Chapter 37

The corridor was tight, the air thick with dust and silence. Kye leaned forward slightly, straining to hear more of the voice. His voice—but darker. Sharper. Each word was laced with conviction, not rage.

Conviction was worse.

Rage could burn out. Conviction lingered.

Ahead, the hallway curved left, and the faint light of a torch flickered beyond the bend. Kye motioned to the others to slow down. Renna instinctively drew her dagger, holding it in reverse grip. Veika crouched beside a half-broken pillar, biting back a nervous curse under her breath.

Kye stepped forward carefully, bootfalls nearly soundless. The closer he got, the clearer the voices became.

The woman's voice was faint, strained, like she hadn't spoken in a long time—or wasn't used to talking above a whisper.

"You... you said they locked you away. That they took your name from the records."

"They didn't just take it," the other Kye said. "They built a new world on top of it."

A pause.

"You believed in me back then. Even when the council said I was dangerous."

"I told them truth doesn't scare me," she replied.

The torchlight brightened. Kye took one more step and stopped.

Just ahead, the corridor widened into a small room—a memory vault. Dust hung like cobwebs in the air. Books lined the shelves in uneven stacks. Most were sealed, bound with thick crimson thread. Some had no titles.

But Kye didn't focus on the books.

He focused on *her*.

She was standing in front of the false Kye—the version unsealed from the sword—the one with silver-fire eyes and a presence like gravity.

The woman was older than him, maybe early thirties. Dressed in the deep gray robes of a forgotten order, with long auburn hair braided tightly behind her. A single chain of memory tokens looped around her neck, clinking faintly as she moved. Her face was scarred—deliberately so. Three lines carved beneath her left eye, marking her as someone who had once defied the Memory Division and lived.

Renna leaned close to Kye, whispering.

"Do you know her?"

Kye shook his head.

But something in his chest pulsed.

He *should* have.

The other him turned slightly.

"I told you I'd return," he said to the woman.

She reached up, hand trembling as she brushed her fingers across the edge of his shoulder.

"They said you were a myth. A symbol they used to scare new recruits."

He smiled faintly. "They needed to believe that."

Kye stepped forward into the chamber.

The moment his boot touched the stone, both of them turned.

The woman froze.

Her eyes widened, darting between the two versions.

"You're…"

"I'm the one they kept," Kye said.

The air changed.

The woman stepped back.

"You feel different," she said.

"I'm what was left when they cut him out," Kye replied.

She looked back at the other Kye—the one who hadn't blinked once.

He stepped forward now, placing himself between her and Kye, like a shadow cast by a fire too old to extinguish.

"She remembers everything," he said. "She was one of the last Archivists who refused to let the truth die. They marked her, stripped her status, and buried her in this ruin."

Kye looked at the woman.

"What's your name?"

She hesitated.

Then: "Eleska."

The name triggered something.

A flicker of familiarity. A warmth that didn't belong to any recent memory. It was buried so deep it felt like someone else's thought—but it was his.

"You… trained me," Kye murmured.

She nodded slowly.

"I taught you how to read the memory glyphs. How to feel when a story's been twisted. You were a child. You asked too many questions. I should've known they wouldn't let that slide."

Kye stepped closer.

The other Kye didn't stop him.

For now.

"Eleska… why did you believe in me?"

She met his eyes, then flicked her gaze toward the other Kye.

"I believed in *both* of you. The council was terrified of what the sword was doing to your mind. But I saw it differently. You weren't breaking. You were evolving. Seeing past the fog they'd forced on everyone else. You weren't a weapon, Kye. You were a lens. A way to *see*."

Renna moved beside him. "And they didn't want anyone seeing."

"No," Eleska said. "They didn't."

Veika edged into the room finally, though she kept near the wall. "Alright, I get it now. We've got rogue archivists, erased royalty, forgotten prophecies… and I'm guessing we're about to find out that history is even more fake than we thought?"

Eleska smiled slightly. "Not fake. Edited."

She turned back to the other Kye.

"You're going to the Bastion, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said. "It's the only way."

Renna tensed. "What's the Bastion?"

Eleska turned to her.

"It's where they house the Master Records. The originals—uncut, untouched. If you want to rewrite the world, that's where you start."

Kye narrowed his eyes. "That's why they split me. To keep me from ever getting close."

His other self looked directly at him.

"You still don't understand," he said. "The sword didn't break you. It *showed* you. You just weren't ready to see. So they sealed that version of you… in me."

Kye took a step forward.

"Then what are you now?"

"I'm the part that remembers."

The tension spiked.

The two versions of the same man stood across from each other, inches apart. One forged in truth, filtered through restraint. The other sharpened by silence, left to stew in exile.

Eleska looked between them.

"You two are not enemies."

"That depends," said the other Kye, "on whether he follows me or tries to stop me."

Renna's hand slid toward her dagger again. "You're not giving him much choice."

"I'm giving him *freedom*," he said.

Veika snorted. "You mean the freedom to burn the world down and call it justice?"

The man didn't respond.

Kye drew a breath.

"You're not just planning to unlock the Master Records."

"No," the other replied. "I'm going to release what they hid there. Every memory. Every truth. Even the ones that kill."

Eleska stepped forward.

"If you do that… the world will collapse. The people aren't ready."

"I wasn't ready either," he said.

He turned to Kye.

"But we're out of time."

Kye opened his mouth to respond—but a blast suddenly echoed from somewhere above. Dust fell from the ceiling. A rumble followed, loud and deep.

Eleska went rigid.

"They've found this place."

Kye looked around. "Who?"

"They're called the Silence," she said. "Agents of the Division trained to erase resistors. They wipe locations, minds… people."

Renna pulled her blade. "Then we need to move. Now."

The other Kye looked at Eleska. "I'll draw them off."

She grabbed his arm.

"You'll die."

He smiled.

"I already did."

He turned and vanished through a corridor that hadn't existed a moment ago—folding into the wall like he belonged to it.

Eleska turned to Kye. "You're not ready to face him. Not yet."

"I know."

She pulled a scroll from her robe. "Then take this."

"What is it?"

"The next piece."

Another tremor shook the walls.

No time for questions.

Eleska gestured toward a different path, deeper into the ruin.

"Go. Before the Silence finds you."

And just like that, they were moving again—Kye, Renna, Veika, and the silent boy who followed behind like a tether to a forgotten truth.

But as they ran, Kye looked back once.

At the empty corridor.

At the memory of himself, walking a path he *might* have taken.

He didn't know if he'd face him as an enemy.

But he knew one thing for sure.

He would meet him again.

And when he did—

Only one of them would walk away unchanged.