The storm came before dawn.

Rain lashed the old observatory’s broken dome, hissing against stone and glass.

Eiden sat awake beside the dying fire, his thoughts moving faster than the thunder outside.

Mira slept beside him — pale, sweating, and murmuring in her dreams. Each time lightning flashed, the faint silver veins beneath her skin flickered like threads of moonlight.

He reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face.

“Hold on,” he whispered. “I’ll fix this.”

"You cannot fix what is not broken,"

the voice of Solane whispered through his mind.

The flame simply remembers its other half.

Eiden gritted his teeth. “Stay out of my head.”

"You carry my mark, Eiden Vale. Every thought you have is already halfway mine."

Her voice faded with the thunder, but the unease remained — heavy and cold as the storm.

---

At the far end of the observatory, Cale adjusted his old rifle, loading crystal rounds that shimmered faintly gold.

“They’ll come by morning,” he said. “The Sentinels don’t waste time once the Seer gives the order.”

Eiden looked up. “Sentinels?”

Cale gave a bitter laugh. “The Empire’s answer to us. Half machine, half divine carcass. They rip the essence of fallen Echoes and fuse it into soldiers. Strong enough to kill a god, dumb enough to follow orders.”

He paused.

“And once they find your trail, they don’t stop until nothing’s left breathing.”

Eiden stared out at the storm.

Lightning split the sky in the distance — for a heartbeat, he could see the faint outline of figures moving across the valley, glowing with pale silver light.

“They’re already here,” he said quietly.

---

By sunrise, the storm had turned the valley into a sea of fog.

Mira woke with a sharp gasp. “Eiden—! The fire, it’s—”

He turned just as the campfire flared unnaturally bright. Silver light shot from it, forming shapes — faces. Soldiers. Screaming silently as they burned.

Then it all collapsed, leaving only ash and the smell of ozone.

Eiden held her shoulders. “You saw it too?”

She nodded weakly. “They were… calling for you.”

Before he could answer, Cale’s voice cut through the air.

“Movement!”

He rushed to the broken archway, raising his rifle.

Through the mist, shadows moved with mechanical precision — cloaked figures of steel and flesh, their armor engraved with the Empire’s sigil: the winged eye.

Their leader stepped forward — a towering figure wrapped in black, his helm pulsing with silver circuits.

He held a long blade carved from crystallized light.

 “Eiden Vale of the Golden Vein,” the Sentinel said, his voice layered with machine and man. “By decree of the Empress, you are to be captured alive. Resist, and we cleanse you.”

Eiden’s hand tightened.

Mira hid behind him, trembling.

Cale spat on the ground. “Cleanse? You mean erase.”

The Sentinel tilted his head. “Words are irrelevant. The flame must not rise again.”

---

Eiden stepped forward. “If you want it, come take it.”

The Sentinel’s sword flared.

“Permission granted.”

The valley exploded.

Silver projectiles ripped through the fog, colliding with the observatory’s outer walls. Eiden flung his hand out — a burst of gold light rippled from his palm, deflecting shards mid-air. The impact sent him staggering back, his arm searing with heat.

Cale fired — one shot, two, three — crystal rounds that cracked against the Sentinel’s armor but didn’t pierce it.

Mira screamed as debris fell.

“Eiden!”

He turned — just in time to see one of the Sentinels leap through the smoke, blade drawn. Eiden raised his arm, blocking with a surge of light — but the strike threw him across the chamber. Stone shattered beneath him.

He coughed blood, blinking through the haze.

The Sentinel’s eyes burned silver.

“Pathetic. The divine spark weakens with each generation.”

---

Something inside Eiden snapped.

"Enough running."

He clenched his bleeding hand — golden veins flared, twisting into radiant patterns along his skin.

The ground beneath him cracked, the old sigils on the observatory floor blazing to life.

The Sentinel froze.

“What is this—?”

A voice echoed from nowhere — her voice.

"Remember this fire, Eiden Vale. It was never yours to fear."

The runes erupted.

A sphere of light engulfed him, raw and uncontrolled — the Lumenflame awakening again, hotter, wilder.

The gold light collided with the Sentinel’s silver aura, the clash rippling through the valley like a quake.

The other Sentinels fell back.

Even Cale shielded his eyes from the blinding light.

When it faded, Eiden stood in the center — his eyes burning gold, the wound in his shoulder gone.

His aura flickered between gold and white, alive with whispers.

---

The lead Sentinel staggered, half its armor melted away.

It raised its sword, but Eiden was already in front of it. His movement blurred — one heartbeat he was across the chamber, the next his hand was through the Sentinel’s chest, pure light piercing metal and flesh.

The creature screamed — not human, not machine, but something in between.

Eiden’s expression didn’t change. “You shouldn’t have come.”

He let go. The body collapsed, disintegrating into silver ash.

---

Silence followed.

Rain began to fall again, hissing as it touched the still-burning light around him.

Eiden dropped to one knee, panting — the glow in his veins dimming to embers.

Cale approached slowly, awe written across his face. “You just killed a Sentinel… I’ve never seen anyone—”

Then he stopped.

Because Mira was no longer where she had been.

She stood in the center of the room — eyes open, unfocused, silver light blooming from her palms.

“Mira?” Eiden whispered.

She turned toward him, her voice echoing — layered, unfamiliar.

“The veil weakens… the path opens…”

Then she collapsed.

Eiden caught her before she hit the ground. The silver glow faded, leaving her unconscious — but something cold lingered in her touch.

Cale’s jaw tightened. “It’s begun. The merging’s accelerating.”

He looked at Eiden. “You need to decide now, boy — whether you’ll save her, or let the world burn with you.”

Eiden held Mira close, staring at the distant spires through the rain.

The Empire.

The Empress.

The truth he’d been running from since the fire.

“I’m done running,” he whispered.

His golden veins pulsed once — steady, certain.

“I’m going to the capital.”

---

Far above, in the Sanctum’s highest tower, the Empress watched the rain through the crystal walls.

The High Seer knelt beside her, trembling.

“The Sentinel unit has failed,” she said softly. “The Eighth’s power grows.”

The Empress didn’t move. “Then call the Black Choir,” she said.

“Let them sing the Requiem themselves.”

---