Far beneath the surface of the world, past roots that remembered stars and stone that whispered the names of gods, the Chamber of Echoes awakened.
Its walls pulsed with blue veins of crystal, alive with forgotten truths. In its center sat a round table formed from a single piece of moonstone, rippling faintly as if it breathed. Around it, twelve cloaked figures stood motionless—save for one whose eyes flared with sudden light.
"The tether has cracked," murmured Keeper Salen, his voice the sound of shifting leaves.
One by one, the others raised their heads. Not a word had been spoken in this chamber for over two centuries. They had watched in silence, bound by oath not to interfere until the final fracture.
And now, it had come.
"Malrec's bond to the void falters," said Keeper Ayelet, her voice sharp as obsidian. "The creature he forged is unraveling. A soul has pierced his shadow."
"A girl," said Salen, as a vision danced across the chamber's air—a flickering glimpse of Chizzy standing tall amid stormlight, her shard raised, memory blazing.
"She carries Liera's essence," Ayelet continued. "Not her soul—but something close. A memory reborn."
"That should not be possible," growled another. Keeper Jorin, the oldest. "We sealed the Remembrance Well. No mortal should wield such depth of recall."
"She is not just mortal," whispered Salen. "The Hollow is awakening through her."
A hush fell.
For years, they had feared this moment. Not because of the darkness—but because of what light might demand in return.
"If Malrec breaks," Jorin said gravely, "the void will not retreat. It will consume him—and become free of him."
A terrifying image shimmered in the crystal walls: the Beast, no longer tethered, raging across the realms, its hunger unbound.
"She must be protected," Ayelet said.
"No," Salen countered. "She must be tested. If she is truly the Hollow's Flame, she must prove it without us."
Jorin pounded his staff against the floor. "You would risk annihilation on a child's shoulders?"
"She is no child," Salen said softly. "She remembered."
The table pulsed, then dimmed—revealing another vision.
Malrec, collapsed in his sanctum, clutching the remnants of a memory. His form shimmered between shadow and flesh. In his eyes, flickers of humanity danced like dying embers.
"Can he be saved?" asked Keeper Linara, her tone uncertain. "Is there enough of the Keeper he once was?"
No one answered.
Because no one knew.
"He hesitated," Ayelet finally said. "That alone is... unprecedented."
Salen stepped into the light of the moonstone table, lowering his hood. His face was weathered, but his eyes—pale silver—held galaxies of regret.
"We created the Keepers to hold balance," he said. "Not to tip scales, not to favor light or dark. But balance. And Malrec was once our brother."
Jorin scowled. "He chose the void."
"And we chose to watch," Salen snapped back. "When he wept for Liera, we turned away. When he begged to preserve her, we said no. Perhaps... we all fed the void."
The room fell still.
Above them, the earth trembled—a whisper of the Beast's rage echoing across dimensions.
Then Ayelet raised her hand. A flame leapt from her palm, curling into a sigil—three interlocking rings.
"The girl is the key," she said. "If she fails, we will intervene."
"If she succeeds," Salen added, "the world may remember what it once was."
"Then it begins," Jorin muttered.
The chamber dimmed, and the ancient sigils began to burn once more on their cloaks.
The Keepers, once silent watchers of fate, were stirring.
Not to lead.
But to bear witness to the rise of something greater than power—
—the return of memory.