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Chapter 88 – The Revenants' Oath
They didn't speak at first.
The survivors filed into the Archive like shadows returning to a world that had moved on without them. Some walked with broken limbs. Others floated, half-anchored to the present. Some had bandaged heads, others cybernetic replacements for eyes or spines. But the worst damage was not visible.
It was the silence.
It was the way they looked at Erevan—like someone who had betrayed them and still somehow remained their only light.
The woman who led them stepped forward.
Her voice, when it came, cracked like memory. "You called yourself the Tyrant now."
Erevan didn't flinch. "I earned it."
"You did." Her remaining hand curled into a fist. "And yet… you still built this Archive."
"I had to."
"No. You chose to." Her gaze locked on his. "And that's why we came."
The others stood behind her—faces that looked familiar in a way that hurt. Fragments of the first rebellion. Ghosts from the First Node. Each had been assumed lost when the Tower burned the rebellion's heart in a cleansing wave of protocol fire and forget-script.
"How?" Erevan asked, his voice low.
"Some memories don't die when burned," she said. "They hide. In the margins. In the bones."
Serah stepped beside him, arms folded. "And you just… waited?"
"We healed. We remembered. And when your signal came—" she motioned to her own skin, etched with scars forming sigil-script "—we followed it."
Behind her, the revenants murmured a phrase.
It wasn't in any known language.
But Erevan understood it.
"We remember the wound. We remember the fire. We walk forward, scar-lit."
Yuren stepped forward, blinking rapidly. "Is that… the oath Kara Venn never finished?"
The woman smiled. "No. It's the one we finished."
Erevan met her eyes again. "Then speak it. All of you. Here. Now."
She nodded.
And the revenants raised their voices.
Low. Choked. Unbroken.
"We remember the wound."
"We remember the fire."
"We walk forward, scar-lit."
"We swear not vengeance, but remembrance."
"Not ruin, but reclamation."
"Not chains, but song."
"We are the revenants."
"We are the next choir."
As the final word echoed through the Archive's hollow ribs, the walls pulsed in answer. The memorystone shimmered. The Starless Map flared—and new routes bloomed.
Routes hidden even from Erevan.
Yuren stared, stunned. "The map… it's reacting to them. To their memories."
"They brought their own cartograph," Erevan whispered. "Not of geography. But of grief."
And that… was something the Tower could never erase.
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The revenants moved deeper into the Archive, their steps echoing like the slow drumbeat of a war long fought and now at a precipice. Erevan stood at the threshold, watching them. Each person was carrying something heavy—burdens not just of flesh but of time, of battles that had long since passed into myth, forgotten and erased by the cold hands of the Tower.
Yet, here they were, still breathing, still standing. And they had come for the same reason that Erevan had built the Archive: because the Tower had taken too much, and they were determined to take it back.
Serah stood beside Erevan, watching the map unfurl as the revenants spoke their oath. Her voice was barely a whisper. "They've built their own path forward, haven't they?"
Erevan nodded, the weight of their words pressing against him. "They didn't need us to survive. But we might need them to win."
"I never thought I'd see the day," Serah said, her eyes on the glowing sigils that were now spreading across the walls like veins of light, illuminating the fractured corners of the Archive. "The ashes of the past… they're not dead, are they?"
"No. They've just been waiting," Erevan replied, his eyes lingering on the revenants as they continued their solemn walk through the Archive. "Waiting for the right time to remember themselves."
The Starless Map in front of them was now alive with new pathways—hidden routes to forgotten sanctuaries and data nodes long buried under the rubble of history. It pulsed, its glowing threads trembling as though it were breathing, alive with the revenants' memories. Their oath had unlocked it—ignited something deep within the old machine that the Tower had no way of anticipating.
Yuren was already working at his fieldpad, fingers flying over the interface. His usual sharp focus was sharper now, as if the revenants' presence had reignited something in him.
"We can track nodes that were erased, subnodes that didn't go down with the Reclamation Protocol. If their memories are resonating with the map, we can follow them. We can start rebuilding."
"Rebuilding?" Serah's tone was skeptical, her arms crossed as she surveyed the flickering paths on the map. "How do we rebuild when the Tower will just come for us?"
"We don't need to rebuild everything," Erevan said, his voice low but determined. "We just need to make sure we're scattered enough that the Tower doesn't know where to strike. The Archive is more than just a vault. It's a message. It's a beacon."
"A beacon for what?" Serah pressed.
"For those who remember. For those who refuse to forget." Erevan's gaze shifted to the revenants, still walking, still weaving their oath into the very bones of the Archive. "We don't rebuild the old world, Serah. We create something new."
The older woman looked at him, her expression softening. "I think I understand. But the Tower won't just let us be. They'll come for us. And they'll burn everything we've built."
"And we'll burn right back."
Erevan turned to face her fully now, the fire in his voice echoing the fire that had burned in him ever since he had taken up the mantle of rebellion. "We are the fire, Serah. We've been kindling it for too long to let it be extinguished. The Tower can't kill memories. They can't kill us. Not anymore."
Serah looked at him, her eyes still filled with doubt but something else too—a spark of understanding. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a sudden, sharp crackling sound.
At the far end of the Archive, something shifted in the air—an unnatural pulse of energy that made the hairs on the back of Erevan's neck stand on end. His hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, but Yuren was already moving, activating his sensor-link, eyes narrowing as the fieldpad began to beep frantically.
"It's them," Yuren said, his voice filled with urgency. "The Tower's response team. They're coming."
The lights in the Archive flickered. The floor trembled beneath their feet. A soft, menacing hum grew louder as though the very walls were tightening, preparing for a strike.
Erevan turned to face the revenants. Their expressions were unreadable, but their bodies—those scarred, altered bodies—were ready. The air between them crackled with a raw energy, the kind that came from knowing they had nothing left to lose.
"We knew this day would come," the leader of the revenants said, her voice calm and unwavering. "We knew the Tower wouldn't let us rebuild without resistance. But we've been ready for them."
Erevan stepped forward. "This is the moment we've been waiting for."
He turned to Yuren, then to Serah, each face a flicker of determination in the growing chaos. "We hold them off here. In the Archive. They can't burn this place. They can't erase us again."
The revenants nodded, their eyes hardening as they positioned themselves around the Archive's main chamber. The hum of the incoming Tower strike grew louder. The first wave of their enemies was near—disguised, deadly, and swift. The familiar feeling of impending battle settled over Erevan like a second skin, a weight he had learned to carry with brutal acceptance.
"Erevan," Serah said, her voice low. "There's one more thing."
Erevan glanced at her, brow furrowing in confusion.
She gestured toward the far corner of the Archive, where the Starless Map's path shimmered faintly. There, at the edge of the illuminated threads, stood another figure—a child, barely older than the revenants themselves.
A child who had been waiting.
"I think it's time," Serah said softly. "It's time for them to come into the light, too."
Erevan's heart skipped a beat as he took a step forward. The child's eyes met his—clear and luminous, without the shadows of fear that usually plagued their kind. There was no need for words. Erevan understood. This was the next wave. The next step.
The child was the last piece of their growing rebellion.
With the revenants by his side, and the knowledge of the fallen rebels feeding into their newfound power, they were ready to face the Tower once more. This time, the fire would burn brighter. The Archive would stand.
They would remember.
And they would fight.
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Author's Note:
The revenants are more than just survivors—they are a testament to the strength of memory and defiance. Erevan's journey continues as they prepare to face the Tower with their newly found allies. The rebellion is growing, and each step forward brings them closer to their ultimate goal.
Thank you for your continued support, and as always, your stones and reviews keep the fire burning.
10 power stones = 2 chapters 1 review = 1 bonus chapter
Until next time, stay fierce. — Dorian Blackthorn
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