The vial caught the torchlight and shimmered like mercury.
Inside, the liquid moved slowly, unnaturally—thick, alive, like it was resisting containment. It pulsed in rhythm with something beneath the skin, something that wasn't his heartbeat.
Leonis didn't reach for it. Not yet.
Kael stood beside him, gaze locked on the Collector. "And if he drinks it? What does he forget?"
The Collector's black eyes gleamed. "Just enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It never is," the man replied smoothly.
Leonis studied the vial. His voice was calm.
"What's in it?"
The Collector answered without hesitation.
"The memory of how the gods began."
"The knowledge they burned from this world."
"The names they swore to erase."
"And the thing they fear becoming real again."
Kael laughed once—sharp, bitter. "That's the kind of thing that makes people go blind or kill their brothers."
Leonis finally spoke, quietly:
"I already did one of those."
The air went still.
Even the torchlight seemed to dim.
Kael's smile faltered. "You didn't kill her, Leonis."
"No," Leonis said, voice even. "But I didn't stop her either."
"System Notice: High-risk item interaction detected."
"Memory overwrite probability: 26.4%."
"Potential outcome: Enhanced cognition, strategic foresight, divine exposure immunity."
"Side effects: Partial identity loss, increased instability, possible hallucinations."
Kael stepped closer, lowered his voice.
"You've already died once. You've already forgotten the warmth in your sister's voice, the feel of the palace garden, the smell of your mother's hair."
Leonis didn't respond.
"Drink that," Kael continued, "and what's left of him—the boy who buried his sword in a practice dummy at age seven and cried when it cracked—he's gone."
Leonis turned toward him, surprised.
Kael smirked faintly. "You forget I used to watch you. Before I tried to kill you."
Leonis held the vial in both hands now. The liquid inside pulsed against the glass.
"Final warning: Memory integration is permanent. Proceed?"
Leonis closed his eyes.
And let the fragments come.
A memory.
A field of white roses.
Celianne, maybe eleven, laughing as she chased butterflies.
He was reading aloud from a book on strategy, pretending not to care.
She tripped. Fell. Skinned her knee.
He helped her up.
She called him "my knight."
Another memory.
His father, back turned, staring into the Temple of Aurelion.
A single phrase, never explained:
"We are not kings, Leonis. We are vaults. And we are full of stolen things."
He opened his eyes.
And drank.
It was not pain.
It was unbecoming.
First came cold—so deep it felt like drowning in the womb of the world. Then heat—screaming, divine heat, like a thousand suns blooming in his mind. His knees buckled. He didn't fall.
Kael's hand was on his shoulder.
The chapel spun.
The faces on the wall whispered.
He stood again, moments—or hours—later.
Breathing hard.
Eyes wide.
The vial was gone.
And in its place: a new voice in his head.
Not the System.
Not the Collector.
Something older.
Something that said nothing, but waited.
"System updated."
"New Passive Acquired: God Memory Fracture."
"Effect: Fragments of divine origin now accessible via soul-echo."
"Caution: Perception may fracture under pressure."
Kael leaned closer.
"Well?"
Leonis spoke slowly.
"I know their names now."
Kael blinked. "The gods?"
Leonis nodded once.
"And I know how they bleed."