Chapter 246: The Breach of Threads

The seal trembled like a heartbeat gone awry.

Thin cracks began to spread across its radiant surface, and each one emitted a soundless cry—an echo that reverberated not through the air, but through memory itself.

Lysara staggered forward. "It's weakening faster than expected."

Corven's eyes darted from the compass to the seal. "No... it's reacting to us. Our presence is accelerating the breach."

Ashara stepped between them. "Then we don't have time for hesitation. What's on the other side?"

The priest of the Veiled Sun approached from the shadows, his robe flickering between realities.

"What lies beyond is not merely a prison," he said solemnly. "It is a mirror of every forgotten sorrow, every erased truth. The Warden dwells there, yes—but so too do remnants of lost gods and timelines that were cut from the world."

Lysara swallowed hard. "Is there a way to enter without unsealing him?"

"There was," the priest said. "But it was erased."

Ashara narrowed her eyes. "Convenient."

"No," he said with a faint smile. "Painful."

With a slow breath, the priest extended a hand. From his palm emerged a shard of time—glass-like, swirling with liquid history.

"This is a Key of Unknowing. It will allow you to pass through the veil... but at a cost."

"What cost?" Corven asked.

"You must forget the thing you love most."

Silence fell.

The seal pulsed again. A fracture split open down its center, and from within, black mist began to ooze.

"No time," Lysara said. "Give me the shard."

The priest hesitated—then obeyed.

Lysara gripped it tightly.

Ashara and Corven placed their hands beside hers.

Together, they stepped forward.

The seal shattered.

Inside the Shard Prison

The air turned viscous. The world slowed. Sound warped.

The trio emerged on a platform of floating memories—fragments of time suspended in a void that stretched in all directions.

Beneath them swirled entire civilizations long lost: broken empires, smiling lovers, fallen heroes.

Above, constellations danced backward, stars dying in reverse.

"This place isn't linear," Ashara murmured. "We're walking through echoes."

Suddenly, a scream rang out—not from pain, but recognition.

A child, maybe ten years old, ran toward them. His eyes were empty sockets, but he reached out for Lysara.

"You promised to remember me!" he wailed.

Lysara froze.

The child's form flickered—then multiplied.

Dozens of children. Hundreds. They were all forgotten memories, clinging, feeding on those who still remembered.

"They're trying to pull us apart," Corven said. "Don't acknowledge them."

One of the children grabbed his arm. "You knew my name once!"

Corven sliced the illusion away with a single flash of steel.

"We move," Ashara commanded.

They reached the center of the Prison—a spire of obsidian crystal, carved with runes written backward.

There, suspended by chains of light and shadow, was the Warden.

Or what was left of him.

He was skeletal, armored in rusted echoes, eyes glowing with inverted flame. But even in his chained state, he smiled.

"Well," he rasped, voice layered with thousands. "Took you long enough."

Lysara raised the compass, and it spun wildly.

"You know us?" she asked.

"I know everyone," the Warden said. "I am the sum of every forgotten lie. I was once a king. A savior. A monster. And you—Lysara—you once made a deal with me."

She blinked. "No. I would remember that."

He chuckled. "Exactly."

Ashara drew her twin daggers. "You're manipulating time. But why?"

"To correct it," the Warden said simply. "History is broken. Torn by those who chose to forget their sins instead of fixing them."

Corven approached the chains. "You wanted out."

"No," the Warden replied, voice low. "I wanted witnesses."

The prison began to quake.

From the mist behind the Warden, something emerged—a figure clad in armor of shifting glass, faceless, its body shaped by emotion.

The Warden grinned.

"My jailer has arrived. The one who guards me now."

Ashara's grip tightened. "Is that…?"

The priest's voice echoed from beyond. "That is the Architect of Silence. The last of the Memoryforged. If it sees you, you will be rewritten."

"Then we run?" Lysara asked.

"No," Corven said. "We bargain."

He stepped forward, raising his sword—and lowered it in front of the Architect.

"Let us speak. One moment."

The Architect paused.

Its voice, when it came, was a vibration in their teeth.

"One moment. Speak your truth."

Corven looked into its faceless mask.

"We came not to release the Warden—but to understand why he was bound."

The Architect remained still.

Ashara continued. "We have walked through flame and memory. We deserve that truth."

Silence.

Then the Architect turned to the Warden.

"Shall I show them what you buried?"

The Warden didn't respond.

But the world began to peel open.

And the truth—an ancient, forgotten war that predated history—began to unfold before their eyes.