A thin mist draped the valley like mourning cloth, quiet and lingering. Grey stood at the cliff's edge where the ruins of Aelorith—the city of memory—slept under centuries of dust and ivy. The air was thick with forgotten prayers and faded triumphs. Beside him, Chris exhaled slowly, eyes narrowed on the shadow-stained architecture below.
"This is where it began," Grey said, voice low. "Before Wale. Before the Mirrors."
Chris adjusted her gauntlets, her face lined with fatigue. "And now it's where it begins again?"
Grey nodded. "But not with us alone."
He reached into his satchel and retrieved a small shard of polished glass. Not just any mirror. This one had survived the first shattering—before Wale twisted its reflection. He raised it skyward, catching the faint morning sun, and whispered:
"Show them who they were."
The glass pulsed. Light flashed. And from the ground below, the ruins stirred.
Tombs cracked open—not with the undead, but with those who had been forgotten.
Not dead. Not alive.
Erased.
They emerged slowly, blinking into existence. Men and women of power, bearing ancient sigils. Warriors, scholars, even gods whispered out of time.
Chris tensed, hand on her hilt. "What did you do?"
"I reminded the world of its guardians," Grey said.
The first of them approached. A woman in emerald armor, skin like polished obsidian, eyes filled with stormlight. She knelt before Grey without hesitation.
"I remember you," she said. "The one who refused the mirror's lie."
Chris's breath caught.
Grey turned to her. "They were Wale's first victims. Not slain. Not banished. Simply forgotten. Erased from time because they refused to believe the lie he became."
More gathered. A hundred. Then hundreds more. Some bore wings, others bore brands. But they all knelt in silence.
And then one voice broke the stillness.
"Do you think they'll be enough?"
Grey turned to see him—Lucien.
But not the one they'd lost. A fragment. A memory. A preserved echo, sharp and self-aware.
Chris gasped. "Lucien…?"
The memory-smile was bittersweet. "Not quite. Just the part that Grey refused to forget."
Grey's eyes tightened. "Even shadows have purpose."
Lucien's echo folded his arms. "So you raise the forgotten to face the man who rules belief. And then what?"
"We teach the world how to remember again," Grey said.
Lucien looked unconvinced. "And if the world doesn't want to?"
"Then we do it anyway."
Far across the fractured continent, Wale stood before a different kind of gathering.
The Mirror Council, forged from fractured minds loyal to him, stood in his hall of reflections. Each wore a face that was not their own, speaking in words that twisted as they left their lips.
"They gather," one rasped. "The erased awaken."
"Your grip weakens," said another, voice hollow.
Wale remained still, gazing into the grand mirror at the heart of the chamber. It no longer showed Grey. It showed fire. Revolution.
"He's doing what I hoped he wouldn't," Wale murmured.
"And if he wins?" asked the third, a voice stolen from a dead king.
Wale smiled thinly. "Then I lose nothing. For I am the sum of what they believe. As long as someone fears the truth, I live."
He turned, his golden cloak gliding across the mirrored floor.
"But send the Heralds anyway. Let them test the strength of memory."
Night fell as Grey and the army of the Forgotten encamped outside Aelorith. Fires flickered against ancient walls. Chris sat sharpening her blade, glancing often at Grey as he meditated near the heartstone.
Lucien's echo sat beside her. "He's not sleeping."
"He hasn't in days," Chris said. "Not since the Nexus."
"He's burning too bright," Lucien said. "And you know how that ends."
Chris looked down. "I don't think he cares."
Lucien didn't answer.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
Drums sounded in the distance—warped, slow, otherworldly. From the mists beyond the valley came marching shadows. Tall, gaunt, their armor flickering like candlelight.
The Heralds of the Veil.
Chris stood. "He sent them."
Grey opened his eyes.
"They're not here to fight," he said.
"Then why—"
"To whisper."
The Heralds stopped at the edge of the camp. No weapons raised. No battle cry.
Just truth twisted into lies.
"You were forgotten for a reason," one said. "He abandoned you."
Another to Chris: "He remembers Lucien more than he does you."
And to Grey, cold and clear: "You are becoming me."
Grey rose slowly.
And smiled.
"Good."
The wind howled.
And the battle began.