The Cradle was no longer just a place.
It had become a pulse, alive and ancient, wrapped around my bones like a second skin, watching, waiting. It wanted something from me now. Not my strength. Not my loyalty.
It wanted a piece of me that I could never get back.
I stood barefoot in the center of the final chamber, surrounded by obsidian pillars glowing with silent fire. Every echo that bounced off the walls sounded like a version of my own voice — younger, softer, broken.
This was no longer a trial. This was judgment.
A pool of starlight shimmered before me — no water, no reflection, just magic. Raw and knowing.
Willing sacrifice, the voice of the Cradle whispered.
The same phrase I'd heard a hundred times, but this time… the words coiled like a blade around my soul.
"What do you want from me?" I asked aloud.
No answer came, only a sudden memory. My brother's laughter. My mother's voice calling me in the dark. Lucas's fingers brushing my cheek.
