Chapter 15
Not with lightning. Not with magic. But with memory—raw, forgotten, and violent—ripping open the silence that had cloaked the Hollow Spires for centuries.
Nezutsu stood at the broken gates of the Temple of the God-Eater, alone, violet flames crackling along his skin like serpents with purpose. The sword in his hand pulsed—not with power, but with recognition, like it had just been reunited with a long-lost master. Every breath he took stirred the winds. Every heartbeat made the earth beneath him tremble.
Above, the stars blinked.Below, the temple behind him burned with a flame no water could quench.
"The Trial's over," he whispered to himself, eyes locked on the distant cliffs. "Now comes the hunt."
The Mark on the Horizon
Kaelith reappeared from the shrouds of fog, her robes wet with dew, her eyes sharper than ever.
"You survived."
"Barely," he muttered, then looked at her. "Something changed. Not just in me. In the sky."
She nodded. "You triggered an Ancient Recall. The stars are realigning. The Old Seals… might be weakening."
"Good. Let them break. I want to know everything they tried to bury."
Kaelith's hand landed gently on his shoulder.
"Careful. Wanting truth in this world is more dangerous than wielding fire."
Behind them, Velgrim emerged from the mists, limping, his crystal blade sheathed.
"The Obsidian Circle's moving again. I saw their ravens fly east—towards the ruins of Varellen Hollow."
Nezutsu's brows furrowed. "What's there?"
Velgrim grimaced. "Not what. Who. The Last Seer of the Echoes."
Kaelith stepped back.
"She's still alive?"
"Barely," Velgrim said. "And if the Circle reaches her first, your memories—and this world's last link to the Celestarchs—are gone."
"Then we don't walk," Nezutsu said, tightening his grip on the sword. "We fly."
Flight Through the Veinsky
Their journey to Varellen Hollow wasn't through roads. Not anymore.
Kaelith summoned a relic from her cloak: a shard of obsidian etched with silver veins. She crushed it between her fingers, and a portal formed—a floating veinway that pulsed with ancient transportation magic, long abandoned by the living.
Nezutsu stepped into the stream of light. As they were lifted into the stormy air, images swirled around him—memories not his own, fragments of a forgotten timeline.
He saw himself crowned in black flame.He saw cities crumble under his scream.He saw Asera weep, once.
"Don't lose yourself," Kaelith warned, her voice echoing through the light. "This magic doesn't carry your body alone—it carries your soul."
"Then it'll remember who I am," he said, "and not who they want me to be."
The Hollow City of Varellen
They emerged just beyond the cliffs of Varellen—a city of ruins wrapped in silence and spider-laced fog. Broken temples leaned into one another like drunken monuments of guilt. Statues had their faces carved out, their eyes replaced by obsidian shards. The city groaned beneath a curse.
Velgrim touched the stone with a bare hand. "Still active. Wards meant to deter memories."
"And yet I remember more here," Nezutsu muttered. "It's like the place wants me to see."
Kaelith pulled him close. "That's the trap. The city echoes your desire. You want truth, and it feeds you… reflections."
"Let it reflect me, then. I won't blink."
They descended deeper.
Through the crypt gardens.Through the screaming altars.Until they reached the Catacomb of the Last Echo.
The Last Seer
At the center of the catacomb sat an old woman, blindfolded with bandages soaked in ink, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Her body was withered, but her presence was enormous—like a mountain pretending to be a pebble.
"Nezutsu," she whispered before they could even speak.
"You know me?" he asked, voice low.
"I knew you. I remembered you before you remembered yourself. I saw the fire fall when the world was young."
Kaelith knelt. "Seer Vhalyne, we need your guidance. The Obsidian Circle is coming."
"Too late," the Seer said. "They're already here."
The shadows shifted. From the corners of the tomb, obsidian-cloaked figures emerged — six in total — their helms etched with the Eye of Judgment.
"Ashless One," said the lead Warden, "by decree of the Sleeping Council, your flame is forfeit."
Nezutsu stepped forward.
"Then take it."
The Battle of the Hollow Heart
Flame erupted before the Warden could finish his sentence. Nezutsu was no longer hiding. His body surged with violet fire, his blade humming like a song unsung for eons.
Kaelith vanished in smoke, reappearing behind two enemies, slashing with a twin dagger made of silent flame. Velgrim charged with crystal fury, yelling ancient curses in a forgotten dialect.
Nezutsu faced the lead Warden.
Their blades met, but it wasn't a swordfight—it was a collision of meanings. Every strike carried memory. Every parry resisted prophecy.
"You don't even know what you are!" the Warden snarled.
"No," Nezutsu replied, "but I know what I'm not. I'm not yours."
With a roar, he drove the sword of Will through the Warden's obsidian chest.
The Warden screamed—not from pain, but from revelation—as his body shattered into stardust.
The others fell quickly.
The Seer simply sat, unmoved.
The Whisper Beneath the Skin
After the battle, Nezutsu approached the Seer again. She was dying, and she knew it.
"Tell me the truth," he said. "The whole truth."
She smiled.
"You… are not just the Ash Sovereign reborn. You are his fail-safe. You were made, Nezutsu—not born. Forged by Asera and sealed in a vessel of silence. When the Sovereign fell, they sealed a fraction of his will into you—a child who wouldn't even hold mana. Because only without magic could you slip past the Sight of the Council."
Nezutsu felt as if the world had tilted.
"I'm… a weapon?"
"No," the Seer said, touching his chest, "you are a second chance."
Her breath faded.
And in her hand, she left behind an obsidian key.
"Use this… in the ruins of Tir Envala. There, you'll find the first piece of who you really are."
She died, smiling.
The Sky Shatters
As they stepped out of the catacomb, the sky above cracked open.
Literally.
A jagged wound split the heavens. From within, a glowing Eye watched them — lidless, endless, cold.
"The Council sees you now," Velgrim said.
"Then let them watch," Nezutsu whispered. "Let them fear."
Kaelith handed him the obsidian key.
"You sure about this next step?"
He looked at the ruins of the world around him.
"I have to be. It's not just about who I was. It's about who I'll become."
As they turned east, toward the forgotten lands of Tir Envala, the Eye slowly faded… but its gaze left a mark in the sky:
A burning glyph, ancient and forbidden.
It spelled one word:
"ASH."
[TO BE CONTINUED…]