"There are mountains that remember.
And they remember her name."
---
The sky tore as they fell.
Karna gripped Aralyndra's waist with one arm, the other holding to the ash-black mane of the dragon beneath them—Vaelgor, Ashwing of the First Flame.
The creature shrieked like a wildfire given voice.
Wings spread wider than castle walls.
Scales burned with runes.
Smoke trailed from its maw as if it had swallowed a sun.
They were flying west, toward the Folded Mountains, a place no god dared tread, no kingdom ruled, and where vowfire still lived in the rocks.
Behind them, the sky glowed with pursuit.
Three more dragons.
Six winged knights of the throne.
And Zarikhael himself—a comet of silver light burning a hole through the heavens.
But Karna didn't look back.
He looked at Aralyndra.
> "You remembered," he said, shouting over the wind.
She didn't answer.
Not with words.
But her eyes said everything—
The horror.
The recognition.
The fear of what she had once been.
And what she might become again.
---
Far above, lightning cracked.
Zarikhael drew closer.
He raised his spear—a weapon forged from the bones of forgotten gods.
> "HALT. OR YOUR NAMES WILL BE ERASED FROM THE SCROLL OF EXISTENCE."
Karna narrowed his eyes.
"Tell me," he muttered, mostly to himself, "how do you erase a name that's already been burned into the stars?"
Then, he did what no mortal—or god—had dared in centuries:
He turned.
And he spoke the First Reversal.
> "Zariel-dahk. I unname thee."
The sky froze.
And for a heartbeat, even time held its breath.
Zarikhael flinched.
His wings stuttered.
His name dimmed in the air above him, as if smeared by fire.
A single syllable peeled away from his divine title—lost forever.
The first wound Karna had inflicted on the heavens in this life.
And it would not be the last.
---
Vaelgor shrieked and dove, flames trailing from its wings.
They plunged between cragged cliffs and ruins older than the written tongue.
The Folded Mountains—a place of silence, of sleeping giants, of vows that cracked the sky when last spoken.
And buried deep beneath the ash…
> The Temple of the First Voice.
---
Aralyndra nearly collapsed when they landed.
Her hands shook.
Her mind spun.
She could still hear the vow she whispered in Chapter One echoing through her bones:
> "I remember."
> But what did she remember?
A battlefield.
A crown of light.
A voice that made even dragons kneel.
She looked at Karna, who was already lighting a rune-sigil in the stone.
> "Why me?" she asked softly. "Why this life? Why now?"
Karna didn't look at her.
He stared into the fire, jaw clenched.
> "Because this is the life," he said, "where you survive."
---
Deep in the mountain…
Something stirred.
The ground rumbled.
Ash fell from the ceiling.
Old stone began to glow—faint gold lines like veins of memory.
And a voice, older than language, whispered from the darkness:
> "She has returned."
"The Voice walks."
"The Vowborn Queen breathes again."
---
Elsewhere…
In the Crystal Spires of the east, the Pale Matron opened her eyes.
She was mid-prayer, surrounded by monks, when the flames in the sanctum flickered blue.
> "Her voice cracked the foundation," she whispered.
An acolyte bowed low. "Shall we ready the erasure knives, Mother?"
But the Pale Matron smiled, slow and cold.
> "No.
This time… we do not erase her.
We let her speak.
And we let the world burn itself around her."
---
Back in the mountains, Aralyndra touched the stone walls of the buried temple.
Images danced across the surface.
Her face.
Crowned in flame.
Wreathed in song.
And beside her—Karna, bloodied, burning, smiling.
Beneath them, written in a dead tongue:
> "When she sings again, the sky will fall."
She turned to Karna.
> "How long do we have?"
Karna met her eyes.
> "Until the thrones stop fearing you...
and start fearing what comes next."
---
The mountain answered with thunder.
Outside, the sky was turning red.
The gods were moving.
The dragons were waking.
And the stars had begun to hum with old names.