Mimus hadn't spoken since the tower.
The others didn't ask.
Silence was a language in Varellen—sometimes more honest than words.
They rested that night beneath a canopy of fractured stars. The sky flickered in and out like a film reel caught between memories. Mimus sat apart from the others, back against the husk of an old monument. It looked like a statue of a woman once—a warrior clutching a shattered blade—but the Echo had long since eroded her face, leaving only an outline of defiance.
He touched his chest where the weight of Vesyr's memory still burned.
She had given him her final moment. Not her weapon, not her power. Just a truth too heavy for most.
I was called Vesyr.
He didn't know what to do with it. Not yet.
"You saw her," said Ilyan, approaching quietly.
Mimus didn't look up. "Yeah."
"She was one of the first. Maybe the first."
"She deserved to be remembered."
"She was." Ilyan sat beside him. "But remembering has a cost. In Varellen, the more you remember what isn't yours, the more it shapes you."
Mimus shook his head. "I don't think it's about ownership. She didn't ask me to wield her. She asked me to carry her."
"That's more dangerous."
They sat in silence for a while. The faint sound of Neren muttering incantations to his flame drifted through the air. Olyra balanced on a beam twenty feet up, meditating. Rhesk stood like a stone, unmoving. The hooded figure still hadn't spoken.
"Do you trust them?" Mimus asked.
Ilyan smiled behind their veil. "No. But I don't distrust them either."
"What about me?"
Ilyan tilted their head. "You're loud."
Mimus blinked. "What?"
"Your Echo. It moves like it hasn't decided what it wants to be. That kind of instability makes people nervous. Or curious. Depends on who's listening."
Mimus touched the hilt of his blade, now strapped across his back. It had changed again after the tower—gained a notch along the edge, faintly glowing red. A reminder of Vesyr.
"I don't want to be loud," he muttered.
"Too late."
Ilyan rose. "The second Bell will ring soon. When it does, the factions will come. And that's when things get… complicated."
---
The Bell came at dawn.
This time, the sky didn't ripple.
It split.
Light fell in vertical shafts across the city, carving the streets into twelve corridors of gold. The sound was not a tone, but a chorus—thousands of voices speaking in harmony, each uttering a name that couldn't be remembered after it was heard.
When it ended, Mimus felt hollow.
Olyra dropped from her perch. "It's time."
"For what?" he asked.
"To choose."
---
They walked to the heart of the city—a massive rotunda carved into the bedrock, its ceiling open to the broken sky. Inside stood twelve thrones, each floating just above the floor, each shaped from different materials. Bone. Fireglass. Riverstone. Webbing. One was made entirely of breath.
A glyph hovered above each throne, pulsing faintly.
"These are the Houses," Neren explained, running a finger along one throne's edge. "Not families. Not bloodlines. Philosophies. You choose the one that aligns with your truth. Or the one you hope does."
"And if you don't?" Mimus asked.
"You become prey."
Caldrin's voice cut through the air. She stepped into the chamber from the northern arch, wrapped in darker armor than before. Her Echo burned close to the skin, restrained but fierce.
"You weren't invited," Neren said without turning.
Caldrin smirked. "I never need to be."
She looked to Mimus. "It's not just about choosing. It's about being accepted. If the throne rejects you, it's… unpleasant."
He stared at the thrones.
One called to him more than the others.
It was carved from black ash and iron, lined with echo-runes that flickered in and out of view. The glyph above it was incomplete—part-spiral, part-sigil, part-question.
Ilyan noticed. "That's the House of Ashlike Oath."
"What does it mean?"
"It's for those who broke promises. Or those who made promises they can't keep."
Mimus stepped toward it.
"Are you sure?" Caldrin asked. "You haven't even heard the others."
"I don't need to."
He placed his palm on the throne.
Pain flared through his arm—his mind—his Echo.
Memories surged: his mother's voice. Rynor's laughter. Vesyr's final look. The moment he stepped through the Gate. The moment he said no. The moment he said yes.
Then—
Silence.
The throne accepted him.
It settled onto the ground.
And the glyph completed itself.
Ashlike Oath.
Olyra stepped forward, placing her hand on a throne made of wind and silence. It shimmered. Accepted her.
One by one, the others chose.
Rhesk claimed the Forge Throne. Neren chose the House of Dimming Flame. Ilyan hesitated, then took the Throne of Mirrors.
Only the hooded figure remained.
It walked past all twelve thrones.
And vanished.
No one spoke.
---
That night, they were taken from the city.
Not by gate. Not by portal.
But by dream.
Mimus awoke in a forest where no leaves grew. Caldrin stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him.
"This isn't real, is it?" he asked.
"No. It's a binding."
"Why are you here?"
"Because I need you to understand what's coming next."
She waved her hand, and the forest fell away.
In its place: a battlefield.
Scattered bodies. Ash rising from the cracks. Echo pooling in the air like mist.
"What is this?"
"The end of a Tournament past."
And then he saw them.
Curators.
Five of them.
Floating above the ground, veiled in gold, hands raised in silence.
"They ended it," Caldrin said. "They chose a victor. And then erased the rest."
"Why?"
"Because the victor asked them to."
Mimus's blood chilled.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that winning doesn't mean survival. It means impact. If you get to the end, and you don't know what you stand for—what oath you carry—then they will decide what your victory means."
He stared at the sky. No stars. Just Echo.
"Then I'll decide," he said.
Caldrin nodded once. "Then I'll follow you."
The battlefield faded.
---
He woke in sand again.
But this time, the city was gone.
And only those who had chosen thrones remained.
Each of them had changed. Eyes sharper. Echo more refined.
The Tournament had begun in truth.
Now came the missions.
The betrayals.
The hunts.
But Mimus had chosen his house.
And he would not break this oath.
---