The crack in Vaultspace haunted Kairo's thoughts for the next several days. He didn't speak of it—not to Doran, not to Sura. Not because he didn't trust them, but because it felt wrong to say aloud. Like naming it would give it form.
He began to notice subtle shifts.
When he meditated, the air around him rippled faintly.
When he moved through forms, his shadow lagged a half-second behind.
And worst of all—he began to hear whispers in his sleep.
Whispers from the Fold
"You are late."
"He watches from the ripple."
"Find the others. Or be forgotten."
The words repeated night after night. Not loud, not terrifying—just present. Lingering. Like a smell that wouldn't fade.
Doran noticed.
"You're sleeping worse than a rabbit in thunder season," the old man muttered one morning, shoving a wooden bowl of eggs toward him. "Spit it out."
Kairo hesitated. "There's something in Vaultspace. Not just the crack… something watching me. It said I was late."
Sura, sitting across from them, put down her cup. Her silver hair caught the morning light like threads of frost. "I've heard whispers too. Only in storms, though."
Doran looked at both of them long and hard.
Then he sighed and reached beneath the table.
What he pulled out was not a scroll, or a weapon, or even a relic.
It was a map—hand-painted, frayed at the corners, creased a thousand times over.
"This," he said, "is your next destination."
The Map to the Forgotten Dojo
The map was old. It detailed the lands beyond the Eastern Peaks—places Kairo had only seen as smudges on travel logs in the Academy. The ink had faded in places, but three names stood out, circled in red:
Ashen Hollow
Veilroot
Echo's Fall
"These are where the Nine Masters once trained," Doran said. "If there's a way to understand the Vault's changes, it'll be there. But you won't be alone. There are others… Vaultborn like you. And not all of them are kind."
Sura raised an eyebrow. "You're sending us together?"
Doran shook his head. "No. You're going south, Sura. Kairo's going east."
Kairo frowned. "Why split us?"
"Because time's thinning. And some doors only open when you're alone."
The Journey Begins
Two days later, Kairo stood at the edge of the mountain trail.
His pack was light. A small food reserve. Two waterskins. A collapsible staff Doran had gifted him, carved with strange runes. And a compass that didn't point north—but somewhere else entirely.
Before he left, Doran clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"One more thing," he said. "Don't trust every Vaultwalker you meet. Some were born in chaos. Trained in silence. One of them… they call him the Veiled Reaper."
Kairo swallowed. "What does he want?"
Doran didn't answer. He just turned and walked back into the mist.
Alone on the Path
The path down from the mountain was treacherous. Loose stones. Sudden drops. Kairo moved slowly, staff in hand, breath steady. His senses were sharper now. He could feel the shift of weight before a rock slipped. He could hear the wind whispering across cliffs like voices he almost understood.
He spent his first night near a waterfall.
Inside Vaultspace, he practiced First Echo again and again until it no longer felt like a set of moves—but an extension of himself.
Then, on the third day, he saw it.
Ashen Hollow.
Ashen Hollow – The Town That Waits
It wasn't a town anymore. Just ruins.
Burned houses. Collapsed temples. Blackened trees that never regrew.
But one thing still stood: a statue at the center of it all. Tall. Cracked. Humanoid.
And eyeless.
Kairo approached cautiously.
There were carvings at the base, mostly eroded by time. But one phrase remained:
Here sleeps the monk of Pulse and Memory.
Just as he knelt to examine it further, a voice echoed from behind him.
"Looking for ghosts, boy?"
Kairo spun.
A figure leaned against the charred remains of a gate. Hooded. Pale gray robes. No visible weapon.
But something was off. The wind didn't touch his cloak. And his presence…
It pressed.
Like gravity.
"Who are you?" Kairo asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man stepped forward.
"I'm called many things. But you can call me Whint. I'm one of the few who remember what the Vaults were before."
Closing: The Offer
Whint didn't attack. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply gestured toward a cracked stone well nearby.
"Come sit," he said. "You want answers. I can offer a few. But you'll owe me."
Kairo hesitated.
Inside Vaultspace, the wind stirred.
And in the far distance, the crack had returned.
Slightly wider.
Pulsing.
He looked back at Whint.
Then stepped forward