Chapter 245: Echoes of the Forgotten Warden

The sky above the fractured realm of Vel'Thal drifted in shades of violet and silver, humming with unstable resonance. Lysara held the living compass tightly, feeling it vibrate with a pulse not unlike a heartbeat. It spun slowly, pointing toward a direction that didn't align with any cardinal sense.

"What's there?" Ashara asked, eyes narrowed.

Corven crouched beside a glyph-covered stone jutting from the ground like a gravestone. He ran his fingers over the symbols—each one slightly warm, as though recently inscribed.

"It's not a place," he murmured. "It's a memory. The map isn't leading us across land. It's leading us back… to what was erased."

Lysara closed her eyes, attuning herself. The compass needle pulsed, and with it, the world around them shimmered. Reality stretched—and tore.

Suddenly, they weren't in Vel'Thal anymore.

They stood in a burned-out village surrounded by barren trees. Ash fell slowly from a sky choked with smoke. Screams echoed faintly in the distance.

"This is… my past," Lysara whispered.

Children ran. Shadowbeasts howled. And in the center of it all stood a cloaked figure—taller than any man, its eyes like glowing voids.

Ashara gritted her teeth. "We're inside a fragment of the Warden's doing."

Corven unsheathed his blade. "He erased memories from time… but traces remain in pain."

The compass glowed brightly and released a wave of golden light. The illusion dissolved, but left a single mark behind—a sigil burned into the ground.

Lysara recognized it.

"That's from the Temple of the Veiled Sun," she said. "An ancient order that guarded temporal rifts."

"Then that's where we go," Corven said.

Two Days Later – The Temple of the Veiled Sun

Hidden inside a mountain swallowed by time, the Temple was a fortress of light and shadow. Floating platforms hovered over glowing rivers of memory—a natural phenomenon found only in this place, where the boundary between past and present blurred.

The trio approached the inner sanctum, where an altar hovered in mid-air, suspended by golden beams.

There stood an old man in robes of glowing thread—neither young nor old, his face flickering between identities.

"You seek the path to the Warden," he said without turning.

Ashara hesitated. "You know of him?"

"He is a scar on the weave of time. And he wakes."

The priest turned. "And yet… I sense the Cartographer's mark on you. You carry the compass."

Lysara nodded. "We were led here."

He stepped aside. Behind him, the wall melted away to reveal a pool of silver mist.

"The Warden was sealed by twelve anchors," he explained. "Each in a memory. Each guarded by those willing to forget themselves."

"You must walk the Path of the Forgotten."

Corven stepped forward. "And if we succeed?"

"Then you will remember what none should—and face the Warden at the center of Oblivion."

Lysara took a breath and stepped into the mist.

Ashara followed.

Corven hesitated—just for a moment—then walked after them.

Within the Path of the Forgotten

The world turned white.

Then black.

Then… many.

They each stood alone, in different realms, separated by fragmented timelines.

Lysara found herself as a child again, standing in front of her mother—still alive, smiling, handing her a shard of crystal.

Ashara stood atop the burning capital of Eravon, watching her brother lead the attack that slaughtered her family.

Corven faced himself—an assassin who had chosen duty over mercy, standing over the corpse of the girl he had once loved.

Each vision clawed at their minds.

"You must let go to move forward," a voice whispered.

But it wasn't that simple.

The Warden didn't want them to pass. These were his chains—emotional anchors he could use to control, manipulate, and twist.

Lysara's Trial

She reached for her mother.

The vision smiled. "Stay here, my love. Let the world burn. Let me hold you."

Lysara wept.

But then she remembered the people still suffering—the world breaking.

"I miss you," she whispered. "But I can't stay."

She shattered the vision with the compass.

Ashara's Trial

Her brother turned, his blade drawn.

"You let us die, Ashara. You ran."

Ashara stepped forward, chest heavy with guilt.

"I did," she said. "But I'll carry it. And I'll make it right."

She drew her fire into her heart—and the vision burned away.

Corven's Trial

The girl stared up at him, dead eyes filled with betrayal.

"You killed me."

Corven clenched his fists.

"I killed who I was," he said. "But I will never forget you."

He dropped his sword.

The image faded.

The three emerged from the mists—worn, older, but alive.

Before them floated a massive seal of glowing threads—a gate.

Behind it, a swirling mass of stars and shadow.

The Warden's prison.

And it was cracking.