Chapter 32 – Echoes of the Blade
The underground hall beneath Sector Nine was freezing. Every breath Rayven exhaled turned to mist, curling like smoke in the low light. The energy here was different—older, colder. The walls shimmered faintly with residual Echo, but unlike before, the threads didn't respond to his presence. They recoiled.
"Something doesn't want us here," Nyra said, her voice low.
Rayven nodded. "Or something's already here."
They moved through the corridor, weapons drawn. Ahead, a massive stone doorway had been split down the middle. On either side, statues of warriors stood with heads bowed, swords plunged into the floor. Ancient script curled down the walls—warning inscriptions, none of which looked promising.
Rayven paused, sensing something.
A whisper.
Faint but familiar.
He stepped forward… and the lights went out.
The next moment was chaos.
A blur of silver swept through the darkness. Sparks flew. Metal screamed against metal. Rayven ducked instinctively as a blade slashed the air where his neck had been a second earlier.
A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, fluid, graceful.
Female.
She wore silver armor that seemed to breathe with her movements, engraved with the insignia of the Obsidian Order—an elite group lost to time, believed to have died during the Great Collapse.
Her blade shimmered with ghostlight.
"Rayven Cael," she said softly. "I didn't believe the echoes until I saw you myself."
Rayven's heart clenched. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head. "You don't remember?"
Nyra leveled her weapon at the woman. "Step back."
The woman ignored her. Her eyes never left Rayven.
"We trained together beneath the Spire. You called me Ashen once. Ashen Vale."
Rayven's fingers tightened around his weapon. Something inside him stirred—images, flashes, sounds. A laughing girl on a rooftop. Blades crossing at twilight. A broken promise buried under fire.
"I know that name…" he whispered.
Ashen smiled faintly. "Then let's see if your instincts remember what your mind forgot."
She lunged.
The duel was fast, brutal, and beautiful.
Ashen moved like liquid fire, each swing of her blade sending shockwaves through the corridor. Rayven blocked instinctively, Echo flaring from his core, matching her rhythm without understanding how.
It was like dancing with a shadow of his former self.
Sparks erupted as their weapons clashed. Stone cracked. Air howled.
Then Ashen spun, sweeping Rayven's legs and slamming him against the far wall. Her blade pressed against his throat.
Nyra shouted—but stopped when Ashen raised a hand.
"I'm not here to kill you," Ashen said calmly. "If I wanted to, I would have."
Rayven glared at her, breathing hard. "Then why are you here?"
"To test you. To see if the one who abandoned us still has a spine."
Nyra stepped forward, furious. "He didn't abandon anything. He lost everything."
Ashen's gaze flicked to her. "And yet he lives. He wakes the Seals. He stirs the city."
Rayven shoved her blade aside and stood. "If you know who I was, then tell me. Help me understand."
Ashen's smile faded. "No. Understanding is earned."
She stepped back, turning toward the broken door.
"I came to deliver a message: You're not the only heir who's awakened. Others are rising—and not all of them are on your side."
She paused.
"Some… want revenge."
Then she was gone, swallowed by the shadows from which she came.
Later, as they left the ruined hall, Rayven remained silent.
Nyra walked beside him, hand brushing his.
"You okay?"
He didn't answer right away.
"I think I used to love her," he said quietly.
Nyra looked down. "And now?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I don't trust her."
They stepped into the night air, where the city pulsed faintly under the stars.
Above them, far across the skyline, another Seal cracked open.
And somewhere in the distance, another heir awakened.