Chapter Fourteen: The Day History Cried Out

They Erased My Name from History — Now I Burn Their World

Chapter Fourteen: The Day History Cried Out

Dominion Vault N-6

Unlisted Coordinates – 72 Meters Below City Surface

The doors don't scream when they fall.

They sing.

Low, harmonic, like old cathedral bells — except the cathedral is made of glass and secrets, and the bells are breaking.

Velen moves first.

Two steps ahead, barehanded, no armor. He doesn't need it.

He walks through a firewall of Dominion-grade neuro-electric defenses like a man cutting through fog. His voice hums beneath his breath — not a song, exactly, but code spoken in a lost tonal dialect.

The cube flares on my back in answer.

And the Vault recognizes us.

"ACCESS GRANTED: BEARER – CHOIR PROTOTYPE

WELCOME TO ROOT ENTRY NODE – N-6

WARNING: TRUTH BREACH IMMINENT"

Good.

Let it breach.

Kade, Ylsa, Tavian, and three new Reclaimed Choir operatives — each with old blood and new names — fan out through the Vault's concentric rings.

The walls are lined with echo-drives, shimmering with locked memory. Not surveillance. Not intelligence.

Narrative.

This place is where the Dominion rewrote history.

Where facts were fractured and reforged into doctrine. Where centuries of genocide were recoded as "preservation," and entire cultures were compressed into a single forgettable line.

I walk between the shelves like a priest in a ruined temple.

"This is where they erased the truth," I whisper.

Velen walks beside me. "Then let's make it loud."

The Choir's Plan Is Simple:

We're not here to destroy the Vault.

We're here to infect it.

The cube carries the Archive. Every memory fragment the Dominion deleted, compressed into a living resonance. With it, we can overwrite the forgeries. Replace their false past with the real one. One name, one loss, one memory at a time.

But it's dangerous.

Once started, the overwrite cannot stop.

If it fails, the Dominion's system retaliates — not with firewalls, but with a self-triggering history burn. A recursive memory wipe that could eliminate everything: them, us, everyone.

A perfect silence.

So we don't fail.

Command Node – Core Nexus

The room glows gold now. Not Dominion light. Ours.

I kneel before the central interface. A memory lattice shaped like a tree — thick roots, thin branches, made of solid code.

My voice is quiet.

But it carries.

"I am Viraen Xedrin.

Choir Bearer.

I carry the names you erased.

I speak them now."

I take the cube from my back and press it to the lattice.

It sinks in like a blade into a scar.

"SYNC COMPLETE," the system says.

"BEGINNING REWRITE."

"HISTORY WILL NOW REMEMBER."

The Vault begins to tremble.

On the walls, holographic plaques start to glitch.

The Dominion's version of events — the "great unification," the "peaceful compliance," the "necessary sacrifices" — begin to unravel.

And beneath them?

Truth.

A thousand lost cities.

Millions of erased names.

A map redrawn with the blood they tried to forget.

Ylsa chokes back a sob. She's found her father's record — marked "extinct." Now glowing: Alive in memory.

Kade stares at a child's voice log — his sister, singing a song he hadn't heard since he was six.

Tavian finds his own name.

Not the one the Dominion gave him.

His real name.

"Tairen Vass."

Status: Restored.

I feel the weight of every record we recover.

It doesn't crush me.

It lifts me.

This isn't just rebellion.

This is resurrection.

Dominion Citadel – High Command Observation Deck

POV: Director Mavros

The sky above the city splits.

Not physically.

Historically.

All across Dominion-controlled territory, official records begin rewriting themselves. Broadcasts stutter. Statues flicker between false heroes and their victims. Children's textbooks dissolve in their hands. Identity cards no longer match.

Memory is no longer theirs to control.

Mavros slams his fist into the console.

"It was never supposed to reach the root vault," he hisses.

An aide stutters. "They… they fused the Archive directly into the lattice, sir. It's rewriting faster than we can isolate."

He turns slowly, eyes burning with quiet fury.

"Then isolate the source."

He means me.

But it's too late.

Because we're already inside the Dominion's bones — not just to hollow them out.

To redefine them.

Vault N-6 – 47 Minutes into the Rewrite

It's almost done.

The last sector of falsified history blinks red — Dominion's final act of control, labeled: The Great Burn.

Their most sacred lie.

The myth of how peace was won through unity, when in truth it was soaked in the blood of those who refused to disappear.

I press my hand to the panel.

The cube pulses.

And I speak the final line of the old hymn:

"You thought we were silence.

We were waiting to remember."

The red turns to gold.

The truth replaces the myth.

And across the world…

People remember.

To be continued...