Echoes of the Sanctum
---
Kael never liked silence.
Growing up in the barracks, it was all shouts, clangs, drills, laughter. Even war had a rhythm—terrible, but loud.
But the silence in this ruin wasn't empty.
It was waiting.
He stood at the edge of the western vault chamber—an open floor encircled by warped mirror-frames, long cracked and smeared with ash. Faded inscriptions coiled up the walls, and a low hum buzzed beneath the stone.
"I don't like this," Kael muttered.
Liora's voice echoed behind him, calm as ever. "You volunteered."
"I said I'd try a mental barrier trial. I didn't say I'd step into a cursed reflection circle with ancient magical PTSD."
"You said you wanted to overcome your elemental instability," she countered. "This is part of that."
Kael exhaled sharply, then gave a crooked grin. "Alright, fine. But if I start screaming about my childhood, knock me out."
"You'll know it's working if your fear finds you first."
He muttered something under his breath, then stepped into the circle.
The mirrors flared to life.
---
It hit him all at once.
Not pain—memory.
The air snapped cold. He stood no longer in the ruins, but on a field of smoldering cinders. A battlefield. A familiar one.
Screams echoed. Ash drifted. Blood soaked the ground.
And across the fire-ridden haze stood a younger version of himself, clutching a broken sword.
No—not younger.
Weaker.
The illusion twisted. Soldiers lay dying around him. And standing behind him, armored in black iron and eyes burning with voidlight, was the figure that haunted every step he took—
His father.
"Coward," the illusion spat.
Kael's hands clenched. "You're not real."
The illusion stepped forward. "You let them die."
Kael raised his sword.
The figure smiled.
"You watched. While your comrades burned. While your captain bled. You ran. You ran like you always do."
Kael's pulse roared in his ears.
It wasn't real.
It wasn't real.
But the blood was warm on his hands.
The screams were the same as that night.
The night he survived—and the others didn't.
---
Outside the circle, Liora stood watch, eyes narrowed.
The mirrors flickered with heat. Kael's body shuddered, arms raised, lips drawn tight. Sweat dripped from his brow.
Then the lights pulsed once—then dimmed.
The illusion ended.
Kael dropped to one knee, gasping for breath.
Liora approached but didn't speak.
He raised his head slowly, eyes unfocused.
"…I didn't run," he whispered.
She crouched beside him. "I know."
He let out a broken breath. "But I thought about it."
"And you didn't," she said. "That's what matters."
---
Across the ruins, Riven stood before the staircase leading into the deeper Sanctum.
His pendant throbbed faintly against his chest, and the deeper layers of his Seal hummed like distant thunder.
He stepped down.
Each stair was cold. Not from weather—something older. The stone whispered with static, and the deeper he went, the more the pendant glowed.
He passed what looked like shattered arcane conduits—veins of once-living crystal now long faded.
And then he reached a wide door.
Not sealed by magic, not barred.
Just waiting.
He pushed.
The chamber was circular—vast and empty except for one thing.
A mirror.
Unbroken. Untouched.
And in it—his reflection didn't move.
Riven stilled.
The reflection smiled.
Not his smile.
Veyron's.
"You've come far," the reflection said.
Riven stepped back, hand on his blade. "What is this?"
The reflection didn't move. But it spoke again.
"This is your memory, little heir. But it's not yours alone."
And then—
Pain.
---
Images flooded his mind.
His mother, screaming.
A blade piercing through golden robes.
A mark burned onto flesh.
The Crimson Gate pulsing with blood.
And then—darkness.
Not death.
Containment.
---
He fell to the ground, gasping, his body convulsing.
Above, the mirror pulsed once more.
Then shattered.
Shards drifted down like snowflakes—each one glowing faintly with red light—and faded before hitting the ground.
Riven lay still for a moment.
And then—
He laughed.
Just once.
It wasn't joy.
It wasn't madness.
It was recognition.
A name. A voice. A truth.
And it was coming back.
---
He returned to the surface at dusk.
Kael was seated beside the fire, bruised but calmer.
Lyssa stood with her hands folded behind her back, her power rippling faintly at her fingertips.
They all turned as Riven approached.
He said nothing at first.
Then:
"The next Seal isn't a place."
Liora blinked. "What do you mean?"
Riven's eyes were sharper now. Quieter. Older.
"It's a person."
---
"The next Seal isn't a place."
Liora blinked. "What do you mean?"
Riven's eyes were sharper now. Quieter. Older.
"It's a person."
The fire crackled between them, casting long shadows on the moss-covered stone. No one spoke immediately. Even Kael, who could usually be counted on for some sarcastic comment or a grunt of disbelief, stayed silent.
Then Lyssa stepped forward, brows furrowed. "Are you saying someone is the Seal?"
"Not someone," Riven said. "Something—or someone—that became one."
Kael shook his head. "How the hell does that work? I thought Seals were arcane constructs—locations tied to the bloodline and the Gate. Not people walking around like cursed treasure chests."
"They were," Liora murmured, half to herself. "At least, that's what history recorded. But the more you train, the more I see... That history might've lied."
"I saw it," Riven said, voice low. "In the Sanctum. Not just visions. Not memories. Echoes of someone being turned. A ritual. Magic layered into flesh. Pain etched into the bones. They didn't just seal away power—they shaped it. Imprinted it."
Lyssa crossed her arms. "Then the Order might already have one. Or worse, be one."
Riven nodded slowly. "Exactly."
Kael's gaze darkened. "You think this is why they're ahead of us? They don't need to find the Seals. They carry them."
A gust of wind rustled the long grass beyond the ruins. For a second, it sounded like whispers.
They all turned toward the darkened path that led into the forested ridge.
Liora rose to her feet, clutching her staff. "We're not alone."
Riven's fingers curled around his sword hilt. "I felt it too."
From beyond the edge of the firelight, something moved—slow, careful.
Not animals.
Not spirits.
Sentinels.
Twisted constructs from the old wars. Once dormant guardians of ancient sites. Now corrupted and repurposed by the Eclipse Order.
They moved like men in shape, but not in motion. Joints clicked with metallic wrongness. Eyes glowed faint amber—like embers snuffed too long ago but suddenly reignited.
Riven whispered, "Get ready."
Kael stood, drawing both blades. "They're scouting. Testing our strength."
Liora had already drawn a protective sigil in the air. Lyssa's shadowfire danced around her fingers like smoke drawn to blood.
The first sentinel stepped into view.
Its mouth opened, but no sound came.
Instead—its chest cracked open, revealing a sigil inside. Not one of the Six. Not even part of the Sealed Order's system.
It was new.
Raw.
Burning.
And familiar.
Riven's jaw clenched.
It was the same symbol he'd seen in the mirror before it shattered.
He stepped forward.
"No killing yet," he said. "We need one intact."
Kael groaned. "You always say that, and we always end up killing them."
Riven didn't smile. "Try harder this time."
The fight erupted in seconds.
Two more sentinels burst from the underbrush. Lyssa dropped into a low stance and released a wave of compressed shadowfire that seared the nearest one's legs clean off—non-lethal, but brutal. Kael moved like a storm, fast and relentless, breaking the second's jointed limbs without striking the core.
Riven faced the last, blade drawn, Seal glowing at his neck.
It lunged. He caught the blow, twisted, and slammed his palm into its exposed sigil.
The magic surged.
A pulse of red and black rippled out.
The sentinel froze—twitching violently—then collapsed.
Riven stood over it, breathing hard.
Then bent down.
"Talk," he whispered.
The construct's eye flickered. A spark of intelligence. Of memory.
And then, it spoke—not in its voice, but in a child's.
A whisper.
A plea.
"…Find the girl… before they seal her…"
The eye went dark.
Silence fell again.
Riven slowly rose, heart thudding.
Lyssa stared at him. "Did that thing just talk?"
"Not it," Riven said, voice distant. "Whoever's trapped inside."
Kael swore softly.
Liora looked pale. "They're binding people… into the Seals. They're making them hosts."
Riven looked toward the eastern horizon, where the mountains loomed beyond the black ridge.
"They've already turned the next one," he said. "And if we don't reach her in time—"
"They'll finish the ritual," Lyssa said grimly. "And we'll never get her back."
---