Three days of grueling travel through searing heat and shifting dunes brought the caravan to the ancient bones of Zarad-Kesh.
What remained of the once-great city jutted from the sands like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Towering stone arches, half-swallowed by dunes. Pillars carved with forgotten runes. A shattered gate of obsidian, blackened and cold.
Ael stood at the threshold, heart beating faster than it had in lifetimes.
He didn't know why.
But something here remembered him.
The others were silent, their awe muted by exhaustion and the memory of the Sand Wraith ambush. Even the seasoned warriors kept their hands near their weapons. The air felt heavier here, as though it carried centuries of buried voices.
Althar walked beside Ael, still favoring his ribs. "The texts say Zarad-Kesh was destroyed in the First Cataclysm. No one knows by what."
Ael's eyes narrowed. "That's a lie."
Althar glanced at him. "You remember something?"
"No," Ael murmured, stepping through the obsidian gate. "But my body does."
Elen followed close behind, hand on her sword. "The runes on these stones match the relic we recovered in the glacier temple. This place… it's older than the Empire. Older than anything the guild archives have."
They passed through broken streets and collapsed halls. Statues of robed figures lay in pieces. At the center of the ruins stood a circular chamber, partially buried, yet still intact.
As they neared, the sand trembled underfoot.
"Ael," Elen said, voice low. "Look."
The runes carved around the chamber's entrance glowed faintly. Not with fire—but with a pale, silver-blue light. The same light that had glowed in his veins when he struck down the wraith behemoth.
Ael placed his hand against the stone.
The runes pulsed.
The door slid open.
Inside, the air was cold—unnaturally so. The chamber walls were polished, the ceiling high, and at its center sat a raised dais with a single crystal sphere resting in a three-clawed pedestal.
Everyone froze.
Althar muttered, "This shouldn't be intact. This entire site should be dust."
Ael walked forward, drawn as if by unseen strings. His fingertips brushed the surface of the sphere.
And then—darkness.
No, not quite.
Memories.
Visions flooded his mind—half-formed, jagged things.
Fire consuming skies. A kingdom collapsing. Screams in languages long dead. A throne of crystal. A man with silver eyes and a sword made of stars.
And a voice. Familiar. Cold. Commanding.
"You must not feel. A king without emotion cannot be broken."
Ael gasped, stumbling back.
The chamber dimmed. The sphere cracked—just slightly—and a sliver of light escaped.
Elen rushed to his side. "What did you see?"
"I… I don't know," Ael said, voice hoarse. "Fragments. My life before this one."
Althar approached, looking shaken. "You were someone powerful. Someone feared."
"I think I destroyed this place," Ael whispered. "I think… I was the Cataclysm."
The words settled over the room like a thundercloud.
No one spoke.
Then, from the sphere, a projection flickered—an illusion of blue fire coalescing into the shape of a man's face. It was angular, noble, with eyes like the void between stars.
It looked exactly like Ael.
But older. Colder.
The figure spoke.
"If you are seeing this, then I have failed. The seals did not hold. And the weapon awakens."
Ael's mouth went dry. The voice was his—and not his.
"You, who wear my face, must choose differently. You must feel. Or all this will repeat."
The projection blinked out.
Silence.
Elen stared at him. "You… you sealed yourself away?"
"No," Ael said. "He sealed me away."
Althar looked pale. "Then the Empress isn't afraid of what you'll do. She's afraid of what you'll remember."
Suddenly, the chamber shook violently. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Ael snapped to alertness. "Get back!"
Too late.
A magical pulse erupted from the broken sphere. A blinding wave of silver light engulfed them all—and the ruins responded. All around them, runes began to light up. Old magic. Forgotten magic. Magic that shouldn't still be alive.
Then a voice, cold and feminine, echoed in their minds.
"You found it, little king. Now let's see if you're ready to carry the weight of what you once were."
It was her.
The Empress.
Ael clenched his fists as a strange sigil burned into the air above the dais.
It pulsed once—and then shattered, scattering shards of light across the chamber.
And Ael remembered one more thing.
A name.
Not the one he used now.
Not Ael.
But Kael'tharin—King of Flame and Void.