Kaelen stepped through the door.
The light swallowed him instantly — not blinding, but revealing. His skin glowed. His thoughts rang like metal. The shards in his blood pulsed like they were syncing to something vast.
The Archive of Blackreach wasn't made of walls or floors.
It was made of memory.
Names floated like embers in the dark. Words spoken once, carved into magic, then forgotten. Some whispered in voices he didn't know. Some echoed in his own.
Bren and Yreya followed behind, slower, wary.
"This isn't a place," Yreya whispered. "It's... alive."
Bren scowled. "Yeah, and it's watching."
He was right.
Something shifted.
The memories rearranged themselves. The space around them twisted gently, welcoming Kaelen in — and closing behind the others.
A figure formed in the dark.
Not Ashra.
Not a man.
Not even human.
It had no face, just a mass of shifting light and shadow, wearing robes stitched from runes.
Kaelen instinctively reached for his power.
"Do not raise fire in the Archive," the figure said. "We burn differently here."
Kaelen lowered his hand but didn't step back. "Who are you?"
"A keeper. A remnant. A voice left behind by the ones who made the Veil — and died for it."
Kaelen blinked. "There were people before the Veil?"
"Before Ashra broke it, it was sealed. Not born. Not magic. A wall. We were its builders. Its jailers."
Kaelen swallowed. "And Ashra opened it?"
"No."
The figure tilted its faceless head.
"She opened part of it. A crack."
"You are opening the rest."
Behind Kaelen, the Archive shifted again. Dozens of doors formed in the air — thin, vertical slits. Some flickered with memory. Some bled light.
The keeper gestured to them. "Each of these leads to a version of what could have been. Or might still be. You have pulled the shards into yourself. You are the key now."
Kaelen stepped toward one of the doors.
He saw himself through it.
Older. Alone. Veil-burned. Runes across his chest and arms, hands glowing with flame. Cities in ruins behind him.
Godkiller.
He turned away, heart racing.
Another door — another version.
Kaelen standing beside the Hollow Choir. Leading them.
Veilborn.
Next.
Kaelen kneeling before a Veil altar, hands bloodied, Yreya's mask in the dirt beside him.
Betrayer.
He turned to the Keeper. "Why show me this?"
"Because you will choose."
"Choose what?"
"Which Kaelen survives this. Which Kaelen the world remembers. The shards don't make you. They only open the door."
Kaelen closed his eyes.
He didn't want to choose.
He wanted out.
Behind him, Yreya's voice pierced the void.
"Kaelen!"
He turned. She and Bren were surrounded — memory specters, reflections of old Choir zealots, closing in fast, masks grinning wider than should be possible.
The Keeper's voice rang out:
"Decide. Now."
Kaelen didn't think.
He reached out with his mind, his shards, his will — and cut.
A door split open beside him, jagged and glowing with pure Veil.
He stepped through it.
So did Yreya.
So did Bren.
And the Archive slammed shut behind them.
They landed hard on stone.
Outside.
Sky above. Veilstorm lightning on the horizon.
But not the same sky they knew.
Not the same stars.
Not the same world.
Yreya looked around, stunned. "Where... are we?"
Kaelen stood slowly.
The Veil curled at his feet, gentle now.
He wasn't breathing hard.
He wasn't afraid.
He just whispered:
"I think I chose."