There was no sky here.
Only light.
And not the kind that warmed. This light searched. It peeled layers from Lian's soul, memory by memory, like pages torn from a sacred book.
He hit the ground or something pretending to be ground and coughed stardust. His body trembled with heat, pain, and unbearable stillness.
Something was wrong with time.
It bent here. Folded in on itself. He could feel past versions of himself moving just beneath the surface, shadows stitched into the walls of this place. All of them screaming one name:
Aure.
He rose, bleeding light from his palms, and walked.
Each step shattered illusions—memories he had sealed away.
He saw a young Aure kneeling beside him, pressing wildflowers into his wounds after battle.
He saw his lips part with laughter, with secrets, with a vow whispered not in ceremony but in desperation: "If they ever take me, follow the stars."
He had forgotten that.
The rift had not.
Ahead, a corridor of living stone. Sigils shifted on the walls like they were breathing.
In the center—Aure.
Suspended in a cocoon of radiant threads, heart pulsing with magic Lian couldn't name. His eyes were closed. But tears glowed on his cheeks.
He rushed forward—and the air pushed him back.
A figure emerged, faceless but familiar.
The Voice of the Rift.
"You broke your vow," it said, not accusing—just stating a law older than choice.
"I came to keep it," Lian snarled.
"You are not whole," it replied. "You carry the mark, but you lack the memory. To save him, you must give something up."
"What?"
"Your name."
The weight of it hit him.
Without a name, he would be forgotten. Lost to all realms. A shadow. A myth. Nothing.
And yet… his eyes stayed fixed on Aure.
"Then take it," he said.
"I am Lian no more. But I will not let him fade."
The rift screamed.
The threads snapped.
And Aure fell into his arms.
His eyes opened, wide and shimmering. "Lian?"
He smiled faintly. "Not anymore."
And kissed him one last time—before the light swallowed his name.