The wind hadn't stopped howling since Lucien disappeared into the snow.
Amara sat by the dying fire, the Blade of Ruhaen beside her, silent and heavy. It hadn't pulsed since she touched it — but now, it whispered.
Not in words.
In images. In possibilities.
A flicker:Lucien, standing at her side, golden-eyed, cloaked in Flame, adored by thousands.
Then—Lucien on his knees. Chained. Quiet. Broken.
And her… crowned.
Amara tore her gaze away.
"Not real," she muttered.
The Blade didn't argue.
Lucien moved through the frost like a shadow.
The snow didn't touch him anymore. His body was warm. Too warm.
The sigil on his chest — the one that had branded itself into him after touching Amara — now glowed like it had a pulse of its own. It whispered in a tongue he didn't know, but his blood responded.
He reached a frozen lake.
And his reflection didn't match.
It stood taller. Colder. Hair darker. Eyes black.And it smiled.
"You know this can't last," the reflection said.
Lucien stared. "You're not real."
"I'm what you were made to become. Before her. Before fate. Before love dulled your edge."
Lucien clenched his fists. "I won't become you."
The reflection's grin widened. "You already are."
Back at the cliff camp, Amara stood suddenly.
The Blade had gone hot.
Not warm.
Boiling.
A voice — finally a voice — cut through her mind:
"You will rule. The only question is: what will you lose to get there?"
Snow kicked up in a spiral near the ridge.
Amara turned fast — blade drawn.
But it wasn't Lucien.
A woman stood there — tall, in furs of silver and bone, eyes like volcanic glass.
"Don't draw," she said calmly. "I didn't come to kill you."
Amara didn't lower the blade. "Then what do you want?"
The woman smiled faintly. "To introduce myself."
She stepped forward.
"I'm Vaelryn, born of the First Silence. Keeper of the Crownless Path."
"You're Spiral?"
"No."
"Flame?"
"I'm what comes after both."
Amara didn't move. "Why now?"
Vaelryn's eyes dropped to the blade.
"Because you've touched a truth that doesn't want to stay buried. And once you cut with it — the world starts bleeding."
She walked past Amara and touched the Blade.
It screamed in light — not in pain. In recognition.
"You're not the first to hold it," Vaelryn said.
"But you might be the last."