The air within the Soul Foundry grew thick with energy, pulsing around us like an invisible ocean. Each breath filled my lungs with thousands of forgotten memories, and my senses were sharpened to their utmost limits. The spiraling corridors gave way to a vast, circular chamber. Its walls were constructed from the same purple, rusted metal, and within its recesses, ethereal forms shimmered—innumerable, trapped Echos, swirling to create something akin to a cosmic Milky Way. In the chamber's center, it floated.
The Prime Echo.
The blue-black orb, gigantic and mesmerizing, pulsed in silence. It was larger than any structure, its surface seemingly both absorbing and emitting light simultaneously, creating the effect of an endless cycle of creation and annihilation. Within it, I saw the birth of stars and their agony, the flourishing of Eons and their inevitable Erasure. It was the essence of everything. And of nothing. Inside the orb, just as I had seen in my vision, floated two silhouettes. The Architect, clad in black, his face still shrouded in shadow. And the scarred one, his body seemingly woven from trembling memories, the scars on his face pulsing with a faint glow. They were connected to the orb, their hands extended towards it, as if they controlled its merciless dance.
Their voices, synchronized, resonated in my mind, but now they were clearer, devoid of the Void's madness. "Welcome, Elaraith Vel'Shar. Archivist. Archetype of Resistance. Architect of order." "How is this possible?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "You are... both?" "We are two sides of the same Truth. Two aspects of one Archetype," the Architect's voice replied. "We are the Prime Echo. We are the cycle. I am the Architect of Oblivion, the force that decomposes Eons into dust, so they may be reborn." And then the scarred voice added, more calmly, but with a note of profound sorrow: "And I am the Archetype of Memory, the force that preserves, collects, and creates. I am the one who creates Echos. I am the one who guided you. The scarred one you remembered, because memory is my essence. I am part of the cycle that must annihilate in order to create." Understanding struck me with the force of a wave. There were not two separate beings. There was one, Prime Archetype, embodying both memory and oblivion. He was the Architect of Oblivion and the Archetype of Memory simultaneously. Their seemingly contradictory goals were two sides of the same coin, essential for maintaining Eonum's cosmic cycle. Erasure was not solely destruction; it was a prerequisite for recreation.
"You are our reflection, Archivist," the Architect's voice continued. "You are the one destined to understand this. The one meant to balance the cycle when it falters." The scarred voice added: "We are sick. The cycle has become distorted. Too many Echos have been suppressed, too much Memory destroyed without proper rebirth. It is because of this that Eonum rots and decays.""And it is because of you!" the Architect's voice snarled, its tone shifting to accusation. "Your existence, your constant accumulation of Echos, has disrupted the natural process! You tried to halt the inevitable, creating an inconsistency that will destroy everything!" I felt the Sand of Oblivion, fragments of which still clung to me, attempting to invade my mind, feeding on my doubts. Was I the cause of the decay? Were my attempts to save memory what was destroying Eonum?
The Collector, who had stood beside me the entire time, suddenly stirred. His clay body began to glow with an intense, blue light. A resounding tremor emanated from within him, and the Prime Echo in the chamber's center responded with a pulse. Crystals began to emerge from the Collector. Thousands, millions of Echos he had collected throughout the Eons, poured forth from his interior, forming a cascade of light. The blue crystals floated in the air, surrounding us, each containing a fragment of Memory that the Collector had saved. "No. He is not the cause. He is the solution," a voice thundered—a voice that was neither the Architect's nor the scarred one's. It was the Collector's voice. Deep, resonant, filled with the wisdom of countless Eons, but also with sorrow and determination. It was the first time the Collector had truly spoken. And his voice was like a strike to the heart of Truth itself. "You are distorted. Separated. You have forgotten that you are one, that you must balance. He is the one who reminds you. He is the bridge."
The Collector's voice ceased, and he relapsed into his silence, but his glow remained. In response, the Prime Echo shuddered. The silhouettes of the Architect and the scarred one, within its core, began to disintegrate, their contours blurring. Their voices cried out in pain, their words now chaotic, filled with fear. "No! You cannot merge us! It will destroy the cycle!""The Truth is too vast! Chaos! I think we are falling apart!"
I was at the very center. The Collector's crystals surrounded me, and the Prime Echo pulsed before my eyes. Everything I had seen and experienced had led to this moment. The Book of Signs in my chest radiated power. I knew what I had to do. I had to merge them. Balance them, integrate them into one, to renew the cycle before Eonum completely disintegrated. This was my purpose, my destiny. This was not a battle. This was an act of creation. An act of redefining Truth.