The cavern fell silent after Serathiel's death.
Not true silence — the Rift crystals still pulsed faintly, and distant pieces of shattered stone occasionally crumbled from the damaged ceiling — but compared to the violence that had filled the chamber moments earlier, the stillness felt deafening.
Bodies of fallen cultists littered the broken ritual floor.
The glowing extraction runes flickered weakly before dying one by one, their sickly light fading into darkness.
And at the center of the ruined chamber, Cairis knelt with Liora in his arms.
He barely noticed the blood soaking through his armor.
Some of it was his.
Most of it was hers.
The realization hollowed him out from the inside.
Liora lay limp against his chest, breathing shallowly, her skin pale beneath the bruises and blood. Angry marks from the suppression chains wrapped around her wrists and throat, and the sight alone nearly made Cairis sick with guilt.
His memories had fully returned.
Every single one.
