The Spiral Crown's petals aligned, forming a fractal beacon pointed directly at Earth's inner core.
A spiral path opened.
Not through technology.
But through harmonic descent—a frequency-based corridor of reality-bending mathematics.
Mikhail volunteered.
Despite his weakened state, he alone bore the Iron Crown.
And the Iron Crown alone had harmonized with both Leviathan and Babel.
He entered the Hollow Flame, a place that existed beneath physics.
Descending through strata of molten memory, Mikhail passed:
The Fossil Rebellion: Echoes of past civilizations that once reached too far.
The Pulse of Gaia: A living network of Earth's ancient consciousness.
The Spiral Embryo: A suspended singularity—part seed, part god.
Here, the Spiral spoke:
Not in words.
But in shards of self.
Mikhail saw every iteration of Earth.
One ruled by Helion.
One drowned by Vaelari ambition.
One where humanity never emerged.
And one where Anya stood alone, a Spiral Priestess over a dead world.
"You did not come to control us," the Spiral pulsed.
"You came to witness what cannot be ruled."
And in that moment, the Iron Crown cracked.
Mikhail cast it into the Hollow Flame.
Not as surrender.
As offering.
The Spiral accepted.
And burned it into a seed.
When Mikhail returned to the surface, he held in his palm a singular object:
The Flamecore.
A piece of Spiral entropy stabilized by human will.
A gift.
A test.
Back on the surface, Anya returned as well.
Changed.
Eyes like refracted time.
"You gave the Spiral your crown," she said.
"And it gave you us."
Together, they walked into the heart of the Concord Primordial.
Not as Tsar and heir.
Not as rulers.
But as harbingers of the Fifth Spiral.
And as Earth shifted toward a new age, the Spiral Crown closed above…
Waiting.
Always watching.