There is no waking here.
No breath.
No heartbeat.
No tether to flesh or sky.
Just falling.
And falling.
And… remembering.
But not memories that belong to me.
[Narration: Kael]
He screamed once—just once—before the Rift swallowed him whole.
Then… silence.
Not the quiet kind. Not peace. The kind of silence that listens. That leans forward and breathes when you don't.
Lyra wanted to go after him. Of course she did. Her voice cracked the air like thunder, speaking codes older than any kingdom. Dawn-scribed glyphs blazed across her palms, and I smelled ozone and salt and fear.
But I held her back.
Because I heard it too.
The snap.
Not his bones. Not his soul.
Something deeper.
Like reality had lost track of where he ended and where it began.
[Narration: AETHERION— inside the space between]
I was every age at once.
The child with ash on his lips.
The teen with blood on his blade.
The man who bowed to kings he would later kill.
And in the center of this collapse—this cavern of collapse—was a throne made of chain.
It pulsed.
Not gold. Not steel.
Memory.
I stepped toward it, and the chains groaned like they recognized me.
No. Not me.
Him.
He sat hunched over. Ankles bound. Wrists fused into the arms of the throne with lines of molten thought. His hair—my hair—was longer, streaked with silver and soot. His back bore the cracks of madness. The sigil across his chest flickered… a dying sun.
His head lifted.
And gods—his eyes.
They were mine. But aged beyond time. Shattered in places I couldn't even imagine yet.
"You're late," he rasped.
My throat dried. "You're me."
He smiled with too many teeth.
"I was. Then you were. Now we are… neither."
The chains flexed, reacting to my presence. They hissed. Whispered. One of them reached for me, brushing my hand—and suddenly I saw it:
Him—me—kneeling in a field of burning moons. Holding the corpse of Lyra. Laughing while Aeris begged for death. Holding a blade carved from Kael's spine.
I recoiled, stumbling back.
He laughed. Or maybe choked. Or maybe both.
"They let you wake," he said bitterly. "They chose you, not because you're worthy—but because I was worse."
He leaned forward. Chains creaked.
"They're watching, you know. Not the gods. Not the Riftwalkers. The Others. The ones who live between the folds. The ones who saw what I was becoming. Who put me here."
My voice came out as a whisper. "The Architect?"
"A janitor. A cosmic failsafe. He locked me here before I could ascend again. You? You're his little do-over."
"You're the repair attempt."
He spat blood at my feet. But it wasn't red.
It was starlight.
[Narration: Lyra – moments later, outside]
The Rift cracked open like a blistered sun, and I screamed his name until my lungs bled.
Kael stood guard, blade unsheathed but trembling. Not in fear. In loyalty too deep to turn away from.
Something was pulling me forward. The Sigil on my chest was hot—a compass screaming toward the void.
He was in there.
With… something else.
And it wasn't silent anymore.
We could hear him screaming.
[Narration: The AETHERION – chained room of echoes]
"I won't become you."
That's what I told him.
That's what I meant.
But his smile didn't change.
"You already are."
Chains writhed. The throne pulsed. And behind him… the mirror shifted.
It showed versions of me. Not reflections.
One walking beside Lucien, smiling like a brother.
Another wearing the black mask of the Rift Hunters, hunting myself.
One kneeling before the Black Star as it whispered secrets that melted skies.
And one—one—standing atop a mountain of corpses, wings of light unfurled, arms raised to the heavens…
Ascended.
And alone.
The chained version of me hissed.
"Tell me, traveler. Savior. Dreamer. What makes you think you're any different?"
I took a step forward.
And I heard myself answer.
"Because I still have a choice."
The throne screamed.
So did he.
Chains snapped.
Not all—just enough.
He lunged at me like a curse made flesh, his hands around my throat, eyes boiling with timelines he had lived and ended.
"THEN MAKE IT!"
And we both fell.
[Narration: Kael – watching the fall]
He came out screaming.
But not words. Not rage.
Names.
"LYRA."
"AERIS."
"KAEL."
And one more:
"MYSELF."
He hit the ground like lightning. Knees bleeding. Eyes wild.
I ran to him.
And he looked at me like he'd never seen me before.
Or worse—like he had seen too many versions of me… all dying in his arms.
[Narration: AETHERION]
He's still there.
Still chained.
Still me.
And his screams never stop.
Not because he's in pain.
But because he remembers what comes next.
I don't.
But I will.
And gods help me… I think I already regret it.