Chapter Fifteen: The Flood of Memory

When the torrent of magical starlight swept over him, Raen felt the entire world being ripped away.

It began as a halo at the edges of his vision—then, in an instant, became a tidal wave that swallowed him whole. The light ceased to be mere illumination; it had mass, temperature—heavy like liquid mercury, yet as piercing as a polar wind.

His irises contracted violently in the brilliance, yet still could not adjust.

All that remained before his eyes was a blinding white—so bright it made him dizzy, so pure it inspired dread. From that void of whiteness, countless black specks gradually emerged. They writhed and twisted, transforming into thousands of blurred faces, each one silently screaming.

Whispers surged in from all directions. They were not a single voice but a layered chorus—an old man's sigh, a child's sob, a warrior's roar, a lover's murmur… Some were painfully clear, others indistinct and elusive, as though he were hearing the echoes of hundreds of voices from across space and time.

Raen's nostrils were filled with a complex tapestry of scents: at the surface, the must of moldy parchment; beneath it, the earthy aroma of ancient oak; and deeper still, a cloying sweetness—like overripe fruit left to rot in summer's heat, its decadence laced with a sickening hint of decay. The realism was overwhelming—his throat tightened, and a bitter taste rose at the back of his tongue.

"Relax your consciousness."

Marthalan's voice tore through the chaos like a blade, yet it sounded distorted—filtered through some metallic chamber, carrying an eerie resonance and crackling distortion. Each syllable popped like the static from a worn-out phonograph playing a damaged record. The voice did not come from outside but resonated directly within Raen's skull, making his temples throb.

He felt an invisible force pulling at the core of his spirit. It wasn't physical pain—it was something deeper, more essential. As if someone were tearing his soul in two, stretching his awareness until it grew thin and translucent, and then—

Pop.

A soft sound, and he was flung into the vortex of memory.

Countless memory fragments spun and danced within that whirlpool. They were not simple images but multidimensional constructs. Some fragments took the shape of flawless polyhedra—within a twenty-sided crystal danced a forest gathering; curled in a spiral shard was a dying elf. Others changed shape as they spun—at one moment a droplet, the next a burning hole of flame.

Each surface refracted light from different eras—some bathed in ancient amber hues, others glinting with icy blue. But most disturbing were the fragments edged in sickly green luminescence. They pulsed like infected wounds, slowly corroding nearby memories. Whenever Raen's gaze passed over them, a sharp pain stabbed from the Life Crystal in his chest, as if warning him.

Suddenly, one massive fragment rotated toward him, reflecting a distorted image of himself—his left eye fully turned to emerald, a twisted smile on his lips that did not belong to him. As the reflection reached out a hand, Raen instinctively recoiled—only to crash into another shard.

Instantly, a torrent of foreign, intense emotions surged through him—despair, fury, ecstasy, regret... So real, he could no longer tell which feelings were his.

The vortex spun faster. The fragments clashed together with the chime of crystalline bells, forming a strange rhythm—like a primeval ritual drumbeat.

Raen's mind began to sync with that rhythm, his consciousness rippling in tune. Just as he was on the brink of being lost entirely, a shard inscribed with elvish runes sliced across his spirit, leaving a searing mark. The pain snapped him back to clarity, and he saw the truth: these beautiful fragments were dangerously deceptive—each one could tear apart his identity, each one sought to rewrite his past.

"Relax," came Marthalan's rasp again, cutting through the veil of memory. "Resisting will only let the blades of memory carve into your soul."

The world reassembled around Raen. He stood at the center of the Celestial Temple. Beneath his feet, a floor of emerald embedded with star maps. Above, the domed ceiling—where once stars shone—was now being extinguished one by one, replaced by something that writhed in the dark.

"Look down!" Marthalan's voice cracked like thunder.

Raen looked—and saw dark green vines erupting from between the tiles, growing at a frenzied pace. Each was covered in fine barbs, writhing as if alive. One vine lashed around a nearby elven guard's ankle. The guard screamed—Raen watched in horror as the barbs sank into flesh, and green veins spread through the body with terrifying speed.

"The Curse of the Life God…" Marthalan's voice carried deep sorrow. "The Holy Alliance and the Abyssal Council cast forbidden magic into the Mother Tree's roots."

The vision shifted.

Raen saw twelve elven elders kneeling at the central altar, their ornate robes soaked with sweat. Something writhed beneath their skin. The youngest, Elder Aevira, suddenly threw her head back and howled—a sound not of any mortal throat. Sharp wooden thorns burst from her fingertips, piercing her palms.

"Grand Elder! Decide now!" shouted a bloodied guard.

At the center of the altar, Grand Elder Elandir held a pulsating emerald crystal—Raen recognized it as the core of the Mother Tree. But now, it was webbed with cracks of deepest black.

The memory twisted again.

Raen found himself among the roots of the Mother Tree. The air was damp and thick with a sickly-sweet scent that made his stomach clench.

The twelve elders were bound in silver chains, twisted grotesquely. Aevira's right face was entirely wooden, yet her left eye remained eerily lucid, shedding tears continuously.

"Elandir… please…" she pleaded, her voice distant, "kill us…"

Elandir stood at the altar, still clutching the fractured Life Crystal. Blood dripped from his hands, slowly absorbed by the crystal.

"In the name of the Mother Tree, I seal you—and the curse—together," he declared, his voice heavy as iron. "Until the day we find purification."

The crystal burst into a searing light, splitting into twelve streams of energy that shot into the elders' chests. At once, the Mother Tree's roots came alive, wrapping around them in layers.

Raen heard bones snap. Aevira's final glance held a twisted smile.

Memory fractured again—now thick with the stench of blood.

Raen stood in the Elven Throne Hall, holding a long sword entwined with thorns. The blade glowed an ominous green, carved with ancient runes.

Before him, the Elven King knelt, his throat pierced by the sword. What flowed from the wound was not blood, but thick green liquid—crawling toward Raen like a living thing.

"Move!" came Marthalan's cry—but too late.

The green ooze surged upward like a serpent, latching onto Raen's wrist. Agony shot through him. Worse still—a foreign voice echoed in his mind:

"I've found you…"

Raen looked down—his chest glowed with the deep green of the Life Crystal. His skin had turned translucent around it, revealing flowing energy beneath.

"Raen! Come back!"

Marthalan's shout snapped him out. He was kneeling, clutching his chest where the skin burned. Even through his clothes, a sinister glow pulsed.

"They… they're inside me…" Raen forced out the words, throat tight with dread.

Marthalan's crystal right eye cracked. Green ichor oozed from the fissure as he staggered back, etching a protective rune in the air with trembling fingers.

"Not just inside you," he rasped, voice rising into a sharp screech, "They're using the curse to find you!"

Every candle in the chamber flared green. Raen reeled, vision doubling. In the flickering shadows, twelve vine-shrouded figures emerged.

Aevira led them—fully wooden now, yet her face retained its beauty. When she opened her mouth, her tongue unfurled as a cluster of tendrils.

"We've waited too long…" Twelve voices spoke in unison within Raen's mind. "Give us the Life Crystal…"

Agony speared his chest like a blade. He doubled over, fingers gouging into the stone floor. The Life Crystal pulsed violently, illuminating his ribs like translucent jade. Every heartbeat sent searing needles racing through his veins.

"RAAAAAHHHHH!"

Raen's scream shattered every glass vessel in the room. But instead of falling, the shards hovered midair—caught in the crystal's green glow. They rearranged, forming ancient elven runes—spinning, reshaping—until a complete binding circle trapped him inside.

Marthalan's skeletal frame broke through the light. In his left hand, a crystal vial of silver fluid; in his right, seven sacred seals cast in a blur. His silver hair whipped in the storm. Green ichor dripped from his broken eye.

"Hold on, child!"

He splashed the silver liquid onto Raen's chest. Blinding light swallowed the room. Where crystal met fluid, stars rose in steaming trails, coalescing into constellations. Marthalan's palm pressed to Raen's forehead, and the sigil of legacy flared blue.

"In the name of the stars—BEGONE!"

Glass runes exploded. Countless shadows were ripped from Raen's body—twelve vine-wrapped phantoms screamed, faces twisted into grotesque grins, whispering curses with rotting lips.

As the last wisp of green fog vanished, Marthalan collapsed, gripping Raen's shoulder. A final, lucid gleam flickered in his ruined eye.

"Listen…" his voice rasped like sandpaper, "I sealed... the legacy of millennia... inside you…"

Before he could finish, his throat burst. Green veins bloomed across his bones. Raen watched in horror as his skin turned to bark, and small shoots sprouted from his eyes.

"They… have already…" Marthalan's voice split into twelve discordant tones. One of them was unmistakably Aevira's.

BOOM—!

With a dull detonation, Marthalan became a spray of emerald light—first scattering like fireflies, then collapsing into a focused stream that surged into Raen's chest. He stumbled back, but the lights clung like parasites, sinking into his skin, fusing with the Life Crystal.

"NO—!"

His howl echoed through the temple, unanswered.

Raen's body convulsed. The crystal blazed. Green tendrils crept down his limbs, burrowing into his veins, rooting in his bones.

Worse still—his mind was being invaded.

Foreign memories crashed into him:

—Aevira standing before the Mother Tree, chanting over a beating heart;

—Twelve elders on their knees, smiling as vines pierced their flesh;

—A shadowed figure whispering from the abyss: "I shall become a god…"

"GET OUT!" Raen roared, clutching his skull. His nails tore into his scalp. But the voices only grew louder—twelve spirits whispering, arguing, laughing inside his skull.

His vision warped. His left eye crystallized into flawless emerald. His right eye remained human.

"So close…" Aevira's voice sighed near his ear. "Soon… we shall be one."