The night was cold—colder than the ones before.
Lyra sat beneath the twisted branches of the Nightshade Tree, its dark purple leaves rustling in a breeze that didn't touch her skin. She stared up at the swirling sky of Elarion, where stars moved too fast and moons blinked like watchful eyes.
Despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the chill wasn't physical. It came from within, from thoughts she couldn't silence, questions she couldn't answer. And a memory she couldn't forget.
The kiss.
Kael hadn't spoken of it since. Not a word, not a glance that lingered too long. As if it hadn't happened. As if her heart hadn't leapt into another world entirely.
Was it only her who felt the shift?
Behind her, the campfire crackled softly. A few feet away, Tamsin sharpened her twin blades with rhythmic precision, while Gideon stood on watch like a stone guardian. Even Selene, ever curious, had gone quiet since the incident in the Hollow Vale.
It was as though the entire group had been collectively struck by a silence none of them dared break.
Lyra exhaled and stood, brushing off imaginary dust from her dress. Her feet led her toward the edge of the ridge—where the plains dropped off into a sea of mist, and where Kael stood alone, unmoving.
His silhouette was sharp against the horizon, moonlight catching on the silver threading of his tunic. He didn't turn as she approached, but his voice broke the silence before she could speak.
"You feel it too, don't you?" he said, low and careful.
She hesitated. "Feel what?"
"The pull," he replied. "Between the realms. Between us."
Her breath caught in her throat. He hadn't mentioned it until now. Not even a glance since they escaped the Vale. But he'd been thinking about it. As much as she had.
"Yes," she whispered. "I feel it."
Kael finally turned, and his eyes met hers—amber, unreadable, haunted. "Something's changing. Not just the Veil. You. Me. All of it. I don't know if we're waking something ancient… or something waiting to consume us."
A gust of wind lifted Lyra's hair, and for a moment she swore she heard a whisper carried in it—her name, spoken like a secret.
"I don't think it's only us," she said, stepping closer. "I've been having dreams. Of the woman in the mirror. And sometimes… of myself, but not me. Like I'm watching a version of me that already knows how this ends."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Then it's begun."
She frowned. "What has?"
But he didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his cloak and withdrew something wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it slowly, reverently, revealing a shard of mirror—no bigger than her palm.
"The Mirror of Sahl," he said. "One of the fragments."
Lyra took a step back. The shard pulsed faintly, not with light, but with presence. She could feel it—not in her mind, but in her bones. A strange pull, like gravity twisted sideways.
"Where did you get that?" she asked, breathless.
"In the ruins of Kyr Ashen," he said. "A temple swallowed by time. The same place the Seer said your path would begin."
Her fingers tingled. She didn't want to touch it, but her body moved despite her. The shard vibrated the moment her skin met its surface.
And then—
Visions. Flashes.
A forest burning beneath a crimson sky.
Kael, bleeding, screaming her name.
A version of herself, standing atop a throne of obsidian, eyes glowing with starfire.
The world tearing open.
And through it all, a voice, deeper than oceans, whispering: One heart, two fates. Choose.
Lyra dropped the shard.
She stumbled backward, gasping. "What… what was that?"
Kael knelt, retrieving the shard and wrapping it again. "The future. Or one possible thread of it."
She stared at him, wide-eyed. "You knew it would do that?"
He didn't flinch. "I needed to be sure."
"Sure of what?"
Kael's voice lowered, almost too quiet to hear. "That you're the one who can cross the Veil. That you're the one the prophecy speaks of."
"You said you didn't believe in prophecies," she whispered.
"I don't," he said. "But I believe in you."
Her heart beat too fast. "Then tell me what you saw. When you touched it."
Kael looked away.
"That I lose you," he said.
Later that night, as sleep threatened to take her, Lyra lay awake in her tent, replaying the vision over and over. The throne. The blood. The whisper.
Choose.
But between what?
Between worlds? Between Kael and destiny? Between saving the Veil or breaking it?
The stars above didn't offer answers. Only cold light.
Then—just as her eyes began to drift shut—she heard it again. The whisper.
Only this time, it didn't say her name.
It said: He is not who you think he is.