Vale stared at the priestess.
His eyes were wider than they had ever been before, stretched open as if his mind itself were trying, and failing, to contain what it had just been given. His lips trembled, shaping the beginnings of questions that never quite escaped. Each time he tried to speak, his thoughts tangled and collapsed in on themselves, leaving him silent.
The priestess watched him for a long moment before offering a slow, understanding smile.
"I hope you will understand," she said gently, her voice calm and unwavering, "but beyond this, I will not be able to tell you anything more."
Vale didn't respond. He barely breathed.
"Except," she continued, tilting her head slightly, "perhaps the name of this place."
She studied him with quiet patience.
"Would you like to know the name of what will be your home… for a while?"
Vale's thoughts spiraled too violently for reason to form, yet his body answered in his stead. He nodded, slowly, stiffly, as though the motion itself required effort.
The priestess's smile brightened.
"I see," she said. "Then know this."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"This place is now called the Tower of Ruin."
The name struck him like a physical blow.
Vale's legs gave out beneath him, and he sank down onto the cold stone floor. For a brief moment, just one, clarity pierced through the fog in his mind.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
The priestess did not look at him.
Instead, she turned her gaze past his shoulder.
"It seems," she said calmly, "that you are not the only one curious about that."
Vale twisted around sharply.
In the corner of the chamber stood two figures he knew all too well.
Eskar leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed, as though he had been there the entire time and simply hadn't bothered to announce himself. Drago stood beside him, mid-yawn, stretching like someone who had been dragged into a conversation far longer than expected.
Vale blinked.
"You… you were here?" he asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Eskar let out a low breath and pushed himself off the wall, walking closer. Drago followed, rolling his shoulders.
"Yeah," Drago said flatly. "I already knew. And the kid was told when he cleared his trial."
Vale snapped his gaze back to the priestess.
"Wait," he said quickly. "I thought you told me this because I was… because I was like family to you?"
The priestess chuckled softly, but before she could respond, Eskar spoke.
"You're not the only descendant of a Founder," he said, his tone cold and blunt.
Vale froze.
"What do you mean?"
Eskar closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head.
"My plane isn't Pyrean," he said. "It never was. That was just what my curse made everyone, including me, believe."
He paused, jaw tightening.
"I'm connected to the Founder of Coalescence. Temperature. Heat and cold, both."
Vale stared at him, the words slowly settling.
"That makes you…" Vale began.
"An anomaly," Eskar finished. "Just like you."
He looked Vale up and down.
"Though I doubt we're the same anymore. Not now that we know the truth."
It made an uncomfortable amount of sense. Temperature had no true plane, only fragments split between fire and ice. Eskar's flames had always felt strained, incomplete, as if they were only half of something else.
Vale swallowed.
"Your curse," he said carefully. "Is it because....."
Eskar nodded before he could finish.
"The Founder I'm tied to is imprisoned," he said quietly. "That makes the plane his power should create unstable."
His voice hardened slightly.
"That instability feeds directly into my curse. Makes it far worse than most."
He hesitated, then added, "Korin too. I suspect he's connected to a Founder as well. His curse is too severe to be coincidence."
Vale let out a slow, almost hysterical chuckle.
Not laughter, pressure escaping.
"So anomalies aren't mistakes," Vale murmured. "They're... heirs?"
No one argued.
Vale rubbed his face, then looked back up at Eskar.
"Do you know how to use your full power?" he asked.
Eskar shook his head.
"Impossible," he said. "Not until the Founder I'm connected to is freed from his prison."
Vale's strength gave out again, and he slumped forward, bracing himself against the floor as his thoughts spun wildly.
Drago stepped closer and rested a heavy hand on Vale's shoulder.
"You're taking this pretty well," Drago said casually.
Vale looked up at him, eyes unfocused.
"When I learned all this," Drago continued, "I had an identity crisis that lasted about a thousand years."
Vale blinked.
"A… what?"
He stared at Drago.
"How old are you?"
Drago smiled faintly.
"Somewhere around three hundred thousand."
Vale promptly collapsed backward, lying flat on the stone floor and staring up at the ceiling as though it might provide answers.
Drago sighed.
"Listen, kid," he said gently. "I know it feels overwhelming. Hopeless, even. But these truths? They're beyond us."
He looked down at Vale.
"If you obsess over what you can't control, it'll hollow you out. It's happened before. Plenty of people break when they learn things like this."
A pause.
"So live," Drago finished quietly. "Search for answers when you find the right source, but don't let the questions destroy you first."
Vale didn't respond.
Vale continued to stare at the ceiling, unmoving and silent.
Seconds stretched into long, heavy moments. The weight of everything he had learned pressed down on his chest, making even breathing feel optional rather than necessary.
Eventually, a presence entered his awareness.
The shade of Leo Lionheart stepped closer, its movements soundless, deliberate. It loomed over Vale and looked down at him with an expression that was difficult to read, something caught between curiosity and concern. Crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Vale turned his head just enough to meet its gaze.
"You knew all this too, didn't you?" he asked quietly.
The shade crossed its arms and nodded once.
Vale exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, the sound long and tired.
"How are you all not going mad over this?" he asked. "How does any of this not… break you?"
Drago and Eskar exchanged a glance.
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Eskar broke the silence first.
"I was borderline tortured for most of my life," he said bluntly. "Compared to that, this kind of revelation doesn't linger as long. My mind learned how to recover quickly, or fracture permanently. Guess it chose the former."
Drago snorted softly, then followed.
"I had about a thousand years to spare to process it," he said. "Looking at you, I'd say you'll need… what, a few days? Maybe a week."
He paused, then added more quietly, "Also helped that I went through one of the worst periods of my existence right before learning the truth. Kinda sets the bar."
Vale let out a short, breathy chuckle, more exhaustion than humor.
Drago studied Vale and Eskar for a moment before sighing deeply.
"Listen," he said. "I didn't want to keep the truth from either of you. But this kind of knowledge? It can shatter a person if they're not ready for it."
His voice grew serious.
"I wasn't about to gamble your sanity for information that, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't change how you wake up tomorrow."
Vale rolled his eyes, still staring at the ceiling.
"Oh, sure," he muttered. "What's next? You're gonna tell me you know the locations of all the Founders too?"
Drago didn't answer.
Not immediately.
The silence lasted just a second too long.
Vale's eyes shifted. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at Drago with suspicion, then pushed himself up onto one elbow.
"…Are you serious?"
Drago grimaced.
Before he could respond, the priestess smiled softly and turned away from the group.
"I will take my leave now," she said calmly. "Drago knows as much as I do about this realm. You may ask him anything you wish."
She began to walk away, her steps light and unhurried.
Vale turned to follow her, but too late.
She was already gone.
The air felt emptier without her presence.
Vale's gaze drifted across the chamber until it settled on the twelfth curtain.
Justice.
His great-grandfather.
His eyes narrowed slightly as Drago began speaking again.
"We don't know the exact locations of the Founders," Drago said. "But over the last several thousand years, we've formed… suspicions. Through exploration and research."
Vale didn't respond.
Instead, he stood.
Drago raised an eyebrow as Vale walked toward the curtain.
"Hey," Drago called. "Are you even listening?"
Vale nodded faintly without looking back and continued forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the air itself resisted him.
Drago glanced at the shade of Leo Lionheart, confusion flickering across his face.
The shade met his gaze.
Then shrugged.
Vale reached the curtain and stopped.
For a moment, his hands hovered inches away from the fabric. His chest rose and fell as he drew in a deep breath, steadying himself.
Then, in one decisive motion, he grabbed the cloth and tore it down.
The curtain fell to the floor in a slow cascade.
Vale stepped back.
His breath caught in his throat.
Revealed before him was a massive mural of a golden knight kneeling upon shattered stone. A sword was planted firmly into the ground before him, its hilt clenched in armored hands. Countless golden blades hovered in the air around the knight like a raging storm, each one glowing with radiant authority.
The armor was immaculate, layered, radiant, and heavy with presence.
Not a warrior in triumph.
But one in judgment.
Vale stared, disbelief flooding his eyes.
He swallowed and whispered,
"So… that's you."
A pause came next.
"…Grandfather?"