The note from Professor Selene remained in Aren’s pocket throughout the evening.
Trust Rowan.
Carefully.
Three simple words.
Three deeply concerning words.
Aren had spent the last several hours thinking about them.
The first part was easy enough to understand.
Trust Rowan.
The second part was what bothered him.
Carefully.
That single word transformed the entire message.
It implied danger.
Complication.
Secrets.
The kind of secrets that never ended well.
Unfortunately, those were exactly the kinds of secrets Aren seemed destined to discover.
Night settled over Astryx Academy.
Moonlight illuminated the ancient towers.
Floating lanterns drifted above the pathways.
Students gradually disappeared into dormitories and study halls.
The academy grew quieter with each passing hour.
The meeting at the Old Observatory was approaching.
Aren should have been nervous.
And he was.
Yet another sensation dominated his thoughts.
A strange feeling deep within his chest.
A faint pulse.
A rhythm.
Subtle.
Persistent.
Growing stronger every day.
At first, he thought it was anxiety.
Then excitement.
Then perhaps one of the side effects of the strange visions.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Because the pulse felt real.
Almost physical.
Like something sleeping beneath his heart was beginning to wake.
The sensation had started weeks ago.
Barely noticeable.
A gentle warmth appearing whenever he encountered ancient symbols or forgotten records.
Recently, however, it had changed.
The warmth became stronger.
The pulse became clearer.
And every major discovery seemed to intensify it.
The hidden archives.
The First Keeper.
The erased name.
The Three Seals.
Each clue strengthened the sensation.
As though every answer pulled him closer to something.
Or something closer to him.
Aren sat alone in his dormitory room.
The academy clock tower struck nine.
The observatory meeting was still an hour away.
Plenty of time.
Yet he couldn’t focus.
The pulse continued.
Slow.
Steady.
Almost like a second heartbeat.
He placed a hand against his chest.
Immediately the sensation intensified.
His eyes narrowed.
That wasn’t normal.
Definitely not normal.
The pulse wasn’t coming from his heart.
Not exactly.
It felt deeper.
Older.
As though it originated somewhere beyond flesh and bone.
The realization sent a chill through him.
A sudden knock interrupted his thoughts.
Moments later, Mira entered.
Naturally carrying books.
Aren had stopped questioning it.
At this point, he assumed books simply materialized around her.
She immediately noticed his expression.
“Something happened.”
Again.
Not a question.
Aren almost laughed.
“You always know.”
“I pay attention.”
Fair enough.
Mira sat opposite him.
“What is it?”
For several moments, Aren debated whether to mention the pulse.
Eventually he did.
Because hiding things from Mira rarely worked.
As he explained, Mira listened carefully.
Unlike most people, she didn’t dismiss the idea immediately.
She never treated the strange events surrounding him as imagination.
That was one of the reasons Aren trusted her.
When he finished, Mira remained silent.
Thinking.
Analyzing.
Then she asked:
“When does it become stronger?”
Aren considered the question.
“Ancient records.”
She nodded.
“What else?”
“The visions.”
Another nod.
“The symbols.”
Again.
Mira leaned back.
A thoughtful expression crossed her face.
Aren frowned.
“Reacting to what?”
The answer came immediately.
“The mystery.”
Not exactly scientific.
Yet somehow it made sense.
The pulse wasn’t random.
It responded to specific things.
Specific places.
Specific discoveries.
As though it recognized them.
Or remembered them.
The word remembered lingered in Aren’s mind.
Recently, everything seemed connected to memory.
The Keeper of Memories.
The disappearing records.
The forgotten name.
Even the mysterious librarian repeatedly referenced remembrance.
Could the pulse be connected as well?
The possibility felt increasingly likely.
And increasingly concerning.
Because if the pulse truly connected to forgotten history, then what exactly was awakening inside him?
An hour later, Aren left for the Old Observatory.
The academy grounds remained quiet.
Moonlight illuminated the pathways.
Cool evening air drifted through the trees.
Everything appeared peaceful.
Yet with every step toward the observatory, the pulse grew stronger.
Not dramatically.
Gradually.
Enough to notice.
Enough to make him uneasy.
The sensation now felt impossible to ignore.
A steady rhythm deep within his chest.
Beating.
Waiting.
Responding.
Almost anticipating something.
The observatory stood near the northern edge of the academy.
Ancient stone walls rose against the night sky.
Most students never visited.
The structure had been closed officially for years.
Yet the building remained remarkably well preserved.
As though someone still cared for it.
As Aren approached, the pulse intensified again.
His breathing slowed.
The sensation became almost overwhelming.
Like standing near a powerful source of magic.
Or a forgotten memory trying desperately to surface.
The observatory door stood partially open.
A faint light glowed inside.
Rowan had already arrived.
Aren paused briefly.
Then stepped forward.
The pulse accelerated instantly.
For the first time, genuine concern crossed his mind.
Something was happening.
Something important.
Something connected to this place.
The feeling seemed too strong to ignore.
Too deliberate.
Too precise.
Inside, the observatory appeared larger than expected.
Ancient instruments filled the room.
Maps covered the walls.
Books rested upon countless tables.
The massive telescope dominating the center looked older than the academy itself.
Rowan stood near one of the windows.
Watching the stars.
He turned as Aren entered.
Then immediately frowned.
The reaction surprised Aren.
Rowan wasn’t looking at him.
He was looking at his chest.
Specifically where the pulse originated.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Rowan sighed.
“Stronger already.”
Aren froze.
The words struck like lightning.
“You know about it.”
Not a question.
A statement.
Rowan nodded slowly.
“I was hoping I was wrong.”
That wasn’t reassuring.
Not even slightly.
Aren stepped closer.
“The pulse.”
Rowan remained silent briefly.
As though choosing his words carefully.
Finally, he spoke.
“It has a name.”
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Because names mattered.
Especially in mysteries like this.
Everything important seemed hidden behind forgotten names.
Aren’s pulse quickened.
Both literally and figuratively.
“What is it called?”
Rowan looked toward the stars.
Then answered quietly.
“The Echo Heart.”
Silence followed.
The term felt ancient.
Important.
Dangerous.
Aren had never heard it before.
Yet somehow it sounded familiar.
The way forgotten memories often did.
“The Echo Heart responds to remembrance.”
Rowan’s voice remained calm.
“The closer you come to certain truths, the stronger it becomes.”
Aren’s stomach tightened.
That matched his experiences perfectly.
The hidden archives.
The seals.
The First Keeper.
Everything.
Rowan continued.
“It awakens when lost history begins returning.”
Lost history.
Returning.
The words felt significant.
Very significant.
Yet they raised more questions than answers.
Naturally.
Aren folded his arms.
“Then tell me what it is.”
Rowan laughed softly.
Not mockingly.
Just tiredly.
“If it were that simple, I would.”
The answer immediately frustrated him.
Again.
Everyone knew pieces of the truth.
Nobody explained the whole thing.
The pattern was becoming infuriating.
Rowan’s expression softened slightly.
“I can tell you this.”
Aren waited.
“The Echo Heart doesn’t belong to ordinary people.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The pulse seemed louder than ever.
Almost as though it heard the conversation.
Aren looked away.
Toward the ancient telescope.
Toward the stars.
Toward anything except Rowan.
Because deep down, he already suspected the truth.
Nothing happening to him was ordinary.
Nothing had been ordinary for a very long time.
The visions.
The memories.
The erased name.
The prophecies.
The pulse.
Every clue pointed toward the same conclusion.
Something connected him to the past.
Something ancient.
Something forgotten.
The question was what.
Then the pulse surged.
For a brief moment, pain shot through his chest.
Not enough to injure.
Enough to stagger him.
The room blurred.
The observatory vanished.
And suddenly—
He stood somewhere else.
A vast stone chamber.
Ancient beyond comprehension.
Golden pillars stretched toward a distant ceiling.
A massive throne stood at the center.
Empty.
Waiting.
Before it knelt hundreds of figures.
Warriors.
Scholars.
Kings.
All facing the throne.
All waiting.
Then a voice echoed through the hall.
A single sentence.
Ancient.
Powerful.
Terrifying.
“The Heart remembers.”
The vision shattered instantly.
Aren stumbled backward.
Reality returned.
The observatory reappeared.
Rowan stood nearby.
Watching carefully.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
As though he expected exactly that reaction.
The realization frightened Aren more than the vision itself.
Because it meant Rowan knew.
Perhaps not everything.
But enough.
Enough to understand what was happening.
Enough to recognize the Echo Heart.
Enough to anticipate the visions.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then Rowan finally broke the silence.
His expression had become unusually serious.
“The pulse is accelerating faster than expected.”
Aren’s heart sank.
Because that sounded very bad.
Rowan looked toward the night sky.
Toward the distant academy.
Toward something only he seemed able to see.
Then he whispered:
“We’re running out of time.”
The words echoed through the observatory.
And for the first time since arriving at Astryx Academy, Aren felt truly afraid.
Because whatever mystery connected him to the forgotten past…
It wasn’t waiting anymore.
It was waking up.