The Nightingale soared across the void between realms, the broken horizon of the Sable Crescent fading into the mist behind them.
Inside the war room, the air was tense.
Lyra stood before the central holomap, staring at the pulsing red marker — the location of the Fifth Shard, deep within the realm known as The Ashen Wilds.
A realm no traveler willingly entered.
A graveyard of empires.
A home to the Ash Choir.
Vaelion broke the silence first.
"We're walking straight into Serian's trap."
"We always were," Kaela said, adjusting her gauntlets "That hasn't changed."
Kaelen leaned against the wall, arms crossed "What's different now is that Serian knows Lyra's awakening."
The room fell silent again.
Lyra closed her eyes, feeling the fourth shard's warmth pulsing beneath her skin. Each shard made her stronger — but also made her flame… heavier. More volatile. More connected to whatever destiny Serian had carved for her long ago.
"I'm not afraid," she said at last.
A lie, but one she needed to believe.
As they approached the Ashen Wilds, the ship's sensors flickered.
Riven frowned at the readings "No stable physics detected. Gravity's folding in on itself every few kilometers."
Lyra looked out the viewport.
The Ashen Wilds stretched below — a barren wasteland of blackened trees, rivers of ash, and towers made of twisted bone and cinder. The sky boiled with crimson clouds. Ghost fires danced between the ruins, mocking the living.
And there — in the center of it all — stood the Temple of Echoes, where the Fifth Shard was said to rest.
But something else stirred.
The Ash Choir.
Their song began low — a thrum in the bones, a whisper in the blood.
It wasn't music.
It was a summons.
The crew gathered at the drop bay.
Kaelen drew his blade, its edges flaring with blue light "Stay close. Don't listen too long."
Lyra nodded, feeling the shard's flame shield her mind.
Kaela handed her a flame-wrought dagger "If the Choir pulls you in, cut your tether."
Vaelion offered a rare smile "Or we'll cut it for you."
Riven simply loaded a pulse cannon onto his back "Preferably the first option."
They descended into the Ashen Wilds.
The ground crunched underfoot — not stone, but ash and bone.
Figures moved in the mist.
Whispered names clawed at their ears.
Lyra.
Kaelen.
Vaelion.
Old friends.
Old enemies.
The Choir was pulling from their memories, weaving illusions meant to weaken them.
A child's laughter echoed through the fog.
Kaela flinched — just once — then steeled herself.
"We move," Lyra commanded.
They advanced toward the Temple of Echoes, every step a battle against the past.
Inside the temple, the world twisted.
The walls pulsed as if alive, carved from molten stone and frozen screams. At the heart of the temple, floating above a pool of black fire, was the Fifth Shard — a shard not of flame, but of memory.
As Lyra reached for it, the Ash Choir struck.
Figures made of smoke and sorrow descended, their forms shifting between the faces of the fallen.
Riven fired into the mist, his shots cutting through nothing.
Kaelen's blade tore apart illusions, only for them to reform.
Vaelion fought with silent rage, his twin daggers flashing like dying stars.
But it was Lyra who bore the weight.
The Choir converged on her, whispering every doubt she had ever buried:
You will fail them.
You are the spark that ends the world.
You are already burning.
Lyra fell to one knee, the shard just out of reach.
The Choir's leader stepped forward — a figure wearing Serian's face.
"Join us," it whispered "Be free."
Lyra looked up, fire blazing in her eyes.
She remembered Solstice Bastion.
She remembered Serian's betrayal.
She remembered who she was.
"I am the Starborn," she whispered.
And she rose.
Her flame surged outward, golden and pure, cutting through the illusions like a sword of dawn. The Ash Choir screamed — a sound not of rage, but of fear.
The mist recoiled.
The illusions shattered.
And Lyra's hand closed around the Fifth Shard.
The temple cracked around them.
The Ashen Wilds howled in protest.
Kaelen grabbed Lyra's arm "We need to go!"
The crew fled back to the extraction point as the world collapsed, pursued by the last desperate wails of the Choir.
Above them, the Nightingale descended, its grav-beams pulling them aboard just as the Temple of Echoes sank into the ash.
Safe aboard, Lyra stood in the bridge's center, breathing hard.
Five shards.
Two remained.
But in the growing silence, another sound emerged.
Not from the shards.
Not from the ship.
From within her.
A heartbeat.
No — not hers.
Another flame awakening deep inside.
A flame she could no longer ignore.
Far across the stars, Serian smiled once more.
"She's almost ready," he said, his voice carrying through the void.
And the Sixth General — the Hollow Queen — opened her eyes.