The filament did not behave like a bridge should.
Bridges stayed still.
This one breathed.
It rose and fell under their feet like a pulse, tightening with every step they took together. The woven light beneath them brightened whenever their hands brushed, like their contact fed it.
But the world around them was not passive.
The Root-light above crackled into spears, raining pure correction.
The Under-Root below churned and foamed, assembling new shapes with every second.
The filament held.
Barely.
But it held.
Manraj squeezed Zoya's hand as they moved—fast, careful, synchronized without needing to speak.
"Don't let go," he murmured.
Zoya huffed a laugh that shook.
"As if I'd even try."
A shockwave cracked through the Rift.
The filament bucked violently.
Zoya's boots skidded—Manraj caught her waist, pulling her upright.
The Root hissed:
"THE CENTER MUST NOT BE SHARED."
The Under-Root echoed:
"…two become shield… two become vessel… break them…"
Manraj gritted his teeth.
"Too late."
Zoya's Silence flared in agreement.
The filament's weave responded instantly—thickening beneath them, braiding tighter, like it wanted to be a road because they wanted it to be.
Manraj glanced at Zoya.
"We need to move before either side adapts."
Zoya nodded.
But the bridge shuddered again.
Not from attack.
From something older.
Deeper.
A tremor ran along the entire filament—from Zoya's end to Manraj's—like a message carried through bone.
Both froze.
Zoya whispered, "Did you feel—"
A second tremor answered.
Manraj swallowed.
"It's not the Root. And it's not the Under-Root."
Zoya turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
"It's coming from ahead."
The filament stretched into darkness—then bent, curving downward like the spine of a massive creature arching its back.
Manraj stepped forward.
The woven light rippled beneath his boot, welcoming him.
Zoya followed, one hand clutching his.
The center of the Rift shifted.
The bridge wasn't leading them back to Root-light.
It wasn't dragging toward Under-Root shadow.
It was moving toward a third direction.
A place neither realm recognized.
A place neither realm controlled.
A place that shouldn't exist.
Zoya whispered:
"…Manraj… where is it taking us?"
A whisper answered from both sides of the Rift:
"THE MIDDLE MUST NOT AWAKEN."
The filament bucked violently, almost throwing them off.
Manraj tightened his grip on Zoya's hand.
"We go together."
Zoya lifted her chin, Silence shimmering around her like a second spine.
"Show us."
The filament obeyed.
It split into three glowing strands—braiding themselves into a path that angled sharply downward, toward a hollow glowing like a heart deeper than either realm.
A hollow that pulsed with a color neither white nor black.
A third color.
Manraj whispered:
"That's… impossible."
Zoya exhaled shakily.
"No. That's the part both worlds have been fighting to bury."
The True Center.
The place the vessel and the shield were never meant to touch.
Root-light convulsed.
Under-Root screamed.
The filament bent downward violently.
And together—hand in hand—they ran down the impossible path toward the one place every law of both realms had forbidden.
Toward the place where the truth waited.
Toward the place where this entire war began.
The Middle.
The center the worlds feared.
And Chapter 67 ends with the bridge accelerating into the unknown—dragging Manraj and Zoya toward the truth that could break everything open.