The River of Asten ran silent beneath the morning fog — a black mirror stretching endlessly through the valley.

No birds. No wind.

Only the sound of Eiden’s boots against the stone bridge and the faint pulse of the medallion in his hand.

The air smelled of metal and ash — the scent of places the sun had long abandoned.

---

He knelt at the bridge’s edge, touching the water.

It was cold, but not natural — it hummed faintly, vibrating with traces of power. When his reflection rippled across the surface, he didn’t see just his face.

He saw others — flickers of figures beneath the current, silent, watching.

 “Souls,” Serin had warned. “The Empire calls it the River of the Dead for a reason. Every Lumen who fell during the Purge… their light sank here. It feeds the current still.”

Eiden exhaled softly. “Then maybe they’ll remember.”

He pulled the cloak tighter and began across the bridge.

---

Halfway across, he froze.

The medallion burned hot in his palm. The runes on its surface shifted — rearranging themselves into a single word.

Eiden’s eyes widened.

He spun just as something shattered the mist — a spear of crimson light tore through the bridge where he had stood a second ago.

He rolled, the explosion flinging him against the railing. Stones rained into the river below.

From the far end of the bridge, three riders emerged — cloaked in the dark crimson of the Empire’s Inquisition. Their armor bore the sigil of the Oathless Flame, the division that hunted divine anomalies.

At their head rode a woman — her hair white as frost, her eyes burning with silver fire.

She raised her spear again, its tip bleeding light.

“Eiden Vale,” she called. “By decree of the Empress and the Holy Seal, you are charged with divine heresy. Surrender the light, or be sanctified by force.”

Eiden wiped the blood from his lip. “You’ll have to take it.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “That’s the idea.”

---

The first spear flew — Eiden ducked under it, his golden veins flaring as the world slowed.

Every motion, every heartbeat, burned through him like molten glass — but the power responded.

He raised his hand, summoning a barrier of gold flame that cracked under the impact, splintering into sparks.

The second rider closed in.

Eiden lunged forward, catching the man’s weapon mid-swing — gold light searing through the metal.

The soldier screamed as his spear melted in his hands, the same light crawling up his arm like wildfire.

“What are you?” the woman demanded, her eyes narrowing.

“Someone learning what he was never meant to remember.”

The sky above rippled.

Eiden’s veins erupted in light — pure, blinding. The river below surged upward, carrying with it thousands of glowing motes — fragments of forgotten souls, awakened by the Lumen’s resonance.

They circled him in a spiraling storm.

 “The dead remember the flame…”

The whisper rose from the water itself. The Inquisitors stumbled back as the current began to sing — a low, resonant hum that rattled the bones of the bridge.

Eiden spread his arms as if embracing the storm.

The souls swirled faster, forming shapes — faces, echoes of warriors, and one that made his heart stutter.

Mira.

Her outline flickered for a moment — soft, smiling — before dissolving into the current.

But it was enough.

 “You’re not gone,” he whispered. “You’re part of it.”

And the Lumenflame answered.

A surge of golden fire erupted from his chest, cutting through the fog and piercing the clouds above.

The river blazed with light — and every soul beneath it ignited in response, like stars rising from darkness.

The lead Inquisitor shielded her eyes, her voice trembling.

 “Impossible… he’s channeling the Eidolon Echo—”

The explosion cut her words short. The shockwave hurled her and her soldiers into the far bank.

The bridge cracked, stones crumbling beneath Eiden’s feet.

He dropped to one knee, gasping. His skin burned where the veins pulsed too bright, threatening to tear him apart.

The medallion in his hand cooled.

Its glow faded — replaced by a new symbol, a sun with a fractured center.

Then, silence.

The river went still again — but now its color had changed.

No longer black.

It shimmered faintly gold, the light drifting slowly downstream like fallen petals.

---

Eiden pushed himself up, coughing, his vision swimming.

The Inquisitors were gone — scattered, retreating into the mist.

Only one thing remained where the leader had fallen — a fragment of her broken spear, still glowing red.

He picked it up, studying the edge. The energy inside it wasn’t divine. It was corrupted light — twisted Lumen energy bound by human hands.

 “They’re using the same power they call heresy,” he muttered. “They’ve already stolen it.”

His jaw tightened.

The Empire wasn’t just hunting him.

They were experimenting on the light itself.

He turned east again, the medallion faintly pulsing in his grip.

 “Lethra holds the answers,” he whispered. “And I’m done running.”

He stepped into the fog, his silhouette glowing faintly gold as the sun broke through the clouds for the first time in days.

The light seemed to follow him — hesitant, as if remembering what it once was.

---