The cavern's trembling slowly faded, but the world did not return to normal.
Not within Lysandra.
Not within the mountain.
Not within the very air she breathed.
It felt like every heartbeat carried an echo that didn't belong solely to her.
Evander held her tightly, one hand behind her back, the other cradling her head as if she were something fragile—not because she was weak, but because she glowed. Literally.
A faint silver aura shimmered around her skin, threading through her hair like moonlit strands.
"Lysandra," he whispered, voice cracking. "Talk to me. Please."
"I'm here," she breathed, though her voice was thinner, distant, layered with a resonance that was not human.
The Heir knelt beside her, his shadows drawn tight against him as if wary of the new magic drifting off her like light mist.
"You are changing," he murmured.
Evander snapped,
"She's always changing! Stop saying it like she's going to detonate!"
But the Heir didn't answer him; his eyes stayed fixed on Lysandra.
"You connected with the core. It will not release you now."
Lysandra swallowed hard.
"I felt it bind," she whispered. "Like it stitched part of itself into me."
Evander blanched.
"That's bad, right? That sounds bad."
The Heir didn't deny it.
"Not bad," he said slowly. "Not good. Simply unprecedented."
"Oh perfect," Evander muttered. "She's unprecedented. Wonderful. That makes me feel so much better while she's glowing like a star having a panic attack."
A faint laugh escaped Lysandra's lips—but even the laugh echoed with a soft silver hum.
Her wolf murmured,
We are more.
Not lost.
Not broken.
Becoming.
The cavern walls flickered with faint light again.
The robed woman, still collapsed on the ground, moaned. Her mask lay cracked beside her, revealing a face lined with both age and fear. Her eyes widened at the sight of Lysandra's glow.
"No," she whispered, scrambling backward. "No… the Seam has awakened…"
Evander stood so abruptly Lysandra nearly toppled.
"What did you call her?" he demanded.
The woman pressed herself against the wall, trembling.
"The Seam," she repeated. "She is no longer a vessel. She is a junction. A convergence point.
A doorway wearing flesh."
Lysandra's stomach tightened.
"I'm not a door," she whispered.
But the woman shook her head violently.
"You became what the core needed. What the realms demand. You are—"
A blast of shadow slammed into the rock beside the woman's head, silencing her.
The Heir stood rigid, shadows trembling with fury.
"You will not decide her fate," he hissed. "Not again."
Lysandra touched his hand.
"Let her speak."
He hesitated, then stepped back.
The woman swallowed, shaking.
"The severing rod failed because your magic cannot be separated now," she said. "You are stitched to the heart. The heart is stitched to the seam. And the seam—"
Her voice broke.
"—binds worlds together."
Evander dropped to his knees beside Lysandra, cupping her cheeks.
"No. No, Lys, listen to me— you are not a seam. You are Lysandra. You're a florist. You're stubborn. You snore sometimes. You burn soup. You cry at stories about lost puppies. You are NOT a doorway."
Her breath shuddered, warmth flooding her chest at his frantic words.
She leaned into his touch.
"I'm still me," she whispered.
The Heir touched her shoulder gently.
"You are still you. But your magic's nature is expanding."
Evander glared at him.
"What does that even MEAN?!"
"It means," the Heir said softly, "she is starting to hold more than one realm inside her."
Evander's eyes widened with horror.
"Oh no. No. Absolutely not. Lysandra, stop holding realms. Put them DOWN."
But the silver glow around her only intensified.
The core responded to it—
a pulse,
a shift,
a hum.
The cavern seemed to breathe with her.
The Heir suddenly stiffened.
"Something approaches."
Evander froze.
"Not another creature—please not another creature—"
The Heir shook his head slowly.
"Not creature. Not Order."
His shadows pointed upward, toward the ceiling of the cavern.
"Something from above."
Lysandra's wolf bristled.
Light.
Not hollow.
Not broken.
Older.
A soft glow seeped from cracks high in the stone.
Not blue.
Not white.
Not shadow.
Moonlight.
Pure, steady, silver.
Lysandra straightened, dizziness fading as the threads around her heart aligned with the glow.
The Heir whispered,
"It is not the Lunaris. It feels… older."
Evander stood, pulling Lysandra with him.
"What older moon thing? How many moon things exist? Does anyone have a list?"
But before anyone could answer, the light expanded—
slowly, gently—
draping over them like a veil being lowered.
A soft hum filled the chamber.
And then—
A figure descended.
Not a creature.
Not a fragment.
Not a ghost.
A woman made of shifting silver—
hair like strands of moon,
eyes glowing brighter than starlight,
robes flowing like liquid luminance.
Lysandra felt her knees weaken.
"Who—who are—"
The woman lifted a hand.
And her voice echoed through the cavern like a calm tide:
"Lysandra Moonblood.
Child of seam and night.
I am Liora—the Heartbinder."
The robed woman of the Order screamed and covered her eyes.
Evander stared.
"Heart… binder? You NAMED JOBS after this? Why does everyone have titles but me—?!"
The Heir bowed his head deeply—
a gesture Lysandra had never seen him make.
"Guardian of the Lunar Archive," he whispered.
"We believed you lost."
The woman—Liora—touched the core gently.
Light rippled beneath her palm.
"I was severed," she said softly.
"When the Order took the Light Core, I became trapped between realms."
Lysandra's breath hitched.
"You were part of the cosmic being."
Liora nodded.
"I was its guide. Its voice. Its safeguard.
The Order did not know what they stole.
They shattered balance without understanding cost."
She turned to Lysandra, eyes glowing with unbearable gentleness.
"And you, Moonblood, are what was born in its absence—
a living seam that can mend what was broken."
Lysandra trembled.
"I'm… not enough. I don't know how to heal something this ancient."
Liora smiled sadly—
like someone who had waited centuries for this moment.
"You do not heal it alone.
You heal it with the bonds you forged."
Evander blinked.
"Me? I'm a bond? I'm not magical! I faint when I see blood!"
Liora touched his chest.
Golden light blossomed beneath her fingers.
Evander gasped.
"What—what is THAT—my heart is glowing—why is my HEART glowing?!"
Liora smiled.
"Your devotion became magic.
You are her golden tether—her anchor to the mortal world."
Evander froze.
"I'm… her anchor?"
The Heir stepped forward.
"And I?"
Liora traced a finger through his shadow.
"And you are her path.
Her passage.
Her protection."
The Heir lowered his head again.
Evander muttered,
"So she gets two magical boyfriends and I get anxiety attacks. Great."
Lysandra squeezed his hand.
"You're more powerful than you think."
Liora stepped between them all.
"The core is healing, but the Starved fragments feel its awakening.
They will come.
And the Order will come again, stronger and more desperate."
Evander groaned.
"Of course they will. Because life hates us."
Liora lifted Lysandra's chin gently.
"You are becoming more than Moonblood.
More than seam.
More than heart."
Her eyes glowed brighter.
"You are becoming the Binder—the one who can weave realms back together."
Lysandra felt her pulse echo through the cavern.
"And what happens when I'm done?"
Liora looked at her—
with sorrow,
with pride,
with truth.
"When you finish mending the heart," she said softly,
"your own heart must choose a realm to belong to."
Evander stiffened.
"Choose…??
Choose how?
Choose WHAT?!"
Liora's voice was soft as falling snow.
"You cannot live in all worlds forever."
Lysandra froze.
Her wolf whispered:
Three worlds.
One heart.
One choice.
Evander grabbed her shoulders.
"No. No. No choices. She stays with me. Done."
The Heir whispered,
"She must choose with magic, not sentiment."
Lysandra's heart pounded.
Liora stepped back toward the core.
"Prepare yourselves," she said.
"Because the heart has awakened—
and the Starved are coming."
As the last word echoed,
the cavern shuddered so violently rock fell from the ceiling.
And somewhere far above—
in the frozen mountains—
a scream rippled through the world.
Not human.
Not hollow.
Starved.