The wind howled against the stained glass above the Academy's east wing, but deep below—beneath centuries of stone and silence—the world held its breath.
Gold stood before the sealed wall, the spiral key clenched in his hand. The stone was cold, rough, veined with cracks that pulsed faintly—as if listening to the heartbeat of forgotten memories.
"This is it," Irethiel whispered, kneeling to trace the runes carved low along the base. "These are memory locks. Old magic designed to keep secrets from even the Archmage."
Gold's brow furrowed. "Then how do you know?"
She didn't meet his gaze. "Because my father forged these wards."
Gold stared at her, but before he could speak, Yvaine stepped closer, voice soft and quiet like a fading echo.
"Your blood can unlock what our minds only remember," she said, eyes heavy with something unspoken. "But we were meant to be here. Together."
Irethiel rose, brushing stone dust from her knees. "Let's move quickly. The Archive is alive. If it resists, we might lose the chance forever."
Gold exhaled and pressed the spiral key into the stone.
It sank in with a sharp bite—like memories forced into flesh.
The stone groaned, a jagged seam splitting across it. Dim runes flared like veins beneath pale skin, and the wall parted to reveal a narrow stairwell spiraling into darkness.
A stale breath of air met them—thick with copper and old parchment.
Yvaine's voice was barely a whisper. "This place doesn't just remember—it holds pain. Memories locked in wounds."
Gold glanced at her. "Like memories I can take?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. Like scars that never heal."
They descended in silence. Each step felt heavier as the air grew thick, the walls shifting from carved stone to something bone-white and vein-cracked—almost alive.
Irethiel broke the silence. "I thought the Archive was a myth. A vault of cursed knowledge. But now… it feels like a graveyard for forgotten souls."
Yvaine's voice was distant. "Graves forget. This place never will."
Gold's grip tightened on the key. "Then let's hope it forgets we came."
At the bottom stood a door—tall and black, carved from stone so dense it swallowed light whole. Even Irethiel's flame faltered at its surface.
"Is this it?" Gold asked.
Yvaine's voice barely reached him. "The Door of Names."
Gold raised the key. It trembled in his hand, alive with power.
"You don't have to do this," Irethiel said suddenly, hand resting on his arm. "Once inside, there's no turning back. The memories here… they're not meant for us."
Gold met her gaze, steady and unyielding. "Then why does it feel like they've been waiting for me?"
Silence fell before he pushed the key into the door.
A low hum filled the stairwell as the stone drank the spiral like ink on parchment. The runes lit slowly—like stars waking from deep sleep.
The door opened with a whisper—a secret spoken through stone.
Beyond lay blackness. Not absence—but presence.
Gold stepped forward.
And the Veiled Archive remembered him.
The air inside was thick—not with dust, but with memory—pressing against their skin like cold water.
The chamber was vast, circular, carved deep like a wound in the earth. Shelves spiraled upward, lined not with books, but with slivers of black stone etched with names—names in tongues Gold could not speak.
The ground was smooth and hollowed—like the eye of something watching.
Silence reigned. No echoes, no breath—footsteps swallowed.
Yvaine shivered. "It's like everything's watching—but nothing has eyes."
Irethiel conjured a brighter flame, which flickered wildly.
Gold's gaze climbed the walls. "These aren't books. They're memories."
Yvaine nodded. "Each name holds a memory—fragments of gods, souls, ancient pacts. When those memories were taken… those names were sealed here to be forgotten."
Gold stepped forward. "Why seal them away?"
A new voice answered—a layered chorus that filled the chamber.
"I am the Keeper. Guardian of the Threshold of Echoes."
They sat on an altar of white stone, face hidden behind a smooth porcelain mask, hair white as chalk.
Gold's breath caught. "You were waiting for me."
The Keeper nodded. "Someone like you—fragmented, fractured by stolen memories. The First Pactum stirs."
Irethiel stepped protectively closer. "What is the First Pactum?"
The Keeper's voice softened. "A silent pact made by those who remembered too much. It is dying, and so must be reborn."
Gold approached the altar. "Why me?"
"You are hollow where it counts—empty enough to carry the burden. But not lost to yourself… yet."
The ground trembled. Names along the walls glowed softly—like sleeping stars disturbed.
Yvaine inhaled sharply. "The fragments… waking again."
"Then choose," the Keeper said, rising. "Speak a name. Take its memory. Carry its power. But beware—each one reshapes you."
Gold looked to Irethiel and Yvaine—fear in their eyes, but no hesitation.
His hand hovered over a black stone shard.
A name burned beneath his palm.
ASHU-VEIL.
The moment he spoke it, the world shattered.
Visions tore through his mind:
A god silenced by chains of shadow.
A burning city beneath a blood-red sky.
A woman's voice calling him another name.
He staggered.
The Keeper's voice echoed:
"The god answers. The memory is yours."
Gold looked down. The spiral key was gone.
In its place, a mark burned on his skin—a winged spiral bleeding smoke.
Yvaine whispered, "You've awakened what was buried."
Gold's heart thundered.
"I don't care."
He faced the Keeper. "What now?"
The mask tilted downward.
"Now you remember who you were—before the gods erased you."
The spiral burned, pain distant—as if happening to another.
Gold steadied himself. The memory hit like a tidal wave—too much, too fast. But not enough.
He wanted more.
Needed it.
"Gold?" Irethiel's voice was tight with worry. "You're bleeding."
He looked down. Black ichor seeped from the mark—smoke curling like whispers.
"I'm fine," he said hollowly. "Just memories… coming back."
The Keeper watched silently.
Yvaine's voice trembled. "What did you see?"
Gold closed his eyes.
A frozen battlefield buried beneath ice.
A god laughing, ribs exposed.
His own hands—not his own—grasping a sword of screaming light.
A whispered name in his ear:
"Ashkarion. Not Gold."
He gasped, falling to a knee.
Irethiel caught him.
"Gold—"
"That's not my name," he muttered.
"What?"
"I was Ashkarion. Once. I led armies against the gods—not for power, but for vengeance."
Yvaine stepped back. "That name… it's forbidden. Wiped from all tomes."
"Because I almost won," Gold said quietly.
Suddenly, the Keeper's head snapped toward the entrance, alert.
"They come," the Keeper said.
Irethiel's hand went to her dagger. "Who?"
"The Shadows," the Keeper answered. "They kill memory. They will stop the First Pactum."
A low pulse vibrated through the chamber. Dust fell.
Yvaine's eyes widened. "They're here."
"Then we fight," Gold said.
The Keeper traced a circle of runes in the air.
"I will seal this place again. Your path lies above—in the Temple of the Hollow Star. There you'll find names that remember you."
Gold nodded, pain giving way to cold resolve.
"Let's go. Time is short."
Before they left, the Keeper warned:
"Each memory you reclaim brings strength. But too many—and you will become the echo the gods tried to bury."
Gold didn't answer.
He stepped out into the tunnels, Irethiel and Yvaine beside him.
Far above, a scream rent the air—the sound of memory being torn apart.
And the chase began.