Chapter One – The Memory That Burned the Sky
Part Two – Buta's Warning
Date: Maelis 27, Year 204 PCR
Location: Veilguard Courtyard – South Spire Training Grounds
Time: 09:11 Veil Standard
The wind didn't move when Zephryn stepped into the courtyard.
It waited.
Like the whole world paused—not to welcome him, but to watch.
The stone floor beneath him hummed faintly with residual glyphwork from older training sessions. It should've comforted him. Familiar ground. Sacred space.
But this time, the lines beneath his feet rejected his pulse.
Buta was already there.
Standing at the center.
Arms folded.
Not smiling.
Not frowning.
Just watching him like a blacksmith appraising warped steel.
"You finally woke up."
Zephryn stopped four paces away.
"I didn't sleep."
"Didn't ask," Buta said flatly. "I asked how long you planned to limp around like the world owes you something."
Zephryn narrowed his eyes. "I'm not limping."
"You're not standing either," Buta fired back. "Not yet."
—
The silence between them stretched like tension wire.
Selka stood at the entrance. Watching. Not moving. Not interfering.
Buta kept his arms folded, but his voice dropped lower. More dangerous.
"You flared memory across three squads. You erased six Riftborn with one reflex. You turned Bubbalor into a singing relic and bent a Veil fracture inward."
Zephryn blinked. "You saw it?"
"I felt it."
Buta stepped forward once.
"You know what Doctrine's calling it?"
Zephryn shook his head.
Buta spat to the side.
"'Minor atmospheric disruption due to pulse instability.' That's what your explosion of identity was reduced to. A weather glitch."
Zephryn clenched his fists.
"I didn't choose what happened."
"And that's the damn problem."
—
Buta closed the distance between them.
His voice wasn't angry.
It was surgical.
"You've got a gift the Veil doesn't hand out. You cast from memory. You hum without rhythm. You fought a named Riftborn without knowing what the hell you are."
Zephryn flinched slightly, but didn't step back.
"And instead of trying to understand it," Buta said, "you keep chasing visions of a dead myth."
"Caelus isn't a myth."
Buta's voice cracked like thunder.
"EVERYTHING is a myth until it kills something!"
—
Silence hit like a slap.
Kaelen and Yolti froze just outside the courtyard's arch.
Selka didn't breathe.
Zephryn didn't blink.
Buta took another step forward.
"I knew Solara," he said. "I fought beside her. She was wild, reckless, brilliant. But she didn't survive long enough to be a martyr. She died because she tried to fix what you are without telling anyone what it meant."
Zephryn's lips parted. "Then tell me now."
"No," Buta snapped. "Earn it."
—
He drew his staff.
Didn't spin it.
Didn't pose.
He held it down at his side like it was just another limb.
"You want to remember who you are?" Buta said.
"Then survive me."
Zephryn's eyes widened. "What?"
Buta's foot slammed the ground.
The glyphfield beneath them exploded to life.
Not a teaching cast.
Not a drill.
A real mark.
Buta had activated a Veilmark Art.
A spiral glyph ignited around him—black-lined, edged in gold.
It didn't hum.
It resonated like a name being shouted from the mouth of the world.
Selka took a step forward.
"Buta, he just woke up—!"
"Exactly," Buta growled.
"Time to see if he wakes up again."
He dashed forward.
Fast.
Too fast.
Zephryn barely cast in time—his pulse flickered, arms glowing—
But not fast enough.
The staff hit his chest like a bell.
He hit the stone hard, breath stolen.
Buta didn't stop.
He circled once.
Spun the staff behind his back.
And struck again—
Until Zephryn flared instinctively.
∞
It wasn't a cast.
It was a scream.
But it made Buta pause.
Just one second.
Long enough for Zephryn to rise to his knees.
Blood in his mouth.
Veins glowing.
Chest shaking.
And he looked up.
"I'm still here."
Buta grinned for the first time.
"Then maybe you are your mother's son after all."