Chapter 247: Shards of Forgotten War

The void trembled.

The Architect's hand—a construct of thought and silence—split the air, revealing not just images, but a living memory. The prison faded, replaced by a war-scarred battlefield, etched in hues of fading gold and ash.

Ashara gasped. "This… this isn't just a vision. We're inside it."

Indeed, they stood amidst chaos—gods clashing like comets, titans born from ancient oaths ripping at the sky. The land cracked with every step of these celestial beings, and rivers of memory spilled instead of blood.

Lysara turned, eyes wide. "That's the Warden. But younger. Radiant."

He wore no chains then—only obsidian armor, crowned in starlight. He led a host of Timebearers, beings whose weapons bent chronology, each strike rewriting seconds, hours, or lifetimes.

Opposing him stood a colossal figure—The Sunmother, a goddess of boundless light whose eyes burned with grief.

"She was trying to stop him," whispered Corven. "But why?"

The memory unfolded.

Words thundered from the sky:

"You seek to rewrite the sins of mortals by erasing time itself!" the Sunmother cried.

"No," the younger Warden roared back. "I seek to erase the guilt of gods!"

He lifted his blade—Chronicle, forged from the breath of the first hour—and swung. It split the battlefield into before and after, creating looped casualties, where soldiers died endlessly in repeating cycles.

Ashara stepped forward. "He wanted mercy. But his mercy was madness."

The Architect's voice echoed again:

"And thus, the gods turned against him. They forged the Shard Prison not to punish, but to silence."

Suddenly, the vision collapsed.

The trio fell backward into the obsidian prison once more.

The Warden still hung by chains—but his smile was gone.

"You saw it," he whispered.

Lysara stared. "You tried to end the war by destroying its consequences."

"And for that," the Warden said, "they made me into a monster."

Ashara sheathed her daggers, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. "But if we free you… the cycle might begin again."

"I don't want freedom," the Warden said. "I want one thing only—a successor. Someone willing to bear the burden of memory without erasing it."

Corven took a step back. "You mean one of us?"

The chains groaned.

"Yes," the Warden said. "But only one. Choose. The rest must leave… or die within the Prison."

Silence.

The Architect watched, unmoving.

Ashara looked to Lysara. "If one of us takes his place, the others can leave safely?"

The Architect gave no answer—but the Warden did.

"Yes. One of you binds themselves to memory. To pain. To history. And to truth. You will live forever—but always alone."

Lysara looked at her friends. "It should be me. I started this."

"No," Corven said. "I've lost more. I can carry the burden."

Ashara raised her hand. "Stop. You're both wrong. I was born from erased lineage. My entire family was scrubbed from history. Let me give meaning to that void."

But before any of them could act—

The Architect moved.

It raised its hand, and with a single motion, the world fractured.

Each of them was flung into a separate shard of time.

Lysara landed in a world of silence. An empty city stood frozen under a silver sky. Every person she passed was unmoving, locked in the moment before a scream.

Corven awoke in a battlefield that never ended, each death looping into another life. He fought beside thousands of versions of himself, none of them winning.

Ashara found herself in a library with no doors, filled with books that erased themselves the moment she read them.

Their voices could not reach each other.

They had been split to test their resolve.

Meanwhile, back in the Prison…

The Warden chuckled softly, watching the shards swirl.

"They must choose not out of guilt—but purpose."

The Architect stood beside him.

"What if none return?"

"Then the cycle continues," the Warden said. "Another age. Another trio. Another breach."

"But," he added, "I have hope. One of them will find the strength to remember everything—and still remain."

In the Library Beyond Silence…

Ashara paused. One book resisted being erased.

Its title glowed: Ashara Valen: Daughter of No House.

She opened it.

Inside, a single sentence pulsed:

"You are more than your absence."

Tears filled her eyes. She placed her hand on the page.

"I choose."

In the Infinite Battlefield…

Corven, bloodied and exhausted, watched one version of himself refuse to fight.

The man knelt beside a wounded enemy and offered water.

The loop ended.

The war paused.

Corven dropped his sword.

"I choose."

In the Silent City…

Lysara stood atop a frozen tower. Below her, thousands waited to speak—to move—to matter again.

She took a deep breath.

And spoke a name.

The city trembled.

Time resumed.

"I choose."

Back in the Prison

Three lights appeared—Ashara, Corven, and Lysara, reunited.

The Warden looked at them with something like awe.

"All three...?"

Ashara stepped forward. "We will not forget."

Corven nodded. "We will not erase."

Lysara raised her hand. "We will carry memory together."

The Architect stared at them.

"Then you are the first."

Chains broke.

But not from the Warden.

They reformed—around the trio.

Golden, woven from shared will and sacrifice.

The Warden vanished—dissolved into a final smile.

And the Prison transformed.

Not a cage—but a Citadel of Memory.

A beacon for future ages.