Chapter 105: Echoes We Left Behind
The moment they crossed the third gate, the world twisted.
Not violently.
Not with pain.
But with that strange, quiet distortion that dreams carry—when a place isn't quite real, but feels too familiar to question.
They stood now in a forest, dappled with soft morning light. Dew clung to the grass. Birds chirped high in the canopy.
And yet…
Neither of them moved.
Because something felt wrong.
The air was too still.
The forest was too perfect.
Isaac reached for his blade instinctively, but found that it wasn't in his hand.
Sylvalen reached out, fingers brushing the bark of a tree.
"It's not physical," she murmured. "None of this is."
"An illusion?"
"A memory," she corrected. "But not ours."
A sound echoed through the trees—steel clashing, voices shouting.
Then a scream.
Not of pain.
Of betrayal.
Isaac and Sylvalen exchanged a glance and began moving toward the source, boots silent against the unreal earth.
As they walked, the forest shifted.
Became darker.
Less alive.
The birds vanished. The light dimmed.
And then, they saw him.
A young man stood alone in a clearing.
Not Takeshi Silverveil as they had seen him before—drenched in divine blood, stoic and resolute.
This version was younger, eyes brighter. His blade was whole, strapped across his back, and his hands trembled.
He knelt beside a fallen figure—an old man in simple robes, blood pooling beneath him.
"No," the young Takeshi whispered. "No no no—this wasn't supposed to happen."
The illusion played on, unbroken by their presence.
Sylvalen watched, frowning. "Who was that?"
"His master?" Isaac guessed.
"No," she said quietly. "I think it was someone he couldn't save."
The scene shifted.
The same young man now stood in front of a small village—its buildings in flames. People screamed. Not in rage—but panic. The gods had sent punishment. Retribution.
Takeshi stood in the center, motionless.
He hadn't reached them in time.
"This is guilt," Isaac murmured. "Takeshi's guilt."
Sylvalen's voice was low. "All the moments he thought he failed. All the people he couldn't protect."
Then the sky darkened.
Lightning cracked.
The final scene unfolded.
Takeshi stood before a council of mortals. Leaders. Warriors. Priests.
He offered them a blade—his own.
"I cannot carry this anymore," he said. "Not if you all fear what I've become."
And they rejected it.
Rejected him.
Called him heretic. Threat. Monster.
"You were never one of us," a robed man spat. "You walked too far. Challenged too much."
Takeshi didn't argue.
He simply turned.
And walked into the storm.
Alone.
Then the memory broke apart, fading into white mist.
And Isaac and Sylvalen stood again in silence.
The chamber had returned—but something was different.
Floating before them now was a sword fragment—dark with streaks of red, trembling slightly.
Isaac approached slowly, not reaching for it yet.
"He never meant to be a god," he said.
Sylvalen nodded. "He just wanted to protect people… and they feared him for it."
She stepped beside him.
"He gave everything. And in the end, it still wasn't enough for them."
Isaac reached out.
The fragment entered his chest like a breath drawn inward.
Pain surged—not sharp, but heavy.
Like sorrow that had never been spoken aloud.
And with it came another piece of mastery—this time not in form or technique, but in timing.
Isaac suddenly understood the rhythm of hesitation—the thin edge between acting too soon and too late. It wasn't about speed.
It was about intuition.
Sylvalen breathed in sharply as a soft glow passed through her as well.
"What… was that?" she asked.
Isaac answered, eyes distant. "Grief. Turned into resolve."
She turned to him, and for the first time, her hand reached for his—not to shake or gesture, but to hold.
Just for a second.
They said nothing.
But the silence said everything.
Three fragments down.
Two remained.
And whatever came next…
They would face it together.