The chamber felt colder now.
Not from the Vault's depth or the lingering static in the air, but from the distance that had cracked open between them. Kael stared at Lira, breath shallow, every thought jumbled by the memory still echoing through him.
"You remembered," he said. "All this time."
Lira stepped inside at last. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if walking into the center of a storm she'd spent years trying to outrun.
"I didn't remember at first," she said quietly. "I found the shard months ago. By accident. It had no tag, no seal. Just the anchor glyph, buried under obsolete records. I touched it."
"And you saw us."
"Yes."
Kael's voice sharpened. "And you didn't tell me."
"I couldn't. You don't understand what it meant. That version of you, Rin… he was already losing himself. The Vaults were cracking. He spoke in riddles and prophecy, and sometimes he forgot entire days. But when he looked at me—he still knew who I was."
Kael's chest tightened. "So you locked it away."
"I thought I was protecting you."
"Or protecting yourself."
She winced.
"I was afraid," she said. "Afraid that if I told you, you'd cling to the past instead of choosing for yourself. That you'd look at me and think you had to feel something."
Kael stepped closer.
"But I do feel something."
She met his gaze. Her voice was barely audible.
"And how do you know it's yours?"
That question hung in the room like a blade suspended above both their heads.
Kael turned away, walking slowly around the hovering prism. The silver chains vibrated faintly, like they wanted to sing.
"You had no right," he said. "No right to decide what I could handle."
"You're right," she replied. "But I did it anyway."
He stopped.
"I need to know," he said. "All of it."
Lira didn't speak. But the silence she gave him was different now. Not defensive.
Permission.