Chapter 33 – The Forgotten Zone
Graven's lower districts had long been abandoned, buried beneath tech-wars, chemical storms, and political lies. They were sealed off, forgotten, condemned to rot. But now, District 0—once the city's core—was waking up.
Rayven stood at the threshold of the ancient gate, its surface covered in molten glyphs that pulsed with red and violet hues. The Seal had cracked on its own.
No one triggered it.
Not him.
Not Ashen.
Not any known heir.
This was different.
Nyra crouched beside the threshold, her scanner flickering wildly. "This place has no readable map data. No energy signature matches anything on record. It's like… it's been completely rewritten."
Rayven narrowed his eyes. "Or it never followed the rules of this world to begin with."
With a loud hiss, the gate slid open.
Beyond it was nothing but fog.
They stepped into District 0 in silence.
The world inside didn't look broken—it looked paused. As if time itself had stopped mid-breath. Buildings stood upright, lights still flickering in some of the towers. But not a soul moved. No birds. No wind. Just thick, gray mist curling between structures.
And beneath it all, a low hum—constant, vibrating, alive.
"Is it… breathing?" Nyra whispered.
Rayven didn't answer.
He felt the rhythm too.
The entire district pulsed faintly, in sync with his heartbeat.
They moved through empty streets littered with signs from another era—posters warning of "SYNAPTIC SLEEP" and "MINDFALL REGULATION ZONES." Strange machines lay rusted and fused into the buildings like tumors. Some pulsed. Others… whispered.
Rayven stopped at a blackened glass window.
He stared at his own reflection.
Only it wasn't him staring back.
It was a younger version—no scars, silver armor, eyes bright with power and conviction.
The reflection moved independently, raising its hand in a gesture Rayven didn't recognize… and then mouthed words he couldn't hear.
He took a step back.
"Rayven?" Nyra asked, worried.
He turned. "We need to leave. Now."
But it was too late.
A ripple passed through the ground.
Then another.
The sky flickered—briefly revealing a dome above them, flickering with ancient hex-tech barriers.
Suddenly, the streets weren't empty anymore.
Figures began to appear.
Hundreds of them.
Men, women, children—all dressed in ceremonial garb from the Pre-Collapse era. They walked in perfect silence. Their eyes glowed faintly. None of them blinked. None of them breathed.
"Memory echoes," Nyra whispered in horror. "We've walked into a living archive."
Rayven watched them pass—ghosts of the city's past, repeating their final moments before everything was sealed.
One of them paused.
A young boy, no older than ten.
He looked directly at Rayven and spoke aloud:
"Heir Cael. They said you'd return. Did you bring the Judgment Key?"
Rayven's throat dried. "What key?"
The boy frowned. "Without it, we remain in limbo."
And then he vanished—dissolving into smoke.
A low rumble echoed through the district.
Behind them, the gate they'd entered through slammed shut.
Trapped.
Nyra drew her sidearm. "We need to find another exit—fast."
Rayven didn't move.
His eyes were fixed on the tower ahead.
It stood at the center of the district—tall, made entirely of black alloy, pulsing like a heart. Etched into its surface were words in the language of the Ancients.
He translated them instinctively.
"Here sleeps the First Pulse. Only the rightful heir may wake it."
Nyra touched his arm. "If we trigger that thing, there's no going back."
Rayven looked at her. "There never was."
He stepped forward, each footfall echoing louder than it should. As he neared the tower, something unlocked inside his chest. The Echo within him surged—not in defense, but in recognition.
The tower opened.
Inside, a throne hovered in the air.
And waiting on the throne… was another Rayven.
Identical in face.
But his eyes were gold.