Light flooded the cavern—violent, overwhelming, alive.
It wasn't gentle illumination.
It was a storm.
A cosmic exhale that shook the mountain to its roots.
Lysandra felt it first—
a shockwave so powerful it lifted her feet from the ground and hurled her backward.
Evander caught her midair, rolling with her as silver and white erupted from the core in spiraling arcs.
The Heir's shadows wrapped around them like a cocoon, absorbing what they could—but even shadow trembled under the sheer force of the awakening.
The pulse of the newly fused heart echoed through the cavern like an ancient drum.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The frost on the walls shattered into glittering ice shards.
The Order screamed, stumbling across the ground as their staffs flickered and died. Blue flames extinguished in an instant—snuffed like weak candles in front of a hurricane.
Lysandra shoved herself onto her elbows.
The core hovered above the ground—
swelling, brightening, shimmering with threads of silver and white that intertwined like veins knitting back together.
Her magic responded to it instinctively.
Her wolf whispered:
It breathes.
It lives.
But it is not whole.
Not yet.
Evander knelt over her, brushing hair from her face.
"Lysandra—say something—are you hurt?"
She opened her mouth—
and instead of words, a silver gasp escaped her lips.
Her lungs burned, but not from injury.
She felt the core's energy inside her.
In her blood.
In her bones.
The Heir approached, shadows flickering erratically around him.
"Your magic is tethered to the core. That much energy could break you if you don't stabilize it."
Evander snapped,
"She JUST saved the world from exploding—give her ONE second!"
But the Heir ignored him, eyes locked on Lysandra with sharp focus.
"Moonblood," he said softly, "listen to my voice. Breathe with the core—not against it."
The ground shook again.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Lysandra gripped Evander's wrist and forced her breaths to match the pulse.
Slow.
Precise.
Aligned.
Silver light curled from her fingertips and formed a thin halo around her chest.
The pain dulled.
Her vision steadied.
Evander exhaled shakily.
"Okay. Good. No more explosions."
He looked up at the core.
"Right? Right…?"
Before Lysandra could answer, the cavern trembled sharply.
Cracks spider-webbed across the ceiling.
Evander swore.
"Oh come ON—no one said healing a cosmic heart would make the ENTIRE mountain collapse!"
The Heir stepped forward.
"It's not collapsing."
"Really? Because it LOOKS like collapsing!"
"It's expanding," the Heir corrected grimly.
"The core is reclaiming space that was stolen from it."
The walls pulsed with silver light.
The ground rippled as if adjusting itself.
Lysandra stood with Evander's help, eyes fixed on the core.
It had stopped thrashing.
Stopped screaming.
It simply hummed—
soft and steady—
like a star humming itself back into existence.
She stepped toward it without meaning to.
Evander locked his hand around hers.
"Whoa—no. No more touching dangerous cosmic things. No hands. No glowing. No—"
But the core answered anyway.
A thread of silver extended from it—thin as spider silk, bright as moonfire—and brushed against her chest.
Her wolf stilled.
Bond.
Connection.
Recognition.
Lysandra's breath caught.
"It knows me."
Evander stared at the thread.
"What do you mean it KNOWS you? Like—it likes your personality? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?"
The Heir stepped beside her, gaze serious.
"The core remembers her magic from when the fragment touched her. It sees her as an anchor."
Evander blinked.
"A WHAT?"
"A stabilizer."
Evander exploded,
"NO. NO MORE TITLES. Moonblood. Seam. Anchor—you two are giving her a COLLECTION of traumatic job descriptions!"
But Lysandra ignored both of them.
She reached out—
not with her hands,
but with her magic.
The silver thread pulsed.
The core floated lower, humming softly.
Her wolf murmured:
Touch.
But not skin.
Touch with soul.
Lysandra exhaled, letting her magic rise from within her chest.
A thin beam of silver connected her to the core.
And suddenly—
She saw.
Not a vision.
Not a memory.
But the core's truth.
A cosmic being once whole—
a guardian of balance between realms—
shattered by stolen light
and hunted into fragments.
The Starved were not born hungry.
They were made hungry.
Their desperation wasn't malice.
It was pain.
Lysandra gasped. Tears blurred her vision.
Evander gripped her other hand.
"Lys—hey, look at me—are you still in there?"
She nodded weakly.
But the connection deepened.
And the core spoke inside her mind—
a whisper layered like voices overlapping.
"Moonblood… you mend…
but danger grows…
the Light comes…
the Light kills…"
Lysandra stiffened.
"The Order isn't finished," she whispered. "They're not retreating—they're regrouping."
Evander groaned.
"Of course they are. Because nothing is allowed to be easy."
A blast of blue fire suddenly erupted from the opposite end of the cavern.
Evander pulled Lysandra back.
The Heir unleashed shadows that absorbed the flames before they reached her.
A familiar voice echoed:
"THE SEAM MUST BE BROKEN!"
The commander stumbled to his feet, mask cracked almost in half. Half his face was visible now—eyes wild with fanatic terror.
He raised a smaller staff—one Evander hadn't seen before.
A short rod.
Dull silver.
Etched with runes.
The Heir inhaled sharply.
"Evander—Lysandra—move."
Evander dragged her behind a fallen pillar.
"What is that?! Another holy stick of doom?!"
The Heir's voice was dark.
"It is a Severing Rod."
Lysandra froze.
"What does it sever?"
The Heir's shadows recoiled.
"Magic. Souls. Bonds."
Evander's breath caught.
"And what does he want to sever?"
The Heir looked at Lysandra.
"Her."
The commander lifted the rod to the sky.
White sparks burst from its tip.
A beam shot directly toward Lysandra.
Evander lunged to shield her.
But the Heir moved first, shadows exploding into a wall.
The Severing beam cut through them—
but weakened.
The Heir staggered back, coughing, blood dripping from his mouth.
"STOP HIM!" Lysandra shouted.
Evander didn't hesitate.
He sprinted at the commander with a yell, golden light blazing from his fists.
But the commander turned the rod on him—
"EVANDER!" Lysandra screamed.
A beam of white shot toward his chest.
At the last second,
Lysandra threw herself between them.
The beam hit her.
But it didn't sever her.
It bent.
Curved.
Split into silver and white threads.
Evander caught her as she collapsed into his arms.
"Lysandra?! What—what did it do to you?!"
Her head pressed against his chest.
Her pulse raced.
The Heir knelt beside her, frantic for once.
"It cannot sever her because she is bound to the core now. Her magic rejects the Light."
Lysandra gasped for air.
Her wolf whispered:
We are more.
We are many.
We are becoming.
Evander held her tighter.
"What is happening to her?"
The Heir looked at the commander.
"We end this," he said.
The commander raised the rod for another strike.
Evander grabbed Lysandra's trembling hand.
"Lys… say the word. Say anything. I'll protect you."
She whispered one word—
"Together."
Evander's golden light flared.
The Heir's shadows surged.
And Lysandra's silver pulsed outward like a rising moon.
All three magics collided.
The Severing Rod shattered.
The force hurled the commander across the cavern.
Silence fell.
Lysandra fell against Evander, struggling to breathe.
The Heir leaned close, voice low:
"Moonblood… your transformation has begun."
Evander froze.
"TRANSFORMATION INTO WHAT?!"
Lysandra lifted her eyes toward the glowing core—
Which pulsed in answer.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Her wolf whispered the truth—
We are becoming the heart's mirror.
We are becoming the seam's center.
We are becoming… the one who binds realms.
Lysandra exhaled.
And the cavern trembled
as her next evolution began.