The scream died in the wind.

Kaelen staggered to his feet, blood trailing from the corner of his lip. “Yolti!”

She didn’t answer. The Riftborn had her pinned, claws glowing with unstable pulse. Kaelen reached for his mark—but it wouldn’t stabilize.

Too much interference.

Too much fear.

And then—

Boom.

A silver arc split the sky.

From the treetops, he dropped again—cloak flaring, glyph blazing—and this time, he didn’t stop.

The Riftborn lunged.

He moved faster.

His blade, Crystal Monarch, drew a line through the battlefield like a scar across reality.

One Riftborn turned, shrieked.

Too late.

Slash.

Gone.

Strike.

Another down.

The air warped around him with each movement, silver flame trailing every blow like a memory set on fire.

Kaelen could only stare. “That form—”

Yolti gasped from the ground. “That’s his technique.”

The masked figure stepped forward, dragging the blade through the dirt. The remaining Riftborn hesitated—hesitated—then ran.

All of them.

Gone.

Smoke and silence returned.

Kaelen stumbled forward. “Hey—wait!”

The figure paused.

Turned.

And slowly… lifted his hand to the mask.

He pulled it off.

The world held its breath.

His hair was longer now. His frame older. But the eyes—

They never changed.

Blue, bright, burning like they never forgot the truth.

Kaelen’s voice cracked. “Zephryn…”

Yolti dropped to her knees. “It’s really you…”

Zephryn stepped forward. His voice—low, steady, full of fire.

“This world has stolen something from you…

…and I intend to bring it back.

For I am Zephryn, son of Solara—

and I won’t stop until we all remember.

I am proof this world cannot silence the past.”