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Chapter 107 – Vault of the Ashborne
They lingered in the chamber long after the flame settled.
A strange silence had taken hold—one not born of fear or reverence, but of understanding. As if the place itself recognized that Erevan was no longer merely a visitor. He had become part of its story.
He had been claimed.
Yuren paced quietly along the glyphstones, occasionally brushing a hand against one. Each reacted differently—some flaring briefly, others shrinking away like frightened animals. Serah, meanwhile, examined the pedestal, eyes narrowed.
Nyara stood still, her arms folded. "This isn't the only vault."
Erevan's gaze flicked to her. "You've seen others?"
"No. But I remember... echoes. When I was still a Siren under their control. The Choir spoke of the Ashborne. Of rebels who buried memory not in minds, but in places."
Serah frowned. "Why?"
Erevan's hand curled into a fist. "Because minds can be rewritten. But land remembers."
That struck something deep in them all. A truth none wanted to admit—but couldn't deny. After everything the Tower had done to erase resistance, after every protocol to fracture identity, it was the land that still whispered what the soul tried to forget.
Yuren turned to Erevan. "That trait—Ashbearer's Legacy. What exactly does it do?"
Erevan hesitated. "It connects me to constructs. Memories made manifest. And it protects my mind from being rewritten again."
Nyara tilted her head. "Again?"
His jaw tightened. "They've done it before. Back then, I called it 'mercy.' Now, I know it was silence."
He stepped toward the nearest glyphstone and pressed his palm to it.
For a moment—nothing.
Then a ripple. A projection. A memory.
The chamber darkened, and suddenly they stood amidst a different world. Snow fell gently around them, the scent of gunpowder and pine heavy in the air. A mountainside camp lay ahead, tents barely holding against the wind. Rebels—young, desperate—huddled around fires. Their faces flickered, unstable. Half-forgotten.
A woman stepped forward in the vision. Pale hair, bright eyes, a rifle slung over one shoulder. She looked directly at Erevan—not the projection, but him.
"You said we would burn the Tower," she said, her voice laced with warmth and disbelief. "But you never said what would rise after."
"I didn't know," Erevan whispered.
The memory dissolved.
Back in the vault, Serah stepped back, visibly shaken. "That felt real."
"It was," Erevan said. "That was Arwen. She followed me when I didn't even know what I was leading."
Nyara murmured, "The Ashborne weren't just rebels. They were... anchors."
Yuren nodded slowly. "Then this vault is more than a relic. It's a sanctuary. A place where erased names fight to be remembered."
Erevan closed his eyes. "And every one of them is a shard I left behind."
Silence again.
But this time, it felt full—like soil rich with seeds.
Serah turned. "There's a path leading deeper. The flame didn't unlock just memories. It opened a gate."
Erevan nodded. "Let's go."
They walked in formation, the corridor widening into a vast spiral descent. The walls pulsed faintly with amber light, more glyphstones embedded like stars in the stone. Some hummed with memories, others remained dormant—waiting.
After minutes, they entered a second chamber, this one darker, colder. A circular platform hovered in its center, surrounded by a chasm with no visible bottom. The only bridge—a single narrow strand of flickering light.
A voice boomed suddenly, deep and ancient.
"ASHBORNE IDENTIFIER CONFIRMED."
The platform flared to life.
"TO WALK THE FLAMEPRINT IS TO CLAIM THE SCARS."
Nyara drew closer to Erevan. "What does it mean?"
Yuren answered grimly. "Sounds like a trial."
The bridge formed under their feet, and Erevan stepped forward.
Each step lit up a piece of his past.
A child crying in a ruined village.
A boy stealing scraps from an imperial lab.
A teenager rigging explosives under the Tower's outer ring.
A young man standing before a mirror, unable to recognize who he'd become.
His breath hitched.
Serah whispered, "You alright?"
"I don't know," Erevan said honestly. "But I can't stop walking now."
When they reached the center, the platform shifted. A dome formed overhead, enclosing them in twilight. Then the walls bloomed with flame—not destructive, but revealing. One by one, figures began to step from the fire.
They were all Erevan.
But twisted.
A thousand possible selves. One wore a crown of data wires and smiled with synthetic peace. Another wept blood while dragging a sword too large for his frame. One version simply sat in chains, eyes vacant.
Then the flame formed a final shape.
It was Erevan.
But older.
Tired.
His armor scorched. His body marked with sigils and burns. Yet his eyes still burned with defiance.
He looked at Erevan—our Erevan—and spoke.
"You forgot us."
Erevan swallowed. "I didn't want to."
"You did anyway," the old man said. "Because it was easier to forget than to carry us."
A pause.
"But now you carry the Ash."
Erevan looked around at the echo-selves. The fractured possibilities. The versions of him that died in other timelines, other rebellions.
"I can't change what I did," he said. "But I can choose what I become."
The elder Erevan smiled. And faded.
The chamber glowed brighter.
A system prompt appeared:
> ASHBORNE FLAMEPRINT COMPLETE.
Memory Trial: Vault of the Ashborne passed.
New Skill Acquired:
Ash-Step (Active) – Momentarily phase through memory-space to dodge or reposition. Costs Willpower.
Memory Archive Expanded.
– You may now access deeper vaults.
– Construct: Arwen, Flamebound Scout available for summon in trauma zones.
Erevan exhaled, chest heaving.
The others gathered near.
"Did it work?" Serah asked.
He looked up at her. "No. It began."
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Author's Note:
This chapter dives deep into Erevan's fractured sense of memory and identity. The Vaults of the Ashborne are going to be emotional gauntlets, not just power-ups—expect echoes, regrets, and redemption.
Drop a review = 1 bonus chapter
Drop 10 power stones = 2 bonus chapters
Was this chapter heavy in the right way? What did you think of Arwen, the Flamebound Scout? Let me know below!
— Dorian Blackthorn