At the sudden voice, Tyrus jumped in shock. The artifact in his hands jumped as well, and he fumbled to catch it. A few fumbles later, he finally managed to keep it steady. Holding it fast, Tyrus held his sword and performed a circular sweep of his eyes, taking in the surroundings.

"Who said that? Show yourself!"

For a split second, he was nervous that his worries about Wanderer lying in wait for the royal knight to leave were true, though the voice that echoed in his skull wasn't hers. Wanderer was more soft-spoken and had a voice that was a fine line between man and woman, while the voice he just heard was guttural in a wispy tone.

No one answered his calls; Only the wind whistled, and the crawling waves against the shores below. There were no disturbances or fluctuations with the mana, and even with his hearing and eyesight honed to its maximum, the area seemed void of life.

Tyrus lowered his sword by a fraction, but his shoulders stayed tense. "There's no one here. That voice I heard was probably another memory that's been sealed. Either that or I must be me going crazy after all that just happened."

Now that everything was over, it was high time he returned to Lindell and meet up with the rest. Fiona and Grant should still be interrogating that Vareste guy for sacrificing his residents to the forest. By now, they probably realized he was gone and were asking around, looking for him. In the meantime, it'd be wise to keep what just happened to himself...

"That would be the wisest option," said the voice again.

This time, Tyrus dropped the sphere for real. It hit the ground with a loud clack and rolled a few inches before coming to a stop.

Tyrus stared at it, breathing heavily, sword raised again. "So I wasn't crazy! Was that you?!"

The sphere didn't move or brightened. Just the same white orb with mottled black veins that spiraled in unnatural patterns across its surface. Tyrus approached it slowly, crouched, and picked it up with both hands this time, ready to hurl it off the cliff if anything else went wrong.

Then the voice returned. "Who else would be speaking to you? If you are worried about that sorcerer with the dark affinity, then—"

"This is amazing!" Tyrus said, cutting the voice off. "You're speaking directly in my head! How is that possible? Are you a communication device? You don't seem like one, and I haven't heard of one capable of absorbing energy into itself or talk like you do."

"Communication device?" the voice pondered. "What is that?"

Tyrus blinked. "Wait, you don't know? It's a type of tool usually used to speak over long distances. They're handy magical items made by Conjuration Sorcerers as far as I'm aware. They don't talk on their own, and they definitely don't have a personality. An image with a person's face usually shows up when they're activated."

The voice responded after a short pause. "Then I am not what you refer to as a communication device."

Tyrus frowned, turning the orb over again in his hands. "Okay, so you're self-aware. You're not relaying someone else's voice. You are the voice."

"That is correct. I am me." Another thoughtful pause. "Though I wish I knew what 'me' was."

"Are you saying you don't know what you are?"

"Nothing before the moment you held me. No name or origin. Only this sense that I existed, and was waiting. Once I'd absorbed enough energy, your touch stirred my thoughts."

Tyrus rubbed his thumb along one of the dark spiral veins on the orb's surface. "You don't feel corrupted. And you're not trying to kill me, so that already makes you better than half the things I've dealt with today. Then again, you might seem harmless, but that doesn't mean I believe you fully. This might actually be a communication device, and you might actually be a person on the other end."

"You are quite the skeptic," the voice said, with something approaching a dry wit. "Going by your definition of a communication device, an image of someone's face should be present. I also believe they do not contain the function of absorbing energy as well."

Tyrus pursed his lips. "Awfully smug for a tool..."

"I prefer to think of it as observational honesty," the voice replied, tone even and vaguely amused. "Besides, your suspicion is warranted. I would likely do the same if our positions were reversed."

"So you understand trust and lies, but not what a communication device is?"

"I understand concepts, but not labels. Words are like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I recognize the shape of what they mean, but not the names that belong to them. They come to me slowly."

He peered closer at the orb, holding it to his face. "Alright, I'm interested. If you're not using some gadget to trick me, and I believe everything you said, what did you mean by, 'This sanctuary of Mevena has been desecrated. Take me to where mana flows rich and undisturbed'?"

The voice was silent for a long moment. Not the awkward kind of pause, but one filled with something like hesitation. Or strain.

"…I do not know," it finally answered, quieter now. "That was not something I consciously said. The words came unbidden. As though carved into the core of me. Like a memory I do not possess, speaking through me."

Tyrus's brow furrowed. "So it was instinct?"

"Or a fragment of who I once was. When the newfound energy surged into me, that message ignited like a flare in the dark. I only realized what I had said once it left my mouth—if I can even claim to have a mouth."

"If you said what you said out of instinct, that would mean you don't know why you want to be led to another one of Mevena's sanctuary. I'll have you know, Mevena is the deity of nature and health. And the sanctuary you felt before was somewhere in the Wasteful Wetlands had been recently ravaged. I know another sanctuary that has what you seek, but I'm still skeptical about something."

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When the artifact stayed quiet, Tyrus advanced toward the Whispering Forest. "I've been tasked... or more like forced, to keep you on me at all times. My body would move on its own if there is a fear that I may lose you. For years, I've kept you inside a box, and it hasn't been long since you first started sucking up energy, whether it be from mana cores, mana hearts, or even corrupted mana."

As Tyrus continued, a cloud drifted over the moon, bathing the forest in shadows. He paused, muttered the incantation for Illumination, and watched as a luminous sphere bloomed on his hand. With a single command, the spell floated above his head, lighting up his surroundings.

"While I've held you close for as long as I can remember, I'm still hesitant about some things. The most obvious one is what would happen if I take you to a sanctuary? Trusting you too easily with all things considered may bring more harm than good."

The orb remained silent for a few paces more, as if weighing his words with care. Tyrus said nothing as he waited for a reply, the soft crunch of grass and fallen leaves beneath his boots the only answer for a time.

"Theres another thing I'm worried about," Tyrus said. "Do you know who Wanderer is? Or, to be more specific, a woman with dark hair and eyes with a small scar running down near her chin? She's the one who was your previous owner. You claim you've no recollection already, but it would be ill-advised to lie to me. I don't have a problem storing you in my Scourge ring forever—"

"Scourge?" the artifact repeated. "That name does ring a bell, but for what reason, I do not know. My knowledge and memories are currently lacking. Before I was activated, I was aware of nothing at all. Perhaps if you're patient with me, I may regain my full memory. Absorbing more mana may help."

Tyrus stared hard at the artifact in his hands. There was a high chance that this was all some elaborate plot laid out by Scourge or even Wanderer herself. The artifact's timing, its awakening, and functions all seemed too opportune to be a coincidence.

For whatever reason, mentioning Scourge to the artifact seemed to attract its attention. Never had he mentioned, let alone talked to, the thing about Scourge or his affiliation to the group, yet it responded with interest. That, combined with what it said about the sanctuary, made Tyrus's instincts blare a siren. The artifact itself stated it had no recollection of what it was truly, and that it was nothing before its activation, but merely the mention of Scourge itched at its conciousness?

This only furthered his suspicions that the artifact used to be in Scourge's possession. After all, it used to belong to Wanderer, and she was affiliated with Scourge. Who was to say who hadn't tampered with it? Altered it? Embedded commands or latent instincts that would only trigger under the right conditions? More importantly, what would happen if it absorbed any more energy?

No matter what angle he looked at it, there were too many glaring risks to ignore. If he followed along to what the artifact asked of him, he'd be inadvertently feeding a weapon—or whatever was in his hand—he didn't understand.

Inside of it were two energies that were vastly different. On the outside, it appeared fine, but he couldn't ignore that it still contained corruption. In the back of his mind, Igneal's story about Draknir's Folly came to mind about the consequences of a magical item carrying too much corrupted mana. Another incident of that magnitude could occur if he allowed it to absorb more. The mana at Wildwood sanctuary may be pure and rich, and that Draknir's Folly only happened because of corrupted mana, but who's to say the same couldn't happen with pure mana?

On the other hand, on the off-chance that its words were true and absorbing more mana could help regain or attain more knowledge, it wouldn't hurt to know more about Scourge. If it truly was previously in Scourge's hand, then the artifact might hold secrets no member would willingly share, whether it be names, locations, or goals kept buried. And if Tyrus could access even a fraction of that knowledge, he could share it with the royal knights to help their quest to vanquish Scourge.

It would be thanks to him that they could dismantle that rotten organization. Maybe they would reward him handsomely for assisting the Lethos Empire and keeping their citizens safe from further harm. Perhaps crates of sil that could fill an entire vault, or a palace as grand as Emperor Johan! Tyrus could already see the looks of gratitude in their eyes.

Tyrus's face flushed with excitement and giddy anticipation at the thought, but his excitement faded when he realized his foolishness and gave him a good pinch in the cheek.

Stopping the artifact from conducting its usual feeding frenzy would be a useless endeavor. No matter what, even if he kept it in his Scourge ring forever, it would break out to absorb high concentrations of energy, anyway. On top of that, it was impossible to part ways with it. Even when he tried before, locking it away, hiding it, or attempting to suppress its pull, the artifact always found a way back.

"Hey, artifact," Tyrus said. "You never answered my question. What would happen if I take you to a sanctuary? If you lie to me, I'll dig a hole and leave you in it."

There was a moment of silence as if the artifact itself was considering his threat. Then, in that same guttural voice that unsettled him with its artificial calm, it replied:

"I do not know the full extent of what may occur. Sanctuaries are unique places where entry is difficult. Their energy is not just abundant; it is… refined. If I were to be brought into such a place, I suspect my absorption rate would increase drastically."

Tyrus narrowed his eyes. "Increase how much?"

"That depends on proximity, duration, and the sanctuary's purity. But I would grow stronger, and quickly. With enough exposure, I believe fragments of my former memory might return, and my purpose unveiled."

"Might?" Tyrus echoed, skepticism dripping from the word. "You're asking me to gamble on a maybe."

"I ask nothing. You are the one seeking answers. I am simply telling you where they might be found."

Tyrus clenched his jaw. It was hard to tell if the artifact was manipulating him or just stating facts. Maybe that made it more dangerous.

"If your absorption rate spikes and you go berserk," Tyrus said, "and I mean even a flicker of corruption spills out, I'll see that you are destroyed in the blink of an eye."

"…Understood," the artifact said after a pause. "Though I do not believe I will lose control as I am stable and aware. For now."

That didn't exactly inspire confidence in Tyrus. This thing was like traveling with a bomb that whispered. Every answer raised more questions, more risks. But at the same time, it was his only lead. The only thread connecting him to Wanderer, to Scourge, and maybe to something he could use to strike back.

Sir Geroth needs to know what I've learned about the artifact. I'm sure he would be grateful for this information. I'm still under orders that I can't tell anyone about my artifact, so asking Fiona and the others for advice is impossible. Also, I can't destroy this artifact on my own or part ways with it. I only said that so the artifact can't get any funny ideas...

If he remembered right, Sir Geroth was probably still at the academy. To reach him, he'd have to use the gate back at the Grand Tower, but he cannot go alone. The only other way that popped to mind was asking Grant if he had a way of bringing his father to him without drawing too much attention. But that was assuming Grant had the means, or that Sir Geroth wasn't busy. Still, it was better than sitting on his hands and letting the artifact dictate the pace.

Decision made, Tyrus picked up his pace. First, he'd find Grant. If anyone could reach Sir Geroth, it was him. Then, and only then, would he even think about approaching the sanctuary. Because if the artifact regained its memories or whatever, he had to make sure someone strong and smart was ready to act if it went wrong.

Twelve minutes later, Tyrus arrived at Lindell's gates. Stepping in, the crowd that swarmed the front gate had dwindled tremendously, leaving only a handful. The only ones left were Blue Dawn, Wyford with the rest of the prisoners, Royal Knight Othelia, and Vareste. When Tyrus got closer, he noticed that Vareste was on his hands and knees, groveling in front of the knight. Othelia stood over him, weapon dangerously close to his nape.

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