It began with silence.
Not the sacred kind that follows divine visitation, but the heavy hush of something hiding—in breath, in thought, in flesh.
The disciple's name had once been Linya.
Young, devoted, swift to smile and first to volunteer for menial tasks. She had been among the first to feel the dream-root stirrings. Unlike the others, she had not cried or forgotten herself.
She had remembered.
And that made her dangerous.
Kaelira first noticed it during morning prayer.
Linya's voice wove between chants not in harmony, but in counterpoint. Her eyes remained closed, but her tone deepened, resonating with frequencies that hadn't existed seconds before.
When the chant ended, the other disciples bowed.
Linya did not.
Instead, she opened her eyes—and for the briefest moment, Kaelira saw them flicker sideways.
As if the light behind them had come from another direction entirely.
She reported it to Talia immediately.
Talia listened, brows tight with thought. "She dreams?"
"Every night," Kaelira replied. "And wakes... more convinced she never left."
Talia chose to speak with Linya directly.
In the shrine of the reflecting pool, under the mirrored sky, she waited as Linya approached.
Gone was the youthful smile.
Linya walked like someone who had seen too much—or remembered something older than life.
"My Lady," Linya said, voice smooth as glass. "You wanted truth?"
Talia tilted her head. "I want you."
A blink. "Do you still believe that's all I am?"
Talia's aura stirred. "Explain."
Linya smiled.
And from behind her eyes, something else did.
It wasn't possession.
It was overlay.
A truth folding over a person.
Linya began to speak in two voices.
One—the familiar.
The other—not. It came layered in whispers, like several versions of her were speaking from behind thin curtains.
"She was the Gate-Bearer."
"Her task was never to forget. But forgetting was mercy."
"The echo of what was sealed rides her now."
Talia stood still, wings half-drawn.
The words were not threats.
They were history.
Linya's hands moved in patterns—mudras not taught by any sect, older than written Qi.
And then, the world blinked.
Lucien came running.
The sanctum twisted as he entered, halls looping briefly into forgotten versions of themselves—banners that no longer existed, windows that once opened to ruin.
He found them at the pool, the water now reflecting stars that did not belong to this realm.
Talia turned to him.
"She's becoming it."
Lucien's hand dropped to his side.
"What is 'it'?"
Talia answered, voice hoarse. "The Unbound Echo. A being once silenced by all pantheons. Eluth has been planting it back through memory."
Linya stood unmoved.
She raised a hand—and Kaelira fell to her knees behind them, eyes rolled white, whispering forgotten languages.
Eluth appeared without being summoned.
He walked through the pool's mirrored surface as if it were paper.
"I never lied," he said softly. "I tend memories. And some memories remember themselves."
Lucien lunged—blade drawn, eyes blazing.
But Eluth raised a single finger.
And Lucien froze.
Not physically.
But in identity.
He forgot how to move.
Forgot what he was supposed to be.
Eluth turned to Talia.
"This was always going to happen. The child's birth shook the seal. Linya was a crack. I merely… watered it."
Talia stepped between Eluth and Linya.
"You fed it."
Eluth tilted his head.
"Would you rather no one remembered her? The Echo only woke because it was missed."
Behind Talia, Linya rose into the air.
Her body was shifting—not grotesquely, but subtly.
Every breath she took revised nearby matter.
Stone softened.
Ink bled backward.
Kaelira's robes rewrote themselves into older versions.
Time bowed around Linya's existence, adjusting itself to accommodate what she was becoming.
The Echo spoke through her lips.
"We remember the stars before they had heat."
"We remember the gods when they were still choices."
"We remember being cast out… and now we remember how to return."
Talia shouted, "No!" and extended her hand.
Wings unfurled, her divine power blazing into a shield of maternal law.
Linya—no, the Echo—met it.
Not with resistance.
With sympathy.
"You are beautiful, Saint-Mother."
"But you were born of a paradox."
"We were born of regret."
And that made them older.
Lucien's scream broke through.
He remembered himself.
Not all of him—but enough to act.
His blade found Eluth's shoulder—no wound, but shock. The god of memory flinched, and Linya wavered.
Talia seized the moment, slamming her hand into Linya's chest.
"Come back," she begged.
The Echo laughed.
"Come back to what?"
Talia whispered, "To choice."
And pressed.
The sanctum exploded with light.
Not destruction.
Decision.
When the glow faded, Linya lay on the stone, unconscious.
Her body flickered between forms—but held.
Eluth was gone.
Kaelira stirred, eyes wet but clear.
Lucien stood gasping, hand burnt, blade melted.
Talia fell to her knees.
And in the distance, from the child's chamber, came a soft coo.
It echoed across the halls like a bell—
Not of warning.
But of what comes next.
They had survived.
But something ancient now knew its face again.
And was looking for a way to return.