The wind danced across the golden field, weaving through the flowers like a lullaby sung by the earth itself. Erik sat quietly, eyes to the sky, letting the warmth soak into his skin.
There was no hum of Veyrion at his back.
No soul whispering from within.
No weight of destiny clawing at his shoulders.
Just him.
Alive.
Breathing.
Free.
Saline sat beside him, her long silver hair fluttering like silk in the breeze. Her eyes—now open, now bright—glowed not with power, but peace.
"You don't remember, do you?" she asked gently.
Erik turned to her, a faint smile on his lips.
"Bits and pieces. Dreams, maybe. A throne. A blade. A choice."
She nodded slowly. "That's all that remains. The price of unlocking the Root was the unraveling of your past."
He ran a hand through the golden grass, letting it slip between his fingers like stardust. "And yet… this feels right."
"It is," she said. "You gave them a name."
Erik looked up. "The Nameless?"
Saline nodded. "Now, they are the Unshackled. You didn't destroy them. You gave them identity. A place. Purpose. And in return, they gave this world something it's never had."
"A second beginning?"
"No," she said. "A future."
He let that settle in the silence. No longer haunted by echoes of former selves, no longer chased by gods or watched by Architects.
There was no higher power here anymore.
No chains.
No fate.
Just choice.
"What happens to the others?" Erik asked.
"Which others?"
"The fragments. The different versions of me. The Seer. The soul within. The throne…"
Saline's smile was bittersweet. "They're still out there, scattered across the new reality. Not forgotten—just… resting. The world remembers them as stories now. Myths. Dreams. Warnings."
He exhaled slowly. "Good."
And for a while, they sat in silence, watching clouds drift across a clean sky.
Then Erik noticed something odd.
The flowers around them—some of them were glowing faintly. Soft pulses of blue, crimson, and white.
"Why are the petals shining?"
Saline plucked one gently and placed it in his hand. "Because they're blooming from memory."
He looked confused. "Whose?"
"Yours."
She smiled, and her voice turned distant.
"This place was created from your last act as the Lockbreaker. Your sacrifice didn't erase you… it seeded the foundation of this world. This land, this peace—it came from you."
He looked down at the glowing petal in his palm.
It pulsed.
Once.
Then faded.
Not into death.
But into birth.
The flower dissolved, and from the air, motes of light drifted up like fireflies. They scattered into the sky, disappearing into the wind.
"What was that?" he asked.
"A child was born," Saline said softly. "Somewhere far from here."
His eyes widened. "Wait… you're saying—?"
"Every memory you surrendered… now fuels the lives of others. You gave up your story so the world could write new ones."
He looked around—truly looked—and saw it.
People in the far distance, working in fields, building homes, laughing. Not warriors. Not worshippers.
Just people.
Living.
He smiled faintly. "I like this world."
Saline looked at him. "Do you want to live in it?"
He hesitated.
"No purpose. No glyphs. No power. Just me?"
"Just you," she echoed.
A long pause.
Then, with a quiet breath, he nodded. "Yeah. I think I do."
She extended a hand.
"Then come. Let's walk."
They rose together, walking into the gentle sunlight like old friends leaving a dream.
Elsewhere…
In a chamber beneath time, within the forgotten hollows of the last Architect's mind, a ripple passed through ancient gears and cosmic scripts.
A voice stirred in the dark:
"The Lockbreaker has passed."
Another answered:
"Then the system is finally gone."
A third whispered:
"What remains?"
Silence.Then—
"Hope."
And from the depth of the ancient code, buried beneath collapsed realms and dead timelines…
A small seed bloomed.
Not of power.
But of freedom.
Back in the world of golden fields…
A child was born beneath a willow tree.
No mark on his chest.
No blade in his hand.
But as he cried his first cry, the wind carried his voice across the hills.
And somewhere—deep within the soil, beneath layers of stories—
A pulse echoed back.
Not of prophecy.
Not of destiny.
Just life.
And far above, in the sky now free of divine eyes, the stars began to move again.
Not in pattern.
But in possibility.
And the story of Erik—the Lockbreaker, the Key, the boy who became a legend—was now nothing more than a whisper in the wind.
But it was enough.
It always would be.