The Vault's air turned cold.
Not the soft chill of stone, but a sharp, unnatural stillness. Eloryn paused mid-thread, her fingers stiffening.
Pennrick stopped mid-step. Even the enchanted broom bumped gently against his leg and froze.
"Something's entered the echo loop," he murmured.
Eloryn looked up. "What does that mean?"
Fenn was already pulling her scarf tighter. "It means something's using a memory pathway to get in."
The walls shivered as a rift unfolded across the far end of the chamber—not torn, but unspooled, like someone had tugged too hard on a thread that shouldn't be touched.
A figure stepped through.
At first, Eloryn couldn't breathe.
She knew that face.
He was tall, robed in silver and sun-thread. A sword across his back. Eyes the color of stormlit stone. Calm. Steady. Beautiful in a way that felt like home and heartbreak all at once.
Kaelren.
Except not.
Not exactly.
He stepped forward slowly, expression unreadable. "Eloryn," he said, voice soft, threaded with old warmth. "I've been looking for you."
Maren immediately positioned himself between them.
Fenn whispered, "Uh. That's either a past lover or a dream demon pretending to be one. Should we hit it?"
Eloryn didn't answer. Her heart was a chorus of voices, past and present, all whispering remember me.
She stepped forward.
"You're from my second life," she said. "A captain. You died in the Mirror Wars."
"I didn't die," the echo said gently. "You let me go. You rewrote me."
She staggered.
Pennrick muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a swear in a forgotten tongue.
"This is a memory manifest," he said. "An emotion given shape. Strong enough, raw enough, and boom—you get a walking 'what-if'."
Maren's knuckles whitened. "Is it dangerous?"
The echo smiled. "Only if she wants it to be."
Eloryn's hands trembled. The thread she'd been weaving earlier still floated beside her—childhood, laughter, failure. It pulsed faintly.
"Why now?" she whispered. "Why are you here?"
The echo tilted its head. "Because you're close. To unlocking it all. The final truth. And because…" His voice softened further. "A part of you misses me."
That cracked her.
Tears burned her eyes. Not from pain—but from the unbearable sweetness of loss remembered too well.
But then—she saw it.
The echo was shifting. Flickering. His smile never changed, but behind his eyes—no soul. No truth. Just reflection.
This wasn't him. Not really.
Eloryn raised her hand.
The threads spun around her, coalescing not into a weapon—but a memory seal. A bubble of golden light.
"I loved you," she said. "But you're not him. You're just a thread."
The echo faltered.
And with a whisper of wind, vanished.
Silence returned.
Fenn whistled. "Okay, that was intense. I mean, wow. You alright?"
Eloryn didn't answer immediately. She turned to Maren, who still stood protectively nearby.
Then she smiled—small, tired, real.
"I'm okay," she said. "But I think I need to remember me more than I remember them."
Pennrick nodded solemnly. "Then you're ready for the next lesson."
***********