The doors of the temple closed without a sound.
Not slammed. Not sealed. Simply… decided.
Light dimmed behind Nameless as the obsidian hands that formed the gate slowly folded inward, fingers overlapping like a prayer meant for no god. The world outside — Tianlong, Ryne, the drifting memories — vanished as if erased from existence.
Inside, the Shattered Veil breathed.
The floor beneath his boots was glass, but not solid glass. It moved faintly, like water trapped beneath a frozen surface. Each step sent ripples outward, distorting reflections that didn't belong to him — faces that appeared for half a heartbeat, then dissolved.
The air smelled like rain and old books. Like ash after lightning.
Lyra walked ahead of him, barefoot, her steps soundless. Her robes flowed as if stitched from moonlight and liquid silver, never touching the floor yet never floating either. Power followed her, subtle and constant, like gravity bending toward a star.
"Try not to touch anything," she said casually. "Most of it bites."
Nameless glanced at a floating chair drifting past him. It turned its armrest toward him slowly, as if curious.
"…Does it bite hard?"
Lyra smiled over her shoulder. "Emotionally."
The chair drifted away, offended.
They moved deeper into the sanctum.
There were no walls in the traditional sense. The space unfolded around them — layers of reality peeling back like pages of a book written in light. Shelves floated in midair, stacked with objects that made no sense together: broken crowns, glass vials humming softly, weapons frozen mid-swing, children's toys carved from bone, hourglasses leaking upward.
Above them, constellations rotated lazily, rearranging themselves every few seconds.
Nameless felt it — the pull.
Not magic pressing against him like the gods did. This was different.
This place noticed him.
"Well," Lyra said, clapping her hands once. The sound echoed too many times, overlapping itself. "This is where we stop pretending you're just a visitor."
The floor shifted. A table formed itself from fragments of light, assembling piece by piece. Chairs followed — one elegant and curved for Lyra, one simple and heavy for Nameless.
A teapot poured itself. Cups floated into place.
The liquid inside shimmered between colors — crimson, gold, deep violet.
Nameless stared at it. "What is that?"
Lyra took a seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Depends. Right now?" She tilted her head, watching him closely. "Probably regret."
"Hard pass."
"Suit yourself." She snapped her fingers.
The liquid in his cup changed instantly — clear now, faintly glowing.
"…And now?"
"Something that won't make you vomit on my floor."
Nameless sat.
The chair accepted his weight with a quiet hum, as if approving.
"So," Lyra said, resting her chin on her palm. "You want me to destroy the most carefully engineered divine lock in existence. Seven shards, each layered with god-sigils older than morality itself. All embedded directly into your spine."
She leaned forward slightly, eyes glowing violet.
"And you want me to do it without killing you."
Nameless met her gaze, unblinking. "Yes."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then she laughed.
It wasn't cruel laughter. Or kind. It was amused — like someone discovering a crack in a mountain and finding it charming.
"Oh, I like you," she said. "You're honest. Stupid, but honest."
"If you can't help me," Nameless said calmly, "say so."
"Oh, I can help," Lyra replied. "That's not the issue."
She stood and walked behind him.
The air shifted.
He felt her presence near his back — not touching, but close enough that his skin prickled.
"The issue," she continued, "is that if I make a mistake… even a small one…"
Her fingers hovered inches from the crystals embedded along his spine.
"…you won't scream."
Nameless's jaw tightened.
"You won't burn."
The crystals pulsed faintly.
"You'll simply… stop."
She withdrew her hand and moved back in front of him, meeting his eye again.
"And if that happens," she said lightly, "don't come looking for me as a ghost. I hate hauntings. They're messy, and they knock things over."
Nameless exhaled slowly.
"If I die," he said, "it won't be your fault."
Lyra blinked.
Just once.
Then her smile softened — not warmer, but sharper.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Most people beg. Or threaten. Or promise revenge from beyond."
"I'm tired," Nameless said simply. "If this ends me… at least it's honest."
Lyra snapped her fingers again.
The cups vanished. The table dissolved.
The sanctum changed.
Light dimmed, focusing inward. Floating shelves pulled back, forming a wide circular space. Symbols appeared beneath Nameless's feet — not runes, not sigils, but concepts, etched directly into the glass floor.
Memory. Loss. Identity. Will.
Lyra raised both hands.
Creatures of light emerged from the air — small, nimble beings shaped like abstract figures, faceless and precise. They moved with purpose, anchoring points in the space, weaving threads of silver energy between floating pillars.
"Troops?" Nameless asked.
"Assistants," Lyra corrected. "They keep reality from unraveling when things get… emotional."
She walked behind him again.
"This will hurt," she said casually.
Nameless nodded. "It already does."
Her fingers touched the first crystal.
The reaction was immediate.
Light exploded outward, a blinding flare of crimson and gold. The sanctum groaned. One of the floating pillars shattered, reforming instantly under the assistants' efforts.
Nameless's body arched violently.
He did not scream.
The first shard ignited fully — a steady, burning glow.
Lyra inhaled sharply. "Good. That one's awake."
She moved to the second.
The moment she touched it, the air screamed.
Not sound — pressure. Memories not his brushed against him: dying stars, wars fought for reasons long forgotten, promises made and broken.
The second shard lit.
The floor cracked.
Lyra's expression sharpened. No more teasing now.
"Third," she whispered.
The third shard resisted.
It pulsed erratically, fighting her touch. Lyra pressed harder, violet light bleeding from her eyes.
"Behave," she snapped.
The shard ignited.
Nameless's vision went white.
He felt himself falling — not physically, but inward.
Voices rushed in.
Not words. Names.Faces.
He saw a woman with fire in her hair, smiling through blood. A man kneeling before him, swearing loyalty. A battlefield under black rain.
The fourth shard flared.
Reality buckled.
Lyra staggered back, one knee hitting the glass.
"Still with me?" she asked through clenched teeth.
Nameless did not answer.
The fifth shard ignited.
His consciousness shattered.
He was no longer in the sanctum.
He stood in a void filled with faces.
Thousands of them.
They drifted past him — warriors, scholars, lovers, enemies. Some smiled. Some wept. Some looked at him with fear.
He did not know their names.
But he felt them.
Loss. Love. Regret.
Then he saw her.
Elara.
Clearer than the rest.
She wasn't smiling.
She was waiting.
The sixth shard ignited.
Words echoed in his mind — Tianlong's voice, layered over itself.
You were not made to remember yet.
They chained you because they feared you whole.
Trust is heavier than memory.
The seventh shard ignited.
For half a heartbeat —
Everything.
The truth surged toward him like a collapsing star.
Who he was.What he was meant to be.What the gods took.
Lyra screamed.
The domain tore itself apart.
Glass shattered into light. Assistants disintegrated, reforming, breaking again. Lyra slammed both hands into the floor, forcing reality to obey.
"No— no— that's enough—!"
She ripped the connection away.
All seven shards shut down simultaneously.
Dark.
Silence.
Nameless collapsed.
When he woke, he was lying on cool glass.
Lyra sat nearby, breathing hard, blood — glowing violet — trailing from the corner of her mouth.
"…Well," she said after a moment. "That was idiotic."
Nameless pushed himself up slowly.
"I didn't die."
"Correct. Against my better judgment."
He looked at his reflection in the glass.
The crystals on his back were dark. All of them.
Even the one that had once burned.
"I saw something," he said quietly.
Lyra wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Faces. Blurred. No context."
He nodded.
"And Tianlong," he added. "He was there. Watching."
Lyra studied him.
"Good," she said softly. "Then you know."
Nameless closed his eye.
"I don't remember who I was," he said. "But I know he wasn't lying."
He stood.
"That's enough," he continued. "For now."
Lyra smiled — tired, genuine.
"At least you didn't die."
Nameless turned toward the doors.
"I'm happy to go now," he said. "Whole or not."
The sanctum hummed in quiet approval.
And somewhere beyond the Shattered Veil, the gods stirred — uneasy, afraid — knowing that something they buried had begun to want again.