The rain fell soft and silver across the Blighted Coast.
The crater where Raen and Dareth stood was nothing but a scar — a wound in the world that refused to heal.
Ash drifted in lazy spirals. The ground smoked. The sky, once dominated by the Arc Keepers and their artificial light, now hung quiet and empty.
---
Raen sat with his back against a half-buried stone, head tilted toward the clouds, sword resting against his shoulder.
Every muscle ached.
Every breath tasted like blood.
But he was alive.
And more than that —
> He was remembered.
---
Dareth sat a few feet away, hands buried in his hair, laughing under his breath.
> "You crazy bastard," he said, voice hoarse.
"You actually did it."
Raen smirked tiredly.
> "I had help."
Dareth snorted.
Lightning sparked weakly from his fingertips — wild, undirected, raw.
It would take time for them both to heal.
Time they might not have.
Because even now, the world stirred.
The death of an Arc Keeper host — the shattering of the 8th Law itself — could not be hidden.
---
And far from the coast, across ruined cities and sleeping empires…
The whispers began.
---
> "A storm rose on the Blighted Coast."
"The Arc Keepers failed."
"A name we were told to forget has returned."
"Raen Val'torren."
At merchant stalls, in broken taverns, across shadowy markets, the stories spread like wildfire no decree could smother.
Some laughed — called it myth.
Some grew afraid.
And some…
Some remembered.
---
In a crumbling cathedral swallowed by vines, a woman in cracked armor opened her eyes for the first time in decades.
Her name once sung through battlefields.
> "Caela Dawnstrike."
Another Unwritten.
Another soul the Crown thought erased.
---
In the depths of the Old Court, buried beneath the capital of Aetherion, high priests gathered in frantic whispers.
> "Activate the Pale Choir."
"Seal the Tombscript Vaults."
"No more remembering."
Because if Raen lived…
The world itself might begin to unravel.
---
Back at the crater, Dareth nudged Raen with a boot.
> "So," he said. "What's next, fearless leader?"
Raen chuckled weakly.
It hurt.
But it was good.
> "We find the others," he said.
"Those who were erased. Those still hiding."
> "We build something the gods can't unwrite this time."
---
Dareth grinned, bloodied and battered but alive.
> "A rebellion?"
Raen shook his head slowly.
Eyes burning gold in the mist.
> "Not a rebellion."
> "A resurrection."
---
The blade at his side pulsed once — softly, eagerly.
A heartbeat of a world about to wake from its long, enforced amnesia.
Raen stood, bones aching, spirit burning.
Dareth followed.
Together, they turned toward the ruined path ahead, the broken horizon stretching far and wide.
Unwritten.
Forgotten.
Remembered.
Now rising.