The cheering had faded hours ago, but Kael could still hear it echoing through the narrow cobbled alleys of the Capital: the chorus of thousands chanting his name like a hymn carved into stone.
"Kael Wynn, the Hero of the Dawnfall—!"
He wished he could scrub the sound from his memory.
Night settled across Sunbound like a heavy velvet curtain, the last streaks of sunset vanishing behind the spires. Lanterns glowed along the elevated bridges of the government quarter. Each one shimmered gold — the color of triumph.
Kael felt none of it.
He walked alone now, cloak drawn close, boots scuffing against the old stone. His mind flashed back to the parade: the flowers thrown into the streets, the screaming crowds, the way his general clasped his arm and forced his hand upward for the people to see.
"Smile. You saved the Capital."
Saved?
He hadn't saved a single person.
He only survived.
The rest were dead — and the fact that he was being celebrated for it made bile sit sharp in the back of his throat.
He reached the gates of the Sunbound Administration Complex and passed inside, avoiding the gazes of guards who nodded to him with unearned reverence. The halls were quieter here, lined with banners depicting past heroes — warriors who had actually earned their place.
He would never belong among them.
Kael climbed the stairs to the Relic Receiving Hall, expecting an empty room. Instead, he found two archivists waiting, stiff-backed and pale, like they had been standing there far too long.
They bowed deeply.
"W-Welcome, Hero Wynn."
He almost corrected them — don't call me that — but he forced himself into silence.
"Why am I here?" he asked.
Their eyes flickered in the same direction — toward a large sealed crate in the center of the hall. The crate was ancient; he could feel it before he even approached. The metal was darker than iron, veins of glowing turquoise running through it like frozen lightning.
He exhaled sharply.
A Shadefall artifact.
A dangerous one.
"We received this from the border recovery teams," the head archivist said, voice trembling slightly. "It was discovered in the ruins beneath the Veins… and it bears your—"
He stopped.
Kael felt a strange stillness settle over the room.
"My what?" Kael pressed.
The archivist swallowed.
"Your name, sir."
Kael stared at the crate as if waiting for it to explode.
---
The archivists stepped back as the crate's containment field shifted, the turquoise veins pulsing faintly. Kael approached slowly, instinctive dread tightening in his chest. Every Shadefall relic he had ever seen had been dangerous — unpredictable, ancient, and alive in some indescribable way.
But this…
This was different.
He could feel it.
"Activate the seal," he ordered, keeping his voice steady.
The archivist pressed a sequence on a handheld pad. The crate's top split open with a deep metallic groan, releasing a faint gust of cold air that smelled like dust and storms and something older than memory.
Inside, nestled within reinforced cushioning, was a small metallic capsule—oval, about the size of a fist, its surface engraved with symbols that glowed faintly as Kael drew nearer.
The archivist whispered, "We didn't touch it after the discovery… We thought it should be you."
Kael reached in, fingers trembling despite himself, and lifted the capsule. It was surprisingly warm—alive warm.
The moment his skin made full contact, the capsule responded.
The engravings lit up like waking eyes.
And at the center, a name burned into visibility:
KAEL WYNN
Year 213 — Sunbound Registry
Kael's blood turned to ice.
213.
That was two centuries ago.
He let out a small, disbelieving laugh.
"This… must be a mistake," he said, voice shaking.
But no — the engraving was perfect, unmistakable.
His name. His exact name. Not common. Not interchangeable. A registry-mark unique to him alone.
Someone… or something… had carved his name onto a relic centuries before he was born.
He turned the capsule over, and another line of text slid into view, glowing gently:
Return to the Veins.
The truth waits.
His pulse hammered.
Return?
To the Veins?
The place he wasn't allowed to go — the place forbidden even to Sunbound soldiers except under strict escort.
The place where people disappeared.
He exhaled shakily.
"Where exactly was this found?"
The archivist bowed again.
"Deep within a blocked passage under the East Vein trench… the area sealed since the Sundering."
Kael straightened.
The Sundering… the mythical destruction event from two hundred years ago.
Exactly when the relic was dated.
He looked at the capsule again, the metal glowing like a heartbeat in his palm.
He felt the archivists watching him expectantly.
"Is there anything inside?" he asked.
"Yes," the archivist whispered. "We believe it contains a datapulse."
"A message?"
"Yes… but it only unlocks with your genetic signature. We verified."
Kael's breath caught.
His signature.
No one else could open it.
The archivists stepped back, as if acknowledging that whatever came next wasn't meant for them.
Kael inhaled, bracing himself, then pressed his thumb against the center seam.
The capsule reacted instantly.
The room's lights flickered.
The air vibrated.
A faint, harmonic tone rose from the relic — like a song heard underwater.
Then it opened.
Light burst from inside, expanding into the shape of a holographic projection.
Kael staggered back.
The archivists gasped.
Because the hologram wasn't a symbol.
It wasn't an image.
It was a recording.
And it was of him.
---
The hologram stabilized, revealing a young man who looked exactly like Kael — same dark hair, same angular jaw, same silver-flecked eyes — but older somehow. Hardened. Scarred. Worn from battles he recognized but didn't remember.
The projection looked around, as if sensing an audience. Then it spoke.
And its voice was Kael's.
Not similar.
Identical.
"If you're seeing this… you survived."
Kael's throat closed.
The hologram Kael continued:
"Then the cycle has restarted."
The archivists exchanged horrified glances.
Kael's pulse roared in his ears.
"This message is for Kael Wynn of the Sunbound Registry," the hologram said. "Only him. Only us."
Kael's knees felt weak.
Us?
"You're living in a lie," the projection said calmly — too calmly for the weight of its words. "Your memories, your childhood, everything you think you are… it's all constructed."
Kael felt the room tilt.
The hologram went on:
"You weren't born… You were replicated."
Kael stumbled.
One of the archivists reached out, but Kael shook him off, eyes fixed on the hologram.
"You're a copy of someone who shouldn't exist anymore. And if you're alive right now… then everything is heading toward another Sundering."
Kael whispered, "No… this can't be—"
The hologram cut him off.
"I know this is overwhelming. It was for me too the first time."
"The first… time?" Kael breathed.
The hologram nodded.
"We've been here before, Kael. Many, many times. And every time, it ends the same."
Kael's hands trembled violently.
"What ends?" he whispered.
The hologram spoke with absolute certainty:
"You end the world."
Silence swallowed the hall.
Not even the archivists dared breathe.
Hologram-Kael leaned forward, expression urgent.
"If you want to break the cycle… if you want to avoid becoming what I became… go back to the Veins. And find her."
Kael blinked.
"Her… who?"
The hologram flickered.
And then showed an image beside it.
A girl — maybe seventeen.
Slender.
Pale gold eyes.
Hair like dark fracturing starlight.
Her face was unmistakably familiar.
Because it was his.
A female version of him.
The archivists recoiled.
Kael's heart nearly stopped.
"She's the one who started everything," the hologram said. "The worldbreaker prototype. The original."
The image vanished; the message returned to the hologram's face.
"I can't say more. They're watching. They always watch."
The hologram's voice lowered to a whisper:
"If you trust anyone… trust Lysandra."
Kael froze.
Lysandra?
He didn't know anyone by that name.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The hologram's final words made Kael's blood run cold:
"And Kael… if you fail again… there won't be another chance.
The next Sundering will be permanent."
The light blinked once.
Twice.
Then the hologram collapsed into darkness.
The relic sealed itself shut.
The hall fell silent as death.
---
Kael stood motionless, the relic still in his hands, its surface cooling rapidly. He could hear his heartbeat pounding against his ribs like a fist trying to escape. The archivists were pale, visibly shaken, whispering hurried prayers under their breath.
Kael forced himself to breathe.
I wasn't born.
I was replicated.
The words felt unreal, obscene, like an illness spreading through his mind.
He stumbled backward, gripping the edge of a table to steady himself.
The archivist approached slowly.
"Sir… are you alright?"
Kael didn't answer.
He didn't even hear the question.
His eyes were fixed on the darkened relic.
You weren't born.
You were replicated.
We've been here before.
You end the world.
His stomach twisted violently.
If what the hologram said was true, then—
No.
He couldn't accept that.
He pushed away from the table, pacing, fingers tangled in his hair.
"Who authorized this relic to be sent to me?" he demanded sharply.
The archivist flinched.
"We— We just follow the chain of—"
Kael cut him off with a look.
"I want names. I want the team who found it. I want the exact location. I want—"
He stopped.
He wasn't thinking clearly.
He could feel panic rising like a tide.
He pressed a hand to his chest, grounding himself.
Nothing in his life made sense anymore.
Not his survival in the catastrophe.
Not the way the Veins reacted to him the day before.
Not the visions he had pushed away and pretended never happened.
He needed answers.
Real answers.
And those answers were in the Veins.
Just like the message said.
---
Kael turned toward the door, steps unsteady but determined.
"Where are you going?" the archivist called after him.
Kael didn't slow.
"To the East Trench," he said. "To find the place this relic came from."
"That area is forbidden without High Command clearance," the archivist warned, voice alarmed.
Kael paused, turning just enough to look over his shoulder.
"Then I'll be quick."
He left the hall before they could stop him.
The further he walked through the Administration Complex, the more certain he felt. Not calmer, not comforted — but focused, like a storm narrowing into a single path.
He didn't know who Lysandra was.
He didn't know why a version of himself existed two hundred years ago.
He didn't know why the Veins called to him.
Or why the world apparently believed he was its looming destruction.
But he knew one thing:
He would not live his life in lies.
And if the truth was buried beneath the Veins…
Then that's where he would go.
Even if Sunbound Command killed him for it.
Even if the world did.
He took one last breath and stepped into the night, cloak snapping behind him as he vanished into the shadows of the sleeping Capital.