The light did not fade.
It collapsed.
Aurel felt himself falling—not downward, but inward, pulled through layers of reality like pages being torn from a book. Sound vanished. Time fractured. Memories slammed into him all at once.
Not fragments.
Not flashes.
Everything.
He remembered the kneeling gods.
The wars fought in his name.
The screams when his flame devoured entire realms.
And the moment he had agreed to be erased.
"I will go," Aurelion had said, standing before the Celestial Accord. "But you will swear this world will never know my truth."
They had sworn.
And then they had lied.
Aurel crashed onto cold stone.
He groaned, pushing himself upright, expecting darkness—
—but found light.
Not divine.
Not celestial.
Familiar.
He stood in a vast circular chamber carved deep beneath the world. Runes pulsed along the walls, old and worn, yet still alive. At the center rose a broken throne of black crystal.
And on it—
Someone was sitting.
Aurel froze.
The man looked exactly like him.
Same face. Same eyes. Same scar along the jaw.
But where Aurel's expression held confusion and fury, the other wore a calm, almost bored smile.
"Well," the man said casually, resting his chin on his hand. "You took longer than I expected."
Aurel's heart slammed violently against his ribs.
"What… are you?" he demanded.
The man stood.
Power rolled off him—not explosive, not wild—but absolute. Controlled. Refined. Terrifying.
"I'm you," he replied. "The part that didn't agree to forget."
The chamber shook.
Aurel staggered back. "That's impossible. I was broken. Split. Suppressed."
"Yes," the other Aurel said softly. "You were sealed."
He stepped closer.
"And I was left behind to guard what you couldn't be allowed to remember."
Aurel's voice dropped to a whisper. "Guard what?"
The other Aurel's smile faded.
"The truth."
The runes around the chamber flared to life, revealing murals etched into the stone.
Not of gods.
But of corpses.
Celestial beings falling. Worlds burning. And at the center of every carving—
Aurelion.
Not as a savior.
As an executioner.
"You weren't erased because you were dangerous," the other said. "You were erased because you were right."
Aurel shook his head. "No. I chose to leave. I chose mercy."
"You chose guilt," the other corrected. "And they used it."
Above them, the ceiling cracked open.
The sky itself peeled back, revealing countless eyes watching from beyond reality.
The Celestial Accord.
Watching.
Waiting.
The other Aurel turned toward the sky and spoke a single sentence that made the world tremble.
"He remembers."
Every eye widened.
Aurel felt it then—the full return of something buried so deep even fear had forgotten it.
Not power.
Authority.
The other Aurel placed a hand on his shoulder.
"So," he said quietly, "do you want to finish what we started… or let them erase us both?"
The sky screamed.
And somewhere far away—
Lysara woke up screaming his name as the world's oldest prophecy rewrote itself.
The light did not fade.
It collapsed.
Aurel felt himself falling—not downward, but inward, pulled through layers of reality like pages being torn from a book. Sound vanished. Time fractured. Memories slammed into him all at once.
Not fragments.
Not flashes.
Everything.
He remembered the kneeling gods.
The wars fought in his name.
The screams when his flame devoured entire realms.
And the moment he had agreed to be erased.
"I will go," Aurelion had said, standing before the Celestial Accord. "But you will swear this world will never know my truth."
They had sworn.
And then they had lied.
Aurel crashed onto cold stone.
He groaned, pushing himself upright, expecting darkness—
—but found light.
Not divine.
Not celestial.
Familiar.
He stood in a vast circular chamber carved deep beneath the world. Runes pulsed along the walls, old and worn, yet still alive. At the center rose a broken throne of black crystal.
And on it—
Someone was sitting.
Aurel froze.
The man looked exactly like him.
Same face. Same eyes. Same scar along the jaw.
But where Aurel's expression held confusion and fury, the other wore a calm, almost bored smile.
"Well," the man said casually, resting his chin on his hand. "You took longer than I expected."
Aurel's heart slammed violently against his ribs.
"What… are you?" he demanded.
The man stood.
Power rolled off him—not explosive, not wild—but absolute. Controlled. Refined. Terrifying.
"I'm you," he replied. "The part that didn't agree to forget."
The chamber shook.
Aurel staggered back. "That's impossible. I was broken. Split. Suppressed."
"Yes," the other Aurel said softly. "You were sealed."
He stepped closer.
"And I was left behind to guard what you couldn't be allowed to remember."
Aurel's voice dropped to a whisper. "Guard what?"
The other Aurel's smile faded.
"The truth."
The runes around the chamber flared to life, revealing murals etched into the stone.
Not of gods.
But of corpses.
Celestial beings falling. Worlds burning. And at the center of every carving—
Aurelion.
Not as a savior.
As an executioner.
"You weren't erased because you were dangerous," the other said. "You were erased because you were right."
Aurel shook his head. "No. I chose to leave. I chose mercy."
"You chose guilt," the other corrected. "And they used it."
Above them, the ceiling cracked open.
The sky itself peeled back, revealing countless eyes watching from beyond reality.
The Celestial Accord.
Watching.
Waiting.
The other Aurel turned toward the sky and spoke a single sentence that made the world tremble.
"He remembers."
Every eye widened.
Aurel felt it then—the full return of something buried so deep even fear had forgotten it.
Not power.
Authority.
The other Aurel placed a hand on his shoulder.
"So," he said quietly, "do you want to finish what we started… or let them erase us both?"
The sky screamed.
And somewhere far away—
Lysara woke up screaming his name as the world's oldest prophecy rewrote itself.
Aurel's breath came uneven as he took another step back, eyes darting across the chamber.
The runes along the walls were no longer dormant. They shifted slowly, rearranging themselves as if reacting to his presence—to his memory. Some symbols dimmed, others flared violently, and a few cracked entirely, bleeding faint streams of light that evaporated before touching the floor.
"This place…" Aurel said, voice low. "It wasn't built to hold me."
"No," the other Aurel replied. "It was built to hold us apart."
He gestured toward the murals.
Aurel forced himself to look again.
The scenes were clearer now. He could see the expressions on the carved faces of the gods—shock, fury, disbelief. One mural showed a council chamber shattered in half, celestial thrones overturned like toys. Another showed chains of light wrapped around a lone figure, glowing so brightly the stone around it appeared scorched.
"That was the moment they realized," the other Aurel said. "You weren't part of the system. You were a flaw in it."
Aurel swallowed. His head throbbed violently.
"I remember standing before them," he murmured. "But I don't remember this."
"Because they let you keep the guilt, not the cause," the other said. "They needed you to believe you were dangerous. Easier to control someone who hates themselves."
Aurel clenched his fists.
A flicker of memory surfaced—standing alone after a battle, surrounded by silence where screams should have been. Not triumph. Not satisfaction.
Regret.
"I stopped," Aurel said hoarsely. "I chose not to finish it."
"And that," the other Aurel said sharply, "is the part they never forgave."
He turned, pacing slowly around the broken throne.
"You didn't want dominion. You didn't want worship. You wanted an end—to cycles, to divine cruelty dressed up as fate."
He stopped directly in front of Aurel.
"So they broke you," he continued. "They stripped your name from history, scattered your essence, and bound what remained inside a mortal shell that could age, bleed, and forget."
Aurel's knees weakened.
"That's why I was always… wrong," he whispered. "Too strong. Too resistant. Too angry."
"Yes," the other Aurel said softly. "Because you were never meant to belong down there."
The chamber trembled suddenly.
Dust rained from above as a deep vibration rolled through the stone.
Aurel felt it instantly—a tightening in his chest, like something massive shifting its attention toward him.
"They've noticed," he said.
The other Aurel nodded. "Of course they have. You crossed the threshold. Memory attracts memory."
Aurel looked at him sharply. "Then why show me all this now?"
For the first time, the other Aurel hesitated.
"Because I can't decide anymore," he admitted.
Aurel frowned. "Decide what?"
"Whether saving you was the right choice," the other said quietly. "Or whether letting you forget… was mercy."
The words struck harder than any revelation.
Aurel took a slow breath. "If I finish remembering," he asked, "what happens to the world I left behind?"
The other Aurel met his gaze steadily.
"It becomes visible," he said. "To them."
Aurel closed his eyes.
Lysara's face surfaced in his mind. Kael's voice. The fragile, stubborn humanity he had built without knowing why he needed it.
Then—
A deep pulse thundered through the chamber.
The runes flared.
The countdown began.