The western cliffs burned.

Not with fire but with memory.

Ancient sigils carved into the rock face blazed awake in slow, deliberate sequence, each line of power illuminating as though responding to a command older than language. The stone groaned as if waking from a long, resentful sleep, fractures glowing briefly before sealing themselves again. This was not destruction. It was a recall.

The glow spread downward, threading through the cliff like veins beneath skin, reaching deep ...