The wind hit him like a blade.
Sharp, dry, unfamiliar.
Auron stepped out of the hidden passage buried beneath the old mountain, eyes adjusting to the daylight. It had been days—maybe weeks—since he'd last seen the sky. The clouds above were heavy, grey with a yellow hue that spoke of ash and storm. A far cry from the sky he once ruled under.
Seliora walked just behind him, her cloak fluttering in the cold wind. Jace and Mira stood a few feet away, waiting. Both of them stared as Auron emerged, changed. His mask had evolved again. His presence was heavier. Even the ground seemed to quiet around him.
"You took your time," Jace said, forcing a half-smile.
Auron didn't respond.
Mira stepped forward. "You found it?"
Auron opened his hand.
The black crown rested there, not worn, but alive—pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. The flames in Mira's eyes flickered slightly.
"Yeah," she whispered. "He found it."
Behind them, the mountain closed. The entrance sealed by stone and will. No path back.
"What now?" Jace asked.
Auron looked across the landscape. Far in the distance, spires rose from the horizon—shimmering towers wrapped in gold and glass. The capital. Still standing. Still shining.
And still in the hands of the false king.
"We walk," Auron said.
"To where?" Mira asked.
"To the cities they built over our bones," Seliora replied. "To the kingdoms that wear crowns of stolen memory."
Jace whistled low. "We're really doing this, huh?"
"No," Auron said. "We're starting it."
He turned. His boots crunched against dry grass as he stepped forward. Every movement felt different now. The weight of the crown. The unlocked memory. The knowledge that the world above wasn't just corrupted—it was rebuilt on the lie of his absence.
The Echo Lords were awake.
The mask on his face whispered names. Forgotten kings. Slaughtered heirs. Erased empires.
Auron listened.
One by one.
He would find them all.
Not to save them.
But to make them remember.