The chamber was built underground.
Not hidden—buried.
Layers of reinforced stone and sigil-etched iron sealed it from the world above. No windows. No doors in the traditional sense. Only three arched gateways, each guarded by silent sentinels carved from obsidian and bone.
At the center of the chamber stood a circular table of pale crystal, its surface etched with thousands of names—some glowing faintly, others dark and cracked.
Names of souls.
The Reincarnation Council convened in silence.
Seven figures sat spaced evenly around the table, each cloaked in robes that shimmered with shifting runes. Age was meaningless here. Some appeared ancient. Others looked barely past youth. All of them carried the same weight in their eyes: memory.
Elder Rowan Thryne arrived last.
His staff clicked once against the stone as he took his seat, the sound echoing louder than it should have.
"The anomaly has resurfaced," he said calmly.
The crystal table reacted instantly.
Two names flared.
AREAL DEVYN
[SIGNATURE UNSTABLE]
SERIS VALORA
[SIGNATURE LOCKED]
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
"That pairing again?" one councilor scoffed. "Impossible. Their cycle was sealed."
"And yet," Rowan replied evenly, "they have crossed paths."
A younger councilor leaned forward, silver markings crawling faintly across her skin. "How severe was the reaction?"
Rowan closed his eyes.
"Memory bleed-through. Combat resonance. Emotional destabilization."
Silence fell hard.
"That quickly?" another voice hissed. "They haven't even reached convergence age."
Rowan opened his eyes.
"The bond activated on contact."
The table pulsed brighter.
One councilor rose from his seat, robes flaring like smoke. "Then this is a containment failure. The bond should not exist in this era."
"It shouldn't exist at all," said another. "They were never meant to reincarnate together again."
Rowan's grip tightened on his staff.
"And yet they did," he said. "For the eighth time."
That earned gasps.
"Eight?" someone whispered. "That's not a cycle. That's an obsession."
"It's a curse," Rowan corrected.
He gestured, and the crystal table projected images into the air.
Two figures.
Different bodies.
Different eras.
The same souls.
Assassins locked in a burning palace.
Generals clashing beneath red banners.
Cult leaders slaughtering each other at an altar.
Monster hunters dying together in the snow.
Each vision ended the same way.
One killed the other.
Sometimes both died.
Never peace.
Never coexistence.
"They destabilize entire timelines," said the silver-marked councilor. "Every time they meet, probability fractures."
"And now," Rowan added, "they are alive at the same time, in the same city, with their memories suppressed."
A councilor slammed his palm against the table.
"Then execute Protocol Severance."
A ripple of agreement followed.
"No," Rowan said sharply.
All eyes turned to him.
"You hesitate?" one councilor asked coldly. "Over them?"
Rowan's voice remained controlled, but something hard flickered beneath it.
"Protocol Severance has failed before."
The chamber stilled.
"That is classified," someone said.
"It is also true," Rowan countered. "Each time we attempted to erase one of them, the other reacted. Entire soul-archives corrupted. Reincarnation loops collapsed."
Another councilor narrowed her eyes. "You're suggesting they're… linked beyond design."
"They always have been," Rowan said. "We simply refused to admit it."
A pause.
Then—
A quiet voice from the far end of the table spoke.
"The hunters have already been deployed."
Rowan turned sharply.
"By whose authority?"
The councilor didn't flinch. "Mine. The Echo Reaper has been alerted."
The temperature in the room dropped.
Rowan's jaw tightened.
"That was not agreed upon."
"They are too dangerous to observe," the councilor replied. "If they converge fully, we lose control."
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"And if we kill them," he said, "we may trigger another collapse."
Silence stretched.
Finally, the youngest councilor spoke, uncertain.
"What… what if we let them live?"
Heads snapped toward her.
"Not freely," she added quickly. "But monitored. Contained. Studied."
"Studied?" someone scoffed. "They're not artifacts."
"They're not weapons either," she shot back. "Not yet."
Rowan studied her for a long moment.
"Observation is the safest path," he said at last. "For now."
The opposing councilor leaned back.
"Then we watch," he said. "And when they inevitably turn on each other—"
"We intervene," Rowan finished. "Before history repeats."
The table dimmed slightly.
But the two names remained glowing.
Unstable.
Outside the chamber, deep beneath the city, a bell tolled once.
The Echo Reaper had begun to move.
And far above, unaware of the council's debate, two enemies walked the same streets again—
Bound by something older than memory.
Something the Council feared.