Lynchie awoke choking on smoke and starlight.
The scent of scorched vellum clung to her skin, but her robes were untouched. She sat upright in a silent courtyard that hadn't existed a moment ago. Above her, the sky shimmered—a dome of glass reflecting books aflame, turning in slow motion, burning without consuming.
She was back in the Mirrorfold.
But not the same fold as before.
This place breathed.
Each breath a turning page.
Each pause between beats—expectant.
Vyen sat cross-legged nearby, forehead pressed to the mosaic floor as if in prayer. His lips moved in silent mantra, hands hovering over a glyph that pulsed with the color of regret.
Lynchie's voice cracked. "Where are we?"
He looked up slowly. "The Library of Ash and Song. The last place a Spiral can look before they forget who they were."
"Why am I here?" she asked.
"You invoked the Sha-Ur-Vael glyph. Fully. You called a memory that didn't want to be remembered." He exhaled. "You tore a hole in the lattice."
She blinked. "But I—Anakael—she—"
"She finished the sentence you started," Vyen said. "You didn't just call a name. You anchored it."
Lynchie stood, but the ground beneath her shimmered like old breath. Every step left behind words—her words—written without ink, bleeding out behind her like a soul unraveling.
"Am I dying?" she whispered.
"No." Vyen's voice was soft. "You're evolving."
Lynchie felt it then. Her thoughts flickered in layered spirals. One voice remembered her childhood, another dreamed in Anakael's tongue, and a third spoke truths she hadn't earned yet.
The Vault had changed her.
The Spiral Lord had marked her.
A book drifted from the sky, landing in her hands.
She hadn't summoned it.
It bore no title. Its cover was skin.
She opened it—and saw Zev.
Bleeding.
Alone.
Holding off a tide of impossible forms as Anakael carved fate with a pen of memory.
Lynchie gasped and the book pulsed.
A voice—not her own—spoke from behind her ear.
"You must choose: to remain the scribe, or become the ink."
She spun. Nothing.
Vyen's expression hardened. "They're reaching across. The Lords are waking. The Spiral isn't a secret anymore."
She clutched the book. "What happens if I choose to become the ink?"
"You'll lose the line between self and story."
"And if I stay the scribe?"
Vyen's silence was answer enough.
The book began to burn in her hands.
But she did not let go.
Instead, she whispered into the flames:
"Show me where he falls."
The Library answered.
A new page turned itself—and she saw Chapter 56 begin to write.
In blood.
And in Zev's scream.
The Spiral would not wait.
And neither would she.