Silence fell once more.

  The air still crackled faintly with the residual energy of the echo, but the oppressive weight that had loomed over the chamber lifted—slightly. The doors no longer groaned, no longer bled mist. They waited.

  Watching.

  Breathing.

  Matrim exhaled slowly, his legs unsteady beneath him. He staggered backward from the gate, his palms clammy, head pounding as if the echo’s voice still echoed in the chambers of his mind.

  Narianna lowered her blade only after several long seconds, her knuckles white from the grip. She kept her body between Matrim and the door as she slowly backed away, scanning every corner of the ancient hall for any remaining sign of movement.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, voice low but tight with tension.

  “No,” Matrim said honestly. “But I’m still standing.”

  He wiped his brow with the back of his arm. His skin was pale, clammy. The encounter hadn’t just shaken him—it had changed something inside. The pull from the ley lines hadn’t faded. It had become sharper, more focused. As if the gate had peeled away a layer of something hidden.

  Narianna glanced at the sealed fissure behind them. The route they’d entered from was partially collapsed now, but some paths through the debris remained. Even so, it would be a difficult climb back up through the tangled ruins and fractured leyline currents.

  She turned her gaze back toward him. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  Matrim didn’t move at first. His eyes were locked on the massive door, its carvings still glowing faintly from the contact. “It knew me,” he said. “That thing... whatever it was. It knew me.”

  Narianna stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You heard it. If the gate opens without a guide—without control—it could destroy everything. And if it thinks you’re the key...”

  “Then the Court will try to use me,” he finished grimly. “Or worse. They’ll wait for me to come back.”

  Narianna nodded once. “Then we don’t let that happen.”

  She reached out and gripped his arm. It was the first time she’d touched him without tension, without suspicion. There was steadiness in her grasp, the kind that came from someone used to standing in fire and refusing to burn.

  “Come on,” she said. “We regroup. We bring this to Calthira.”

  Matrim gave one last glance at the gate, now silent but humming faintly like a beast dozing behind stone.

  Then he turned and followed her.

  The way back was slow, exhausting. The deeper roots had shifted in their absence, and every few meters required them to climb over fallen stone or squeeze between walls warped by creeping veins of corrupted magic. The air grew warmer the farther they moved from the gate, but the leyline tremors continued, subtle but ever-present.

  Halfway up, Matrim paused, resting his hand against a chunk of cracked stone. Narianna stopped beside him, watching him closely.

  “What the echo said... about the Vigil,” he said. “You understood it.”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  Then: “There are parts of the Guardian order even I wasn’t taught until years into service. Oaths that predate the current Codes. The Vigil of the Veil is one of them. A promise made when the gate was sealed.”

  “And the promise was to guard it?” he asked.

  She nodded slowly. “Not to guard it. To make sure it never woke up again.”

  Matrim’s voice was quieter now. “So why didn’t you stop me?”

  Narianna looked at him. Not hard this time. Not cold. But with something closer to reluctant understanding.

  “Because I don’t think this time... we’re supposed to.”

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  They continued upward in silence after that.

  By the time they emerged back into the ruined leyline chamber above the fissure, dawn was beginning to bleed through the root-lined cracks far above. The corrupted energy that had poisoned the nexus earlier had faded—but not vanished. The roots here twitched faintly, as if recovering from exhaustion.

  The Court was gone.

  No agents remained. No trace of battle. Only the damage, and the quiet.

  “They got what they came for,” Narianna said bitterly.

  “No,” Matrim replied. “They started what they came for.”

  The chamber felt abandoned now. Like the prelude to a storm. The silence was no longer peaceful—it was anticipatory.

  Matrim looked toward the way out. “Come on. We need to warn the others.”

  Narianna turned one last time toward the crack in the earth they’d left behind.

  The gate still waited.

  And its memory had begun to stir.

  The upper halls of the Bastion were humming with restrained panic.

  Lanterns flickered with unstable light as the leylines above ground surged and sputtered like frayed nerves. Guardians moved briskly through the corridors, armor half-fastened, commands whispered under breath. None of them shouted. That wasn’t the way of Silvermoon’s elite.

  But the fear was there—in the tension of shoulders, in the way eyes darted to the ceiling as if something monstrous might break through.

  Matrim and Narianna stepped into the Bastion through a side entry rarely used, their cloaks dusty, armor dirt-smeared and scorched. No one stopped them. Few even registered them—too consumed with holding their positions amid a crisis they didn’t yet understand.

  Narianna moved like a shadow, back straight, jaw set, crimson eyes focused forward. Matrim followed, body aching from the descent and return, but mind still spinning with what they’d seen—and what they hadn’t.

  The echo’s words clung to him like cold mist.

  Your blood remembers.

  He hadn’t asked what that meant.

  He was afraid of the answer.

  They reached the high command wing just as a pair of guards stepped back from a sealed door. The twin silver crests etched on the door shimmered once, then parted with a soft hiss.

  Inside, High Lady Calthira stood at the far end of the chamber, still clad in her ceremonial armor from the night before. Her glaive leaned against the wall beside her, untouched, but ready. Serellia stood at her side, hair tied back, robes exchanged for a deep-blue mantle adorned with subtle warding runes.

  Calthira turned as they entered, her gaze sharpening instantly. “You’re late.”

  Narianna bowed her head respectfully. “We were delayed.”

  Matrim gave a tired grin. “Something was waking up. We stayed to say hello.”

  Calthira didn’t return the smile. She moved forward, crossing the room in smooth, purposeful steps, stopping only a foot away from them. Her eyes scanned them both—disheveled, clearly affected by what they’d encountered—but intact.

  “You found the gate,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  Matrim nodded slowly. “And something inside it found us.”

  Serellia moved forward quietly, her eyes soft with concern. “You felt the echo?”

  Narianna blinked. “You knew it would speak?”

  “I remembered,” Serellia replied, “what it said the last time someone stepped too close.”

  Calthira motioned them toward the central table. A map of the city lay spread out across it, glowing sigils denoting recent disruptions—fractures in the leyline web, all pointing toward the nexus and what lay beneath.

  “We’ve activated the Deepwatch,” Calthira said. “Old wards, forbidden by the council. They’ll slow whatever’s coming, but not stop it.”

  Narianna leaned over the map. “The Court’s not trying to corrupt the city anymore.”

  “They’re trying to open something,” Matrim said. “The nexus was just the keyhole. The gate is the lock.”

  Calthira’s voice was grim. “And you... you are what turns it.”

  The room fell into a heavy silence.

  “I didn’t ask for that,” Matrim said quietly.

  “No,” Serellia replied, voice kind. “But it asked for you.”

  Calthira straightened. “What did it show you?”

  Matrim hesitated, then met her eyes. “Silvermoon in ruin. Spires falling. Sky cracked open like glass. It told me... if the gate is opened without a guide, everything burns.”

  “And you believe it?” Calthira asked.

  He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

  Calthira exhaled slowly, then looked to Narianna. “And you?”

  Narianna spoke with certainty. “I believe he’s telling the truth.”

  “And more than that?” Calthira pressed.

  Narianna paused. “I believe... he was meant to find it.”

  Calthira’s eyes narrowed, considering.

  “Then we have no time to waste,” she said. “The Court is moving underground. We’ve lost their trail—for now. But they’ll try again, and the next breach might not come with a warning.”

  Matrim stepped forward. “If I am connected to that thing—”

  “You are,” Serellia interrupted gently.

  “—Then I need to know what’s on the other side,” he finished.

  Calthira’s eyes flicked between them. “We don’t have that knowledge. The records are gone. Deliberately erased.”

  Narianna’s gaze was steady. “But someone remembers.”

  Calthira’s jaw clenched.

  Serellia’s voice was soft again. “The guardians of the Deepwatch. The survivors from the first attempt.”

  Calthira nodded once, reluctant. “They were scattered after the Severance War. Hidden, to prevent this very thing from happening again.”

  Matrim stepped closer to the table. “Then we find them.”

  “You won’t have long,” Calthira said. “The leylines are reacting faster now. The next surge could tear open the gate fully.”

  Narianna’s hand rested on the hilt of her sword. “Then we move before it does.”

  Calthira reached for a sealed scroll on the table and handed it to Narianna. “This will open the sealed archives. Everything we were forbidden to know is buried there.”

  She looked at Matrim, and for the first time, there was no calculation in her expression—only warning.

  “Whatever you are,” she said, “you’ve been called for a reason. But you must choose whether to answer.”

  Matrim nodded, the weight of the echo still heavy on his chest. “I’ll find the truth.”

  Calthira gave a final nod. “Then go. Before the gate calls again.”