The realm screamed as the gate to the Silent Spiral opened.
Amina stood at the threshold, cloaked in a mantle of flame and will. Behind her, the Vault pulsed with ancient light, resisting the pull of the Spiral's hunger. Before her, the air shimmered—a rippling veil of darkness streaked with pale gold threads. Beyond it, nothing could be seen. No light. No horizon. Only a stillness so vast it felt sentient.
Ashar adjusted the clasp on his breastplate. "This place is wrong."
"It's not a place," Elaron said. "It's a wound."
Kai muttered a curse under his breath. "Then why do we walk into it?"
"Because she's in there," Amina said. "Serayah. The ember-child. My… daughter."
She still couldn't believe it. The word felt fragile on her tongue, yet it had rooted in her soul the moment the name burned into the sky.
Lumeah drew near, offering a final blessing over them. "Once inside the Spiral, time will unravel. Memories may slip. Hold tight to who you are. If you forget your name, speak hers."
"Serayah," Amina repeated.
"No," Lumeah corrected gently. "Yours."
Then the light vanished—and the Spiral swallowed them whole.
Descent
It was not falling, though it felt like it. Nor walking, though they moved.
The Spiral twisted space and time, pulling the group through disjointed echoes of forgotten realms. Ghosts of ancient battles flickered beside them. Stars blinked in and out like memories lost.
Valec moved beside Amina, silent, his presence a shield in the chaos. Kai kept pace behind them, one hand tight on the hilt of his glaive, his other clenched around a sigil stone that glowed the color of old blood.
They came upon a bridge made of glass and feathers, suspended over a river of flame that flowed in reverse.
At its center stood a figure.
A girl—no older than ten—with burning eyes and pale silver hair that floated around her head like a halo.
"Serayah?" Amina called.
The girl did not turn. "You're not supposed to be here."
Her voice was emotionless. Hollow. Like something taught to speak.
"I came to find you," Amina said, stepping forward. "To bring you back."
"You can't bring back what never belonged."
Behind Serayah, figures rose—shadows dressed in red. Familiar robes. The Red Priests, but distorted, hollowed by the Spiral's poison. Their mouths moved, but no sound came.
Kai hissed. "They're feeding on her."
"No," Elaron said. "She is feeding on them."
Amina's eyes widened as she saw it—the flicker of dying souls in the air around the girl. The Spiral hadn't corrupted her.
She was consuming the Spiral.
The Fracture
Amina stepped closer. "Serayah… I'm your mother."
The girl's head tilted. "You're a possibility. A story Amariel left unfinished."
Tears pricked Amina's eyes. "You're real. You exist."
Serayah finally turned. Her eyes were filled with galaxies. Her smile was filled with grief. "Then why did you leave me?"
Amina flinched as the Spiral twisted again, pulling at her memories, her regrets.
Ashar shouted, "Hold the anchor!"
Valec threw down his sword, driving it into the ground, forming a glyph that stabilized the space around them.
Kai stepped forward. "Let me talk to her."
Amina glanced at him. "Why?"
But Serayah had already noticed. "You smell like him."
Kai froze.
"Like Valec?" Amina asked.
"No," Serayah said softly. "Like the other one. The broken shadow who burned my sky."
Kai's face darkened. "Lucien."
"Yes." Serayah's eyes glowed. "He showed me the truth. The gods are parasites. The fire is freedom."
Amina's voice cracked. "Lucien used you."
"No," Serayah whispered. "He made me see."
Then the Spiral cracked.
The bridge shattered.
And the group was flung apart.
The Shattered Paths
Amina landed in a world of crystal trees and frozen time. She could hear Ashar calling from far away. Valec was nowhere in sight.
And before her—standing between two mirrored suns—was Amariel.
But not the serene figure of the Flame's memory. This Amariel was tired. Bleeding from old wounds. Her fire dim.
"You're close," she said. "But not ready."
Amina clenched her fists. "I don't have time to be ready. She's alone. She's broken."
"She is what you made her," Amariel said. "You left the world before she was formed. And now she burns without knowing why."
Amina looked up at her. "Then help me. Please."
Amariel reached out—pressed a single burning finger to Amina's heart.
And for a heartbeat, Amina saw it all.
The moment of Serayah's conception—not of flesh, but of choice. A piece of Amariel's soul, unshaped, clinging to the last ember of a forgotten timeline.
The Spiral hadn't created Serayah.
Amariel had.
And now that child—Amina's child—was spiraling toward destruction.