The change wasn't instant. It was worse than that. It was silent.
A flicker in the air. A shift in temperature. A breath the land itself seemed to hold.
Reven stood at the centre of the node platform, still connected, still humming faintly with the residual charge of the system's activation. Around him, the ground was quiet. Still. But above, the sky had fractured again—this time, not just with Riftlight.
Now it shimmered with echoes. Memory itself was bleeding.
Kaela stepped to his side, eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"
"I told the truth," Reven said.
Kaelex moved slower. She approached like a soldier walking toward a bomb she helped build.
"You didn't just open the node," she said. "You unsealed it."
Reven looked at her. "What does that mean?"
Her voice was low. Controlled.
"It means the system is now transmitting legacy memory to every active Core. Flameborn or not."
Lirien, still airborne above them, called down. "You're saying anyone even partially linked—Supremes, Skyborn fragments, Bonebound—all of them…"
"They're waking up," Kaelex said.
"And they'll remember everything."
The first tremors began within the hour.
A wave of low frequency pulses shivered through the land, rippling across the glass fields and echoing through the ancient infrastructure buried beneath. Towers, long dead, flickered back to life. Structures hidden beneath the crust of the world began to pulse with faint light.
Reven sat near the node, drinking cold water from a ration tube, while Kaela stood watch at the perimeter. Lirien scanned the air for aerial surveillance, and Kaelex adjusted the frequency output of the Flamecore with sharp, precise motions.
"The Supremes will know where this happened," Kaelex said. "They'll send someone."
"Raze?" Kaela asked, jaw tightening.
"Or worse."
Reven stood, wiping sweat from his brow. "Let them come."
Kaela gave him a look. "You're not exactly subtle anymore."
"I was never supposed to be subtle."
By nightfall, they reached a new safe point—an abandoned storm shelter built into a shallow ridge. The place was old, patched together with Dominion metal and tribal masonry. A blend of histories that didn't trust each other when they were whole.
Reven sat alone near the rear, where a cracked monitor still flickered with static. He stared at it, even though there was nothing to see. His mind buzzed.
Not with pain. Not even with voices. Just everything. Names. Events. Weapons never built. Songs from civilizations gone. Faces he'd never met but now remembered better than his own.
Kaela sat beside him in silence. She didn't press. Finally, he broke it.
"I'm not sure where I end anymore."
She looked at him. "You still bleed."
"That's not the same as being human."
"No," she agreed. "But it's close enough to keep you honest."
Reven smiled faintly. "That's why I keep you close."
Kaela gave him a look. "Don't make this sentimental."
"I wouldn't dare."
They sat in silence again. Then came a sound—like a soft, rhythmic pulse, echoing across the Ridge.
Lirien stepped in through the rear corridor, feathers rustling.
"They're here."
Outside, shapes formed at the edge of the valley—tall figures in black armour trimmed with red, helmets shaped like serpents. Reven didn't need confirmation.
Supremes and they weren't here to talk.
Kaelex stepped into the open and raised her voice.
"You've entered a node-saturated zone. Any Core-aligned beings must submit or vacate."
The lead figure replied with static.
Then: "The Flamebearer has committed systemic heresy. The memory lattice is unstable. Reset is now authorized."
Kaela scoffed. "They want to erase the truth before it spreads."
Reven stepped forward. The Flamecore in his grip pulsed once. Bright. Defiant.
"You don't get to rewrite the world again," he said.
The Supreme officer lifted a hand. Dozens of soldiers raised weapons.
Kaelex whispered, "This is it."
Reven nodded.
"Then we hold the memory."
He raised the Flamecore and the ground exploded with fire.