see?"
She shook her head. "I… I don't know. I felt a face. A voice… a name. But it slipped away."
Elian's mouth went tight. "You've lost more than you think."
Rye opened her eyes. "What do you mean?"
He stood. "Whenever you use the sword, it takes. You lose pieces of yourself." He knelt again. "Memories. Emotions. One day you'll have nothing left."
She pressed her hand to her temple. "I can't lose everything."
"They're gone," he said softly. "Like smoke."
A sudden breeze rattled the reeds. Eris and Jor returned, wary.
"Are they dead?" Jor asked, eyeing the bodies.
Eris nodded. "But more will come."
Rye stood, trembling. She wrapped a hand around the sword's hilt. "I need to remember."
Maeron stepped forward. "We all do. But there's no easy way."
She looked at him. "I… I can't. There's something I can't recall—something important."
"What is it?" he asked.
She stared at the river. The water ran clear, but her mind felt muddy. "A brother," she said, voice small. "I… I'm sure I had a brother. But I can't remember him. I can't even see his face."
Silence fell.
Elian swallowed. "You… you did have a brother."
Rye's breath caught. "You know?"
He nodded. "Long ago. Before you were born, your father had a son. But… the sword judged you unworthy, and it erased that from your mind."
Her heart pounded. "It… it did that?"
"It protected itself," Maeron said. "It can't bear weakness in its wielder. So it cut away what it found unworthy."
Rye sank to her knees. "I lost him… because of the sword."
Eris placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then you need to prove your worth."
She looked at the blade. It lay silent across her arm. No glow. No warmth.
She closed her eyes and touched its flat. "I will," she whispered. "I have to."
Behind her, the others gathered close. The river flowed on, uncaring, as she held the weapon that took so much and reminded her of what she'd lost.
•••
•••
The fire crackled low. Shadows danced across the walls of the small cave they'd taken shelter in for the night. Outside, the wind howled like some dying creature, but inside, all was still.
Elian sat alone near the flames, turning the blue emerald over in his fingers. Its glow had faded since their last encounter with the Veyruun, but the weight of it never left him. Not just in his hand, but in his chest. In his soul.
Rye stirred behind him. She hadn't slept well, not since the fight, not since the memory of her brother slipped into her mind like a ghost she couldn't chase.
"Elian," she said, quietly. "You still awake?"
He didn't turn. "Haven't really slept in years."
Rye sat beside him. Her eyes were tired, but her voice held that stubborn edge she always carried. "You said the sword takes memories. That I had a brother. You knew that. How?"
Elian didn't speak at first. Then he let out a breath and stared at the flame.
"I wasn't always with you," he said. "I used to wear their colors… the Concord."
Rye blinked. "What?"
"Nytherion was home to me once," he continued, voice low. "Before I saw what they really were."
She leaned closer. "You were one of them?"
"I was just a boy," he said. "They took me in, trained me. Taught me things I shouldn't know. How to shape spells, control essence, speak their tongue. I thought I was chosen for something great."
Rye narrowed her eyes. "Then what changed?"
He stared at the emerald. "A man… trapped in a pod. Frozen, but still alive. Varyn. They called him the Incarnation. Said he was dangerous, unstable. But they weren't keeping him there to protect the world."
Rye waited.
"They were feeding on him. Using his essence to bind our world tighter to theirs. The rift we see now? That's just the surface. The real connection started from that chamber."
He closed his fist over the emerald.
"They made me part of it. I helped design the containment seal. I saw his eyes before they froze shut. And I felt it… the pain, the hate, the power. Something broke in me that day."
Rye's voice was a whisper. "You escaped."
"I ran. I took this," he lifted the gem slightly. "It was part of the core they used to channel him. A stabilizer, but also a prison key. I don't know what made me take it. Maybe guilt. Maybe fear."
Rye watched him closely. "Why does it work on the Veyruun?"
"Because they're part of the same system," he said. "The Concord bred them, controlled them. Some of them are older than you think. This gem is tuned to their kind."
Rye was quiet for a moment. Then, "Why do you look like it's still killing you?"
He didn't answer at first. Then, softly,
"Because part of me never left."
She frowned.
"I touched something during the ritual when the containment spell was failing. I tried to stop them. But the magic lashed out. Some part of my soul… it's still bound to the magical world. That's why the emerald listens to me. But also why they can find me. If they ever catch me, they'll pull me back in."
He looked at her finally. "That's why I run. That's why I help you. Because I need this to mean something."
Rye looked down at the fire. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would you have trusted me?"
She didn't answer. Not right away.
Rye stayed quiet for a while after Elian's confession. The fire snapped gently between them, but it did little to warm the air that had suddenly gone heavy with memory and regret.
Then she asked, her voice barely more than a breath, "When you were in Nytherion… did you ever see him? My brother?"
Elian didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched, and he stared deeper into the fire as though trying to see through time itself.
"There's a chamber," he said slowly, "deep beneath the core. Lined with stasis pods. I counted twenty-five once, maybe more. They keep the most… important captives there. Some are from Aeloria. Some from Kaelthar. Some, I think, aren't from either."
He shook his head. "But I don't know who they are. The pods are sealed with layered enchantments. Names aren't shown. Faces are blurred by the stasis field. I never saw a boy who matched your features, not exactly. But your brother… he could be in there. It's very possible."
Rye felt a cold ache twist in her stomach.
"So you're saying I've been running all this time, and my brother's been frozen under their feet?"
Elian nodded once. "Maybe. And if he's in there, they're not just keeping him for show. They only freeze people they consider useful. Or dangerous."
She looked down at her sword, resting near her feet. Its hilt pulsed faintly, quiet now after the last battle. A part of her had begun to understand. The sword hadn't taken her memory out of malice.
It had taken it because she wasn't ready.
"Then I need to get there," she said. "To that chamber."
Elian didn't argue.
He only said, "Then we'll need more than courage."
Elian looked back at the flame, and for a second, the light from the emerald flared faintly. Somewhere far below, in Nytherion's deep cold chambers, something stirred.