From the rim of the Lanternspire, the world fell away like an open wound.
Light warped across the air in shimmering waves, bending around invisible edges, refracting across jagged stone that jutted from the crater like broken teeth. Beneath it, the valley pulsed—not with life, but with memory. As if the land itself remembered something too ancient for the wind to whisper.
Kael stood at the edge, gripping Liora's shoulder as she stared into the basin's heart.
It was beautiful.
And terrifying.
Where the sunlight touched the crystalline veins lacing the rock, sparks danced—brief, flickering pulses that seemed to echo sounds not yet made. The trees at the far edge grew in strange loops, their branches spiraling upward like horns twisted toward the stars.
Kael turned to Seran, the Dawnward captain, who stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
"This place," Kael said quietly, "what is it?"
"A wound in the weave," Seran replied. "This is where the first gate cracked. Not opened. Not destroyed. Just… fractured. Like glass under too much pressure."
Liora moved forward, drawn by something deep in the pit.
Kael's hand caught hers instinctively. "Stay close."
"I hear it," she murmured. "It's humming again."
Seran's gaze sharpened. "She can hear the Lanternspire?"
Kael shot him a look. "What does that mean?"
"It means the threads are fraying faster than we thought," Seran said grimly. "The last time someone heard the Spire hum… they opened it."
The descent was slow.
Seran's riders led the way down ancient switchback paths carved by hands long forgotten. They avoided the direct trail—a wide, worn road that glowed faintly under moonlight, covered in old carvings and broken chains. Seran called it the Path of Binding, and warned them not to tread it.
"Those who walk it must finish it," he said. "And not all who reach the end are still themselves."
Kael kept Liora close, her hand tucked in his. Her eyes never left the glowing fissures along the rock face, even as the air around them thickened with the scent of dust and old magic.
Halfway down, the wind changed.
It began as a whisper—like cloth brushing across stone. Then came a soft clang. Metal striking metal. Faint, but persistent.
Liora froze.
Kael drew his blade—not the ancient one sealed in the ruins back home, but the iron-forged curved sword he carried for survival. Simple. Trustworthy. His eyes searched the shadows.
From the rocks ahead, a figure stepped out.
Not one of the riders.
Tall. Cloaked. A hood drawn low over the face. The figure carried no banner, bore no sigil, but Kael felt the presence like a splinter in the back of his mind.
Seran reacted first, unslinging his lance in a smooth motion. "Identify yourself."
The figure tilted its head slightly.
Then it laughed.
Not a cruel sound. Not mad.
Just… knowing.
"Seran of the Dawnward," the stranger said, voice echoing strangely. "You wear your heritage well. Pity it ends here."
Kael stepped in front of Liora instinctively. "Who are you?"
The figure turned to him. Though the hood obscured the face, Kael felt the gaze pin him like a knife through the ribs.
"I've been watching your daughter."
Kael's grip on the sword tightened. "Say that again. I dare you."
The figure raised both hands—not in surrender, but to show they held no weapon. Then slowly, the hood fell back.
The face beneath was neither young nor old. Pale skin with faint silver veins under the surface, eyes that mirrored the Lanternspire's glow. But what struck Kael most was not the face, but what lay across the stranger's brow:
A broken crown.
Not a physical one. A mark. Burned into the skin like a brand.
Seran's voice dropped to a whisper. "You're from the Hollow Court."
The figure inclined his head.
"I am Wren. Once heir to the Hollow Throne. Now... a messenger. And a warning."
Kael didn't lower his sword. "You're no messenger. You tracked us."
"I followed the hum," Wren replied calmly. "As did others. But I arrived first."
Liora stepped out, to Kael's horror, and stood before the stranger.
"You heard the song too," she said, more a statement than a question.
"I did," Wren said, nodding once. "But not like you. You are the Brightfall. You are the chorus."
Kael pulled her back, stepping between them. "Enough of this prophecy madness. She's a child."
Wren's expression didn't change, but his voice sharpened. "Then treat her like more than a shadow."
For a moment, the canyon held its breath.
Seran moved forward slowly. "Why are you here, Wren?"
"To offer a choice. To her. Not to you." He looked at Liora. "The Spire is not just a wound. It's a mouth. And soon, it will open again. The songs are returning. But not all of them bring light."
He stepped back, pulling the hood over his face once more. "When the lanterns blink out, you will remember this day."
Then he was gone.
Not with flash or magic.
He simply vanished, as if the air itself had swallowed him.
They made camp on a narrow ledge near a stream of silver water that ran along the crater wall.
Kael couldn't sleep. He sat by the fire, sharpening his blade, his mind racing.
Liora slept beside him, her head on a bundled cloak, but her brows were furrowed as if she were dreaming strange dreams. Kael couldn't help but think of Wren's words.
Treat her like more than a shadow.
He had done everything to protect her. To shield her from the dangers of this world.
But had he also kept her in the dark? Not just from the world—but from herself?
Seran joined him near the fire, silent for a time. Then he spoke.
"The Hollow Court hasn't stirred in a hundred years. If Wren wears that crown, even broken… it means their eyes are on her now."
Kael didn't look up. "Then we blind them."
"That's not how this works," Seran said quietly. "She's at the center, Kael. And you… you're the knife fate wrapped around her throat."
Kael said nothing.
The fire crackled. Far above them, the sky shimmered with refracted stars.
And deep below, the Lanternspire began to hum again.