The comet crashed into the center of the world.
It did not shatter mountains, or tear the earth apart as many feared. Instead, it planted itself—a towering obelisk of shimmering flame, rising from the barren plains where no city dared exist. A monument not made by mortal hands, but by forces so ancient the land itself remembered.
The people of Silver City saw it, and fell silent.
They had rebuilt so much after the Revenants' fall. Now, another reckoning loomed—one far greater than anything they had faced.
---
Lyra and Kael rode hard through the twisting valleys, reaching the obelisk's edge by nightfall. The air shimmered with a heat that wasn't heat—an ancient pulse that thrummed in their blood and bones.
Waiting for them at the base was a woman.
She wore armor made of starlight and shadows, a helmet with a long curved blade etched into its crest. Her eyes were pools of black, not cruel, but endless.
She bowed low, hands outstretched.
> "I am Veyla," she said, voice both melodic and terrible. "Herald of the Architects. I have been sent to deliver their challenge."
Kael kept one hand on his sword, but Lyra stepped forward.
"What challenge?"
Veyla straightened, and a parchment of burning silver unfurled between them.
Words appeared in the flames:
> "By fire you were born.
By choice you shall ascend.
By sacrifice you will be judged."
Veyla spoke again.
"You must enter the Trial of Sundering. Alone. Face what was broken, what was lost. Only then will you claim your true name, your true power."
Kael growled. "And if she refuses?"
The Herald smiled sadly. "Then this world will be unmade—not out of anger. But because the foundation it stands upon will no longer hold."
Lyra closed her eyes. She could feel it—the shuddering of reality beneath her feet, the fraying edges of time.
This wasn't a threat.
It was inevitability.
---
That night, as they made camp near the obelisk, Kael tried to dissuade her.
"You don't have to do this alone," he said. "We can find another way. We always find another way."
Lyra shook her head, staring into the small fire between them. "Not this time. This isn't about fighting enemies or saving others. It's about... me."
She touched the ember at her heart.
"If I can't face what I was—and what I could become—then none of this will matter. The world won't survive it."
Kael reached across the flames, took her hand.
"You're not alone. Even in there, you won't be."
She squeezed his fingers. "I know."
But deep inside, Lyra also knew: the Trial would strip her to the core. She would face not just her past, but all the possible versions of herself—the ones who failed, the ones who betrayed, the ones who chose wrong.
And she would have to decide which Lyra—which Solari—deserved to survive.
---
At dawn, she stood before the obelisk.
Veyla awaited her, sword planted in the ground like a monument.
"The path is open," the Herald said. "Are you ready?"
Lyra nodded.
Without a word, she stepped forward—and was consumed by light.
---
The world around her shattered like glass.
She found herself standing in an endless expanse of mirrors, each one reflecting a different life:
—A Lyra crowned in gold, ruling an empire of ashes.
—A Lyra abandoned and broken, kneeling in chains.
—A Lyra laughing as she burned entire cities.
—A Lyra who never met Kael, who lived a life of small joys and quiet sadness.
Each reflection whispered.
Each reflection wanted her.
Wanted her to choose.
In the center of the mirrored sea stood a single door—black as the void, rimmed with flame.
The final trial awaited beyond it.
Lyra breathed deep, feeling the ember burn brighter than ever before.
"This is my choice," she whispered.
And she walked forward.
---