The first clash came like thunder splitting the sky. The Heralds of the Veil, draped in cloaks stitched from silence, moved like wraiths across the battlefield. But the Forgotten met them with the rage of memory reclaimed.
Swords shimmered. Shields cracked. For every blow struck by the Forgotten, the Heralds retaliated with whispers meant to unravel the soul.
One Herald faced the emerald-armored woman—General Virel, first of the Forgotten.
"You fought for a world that let you fade," it hissed. "And now you bleed for a ghost."
Virel answered with a savage roar, cleaving the creature in half. But as it vanished, another took its place. The fight was not just physical—it was existential. A war of remembrance versus erasure.
Chris darted between skirmishes, her blade a streak of steel and defiance. Every time a Forgotten faltered under the Heralds' assault, she shouted names—their names—into the chaos. Anchoring them. Reclaiming their being.
Beside her, Lucien's echo hurled shards of light made from memory. The attacks were erratic—unreliable—but when they struck, they burned with unbearable clarity.
"Grey!" Chris called out, her voice ragged. "They're regenerating! You need to do something!"
At the center of the battlefield, Grey stood unmoving, eyes closed, arms spread. Around him, time distorted—blades slowed, shadows bent away.
He opened his eyes—no longer just gold, but silver threaded with fractured starlight.
"They feed on doubt," he said. "So we burn it."
He slammed his hand into the ground. A ring of light expanded outward, not fire, not magic—but remembrance.
The Heralds screamed—not from pain, but recognition. Faces began to flicker across their cloaks—who they had been before Wale stole their form.
And they hesitated.
Far away, in the Hall of Infinite Reflections, Wale stood before his broken mirror. His face was calm, but his fingers tapped rhythmically—anxiously.
"They're remembering," said the third Mirror Councilor. "You cannot erase them if they know their own names."
Wale turned slowly. "You misunderstand."
He stepped forward, the floor beneath him showing no reflection—only darkness.
"I never needed to erase them forever. Only long enough for the world to replace them."
He approached a smaller mirror—circular, gilded, ancient.
"Do you know how memory works?" Wale murmured. "It's not made of facts. It's made of stories."
He placed a single tear against the glass. It rippled outward.
"They can have their truth. I will give the world a better lie."
Back on the battlefield, the Heralds faltered. The tide was turning.
Grey walked forward through the storm of blades, his aura tearing through illusion. He approached one of the oldest Heralds, who once had been a god of light in the First Age.
"You remember your name?" Grey asked.
The Herald trembled. Its helm cracked.
"I… was… Alren."
Grey touched its brow. "Be Alren again."
Light exploded from the creature. When the dust cleared, a man stood in its place—shaken but free.
Cheers erupted.
But then the sky shattered.
A single line tore across the stars.
And through it stepped Wale.
Not a vision. Not a whisper.
But himself.
The battlefield froze. Even the flames dimmed.
Wale wore no armor. No crown. Just a cloak of stars and eyes that held endless oceans.
"You've come far," he said softly, addressing Grey. "And here I thought you'd be a shadow by now."
Grey stepped forward, unflinching. "This ends here."
Wale tilted his head. "Why? Do you think the world wants to remember? No. They want comfort. Certainty. I gave them that."
"You gave them a cage."
"I gave them peace."
Their voices clashed harder than any blade.
Around them, the Forgotten tensed. Chris whispered, "Not now… not yet."
But the two titans were already moving.
Grey struck first, not with force, but with a wave of undeniable memory. The sky shook. The ground wept.
Wale countered with silence—perfect, blank nothing. His power bent the truth around him like heat over fire.
Their powers met—and the world cracked.
In the aftermath, both figures stood amidst devastation.
Wale bled light. Grey trembled, a thin trail of silver at his lips.
"You're stronger than I expected," Wale said, smiling. "Good. It'll make your fall that much more poetic."
Grey didn't answer. His eyes burned brighter.
"You think you're winning," Wale added. "But the deeper you remember… the more of me you become."