The Reflection That Wasn't Hers
Amira stood before the Glassvale Rift, a lake of silver glass hidden deep in the shifting borderlands between realms.
The surface shimmered not with water—but with memories that had never happened. As she stepped forward, her reflection did not mimic her. It blinked out of sync. Smiled when she frowned.
And then it spoke.
"You shouldn't have brought the Eleventh String," it whispered.
"You'll unravel more than fate. You'll tear yourself."
Amira gripped her harp tighter. "I already did. I just learned to live with the pieces."
Elias in Ash and Flame
Back at the Black Spire, Elias stood surrounded by burning shadows. They weren't attacking—they were worshipping. Feeding on the fragments of his pain.
He looked into the fire and saw her.
"She's coming," he murmured, voice brittle.
"But not the Amira I remember."
A spectral figure formed beside him—The False Prophet, a being born from the whispers Amira left unsung in Book 3. It spoke through cracked lips.
"You died for her. Now she comes not to save you—but to destroy what you've become."
Convergence of Selves
Amira crossed the Rift and entered the Veiled Hall, where reflections became real.
There, she met a version of herself who never loved Elias. Who became the Queen of Silence, sovereign over the Stillborn Realm.
"Love weakens," that Amira hissed.
"No," Amira replied. "Love breaks—but it teaches you how to rebuild."
In a quiet moment, she pressed her harp to her chest and sang a note only grief could carry. Her reflection shattered, and the veil broke.
Elias saw the flash of her soul miles away.
And it shook him.
The Heart of the Harp
That night, beneath the fractured stars, Amira opened the harp.
Inside was a final message—not from this world.
To the one who carries the burden of seven songs:
If you play the Eleventh String, you will sing a new world into being.
But every note will erase someone you love. Choose wisely. —The Larkmother.
Kelu stared at her, fear in his eyes.
"So what do we do?"
Amira looked toward the burning Spire.
"We finish what we started," she said.
"And we make sure the song remembers us."
As dawn broke, the borders between past and present thinned.
Figures from Books 1 through 6 appeared across the battlefield—ghosts, allies, and enemies alike—drawn to Amira's song.
The final movement of the melody had begun.
And in the rising light, Amira and Elias would meet again—not as lovers, but as the beginning and the end of the same unfinished chord.