The moment they stepped past the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. Though overgrown and faded by time, the temple's grandeur remained untouched by decay. Towering arches rose like the ribs of ancient giants, their surfaces carved with glyphs that shimmered faintly in the ambient mana. Light filtered through fractured stained-glass windows, casting radiant hues that danced across the marbled floors like fragmented memories.
The scent of ancient incense still clung faintly to the air, mingled with the dust of ages. Despite its abandonment, the temple pulsed with sacred presence. Every wall, every pillar, felt alive—watching, remembering. Their footsteps echoed as if walking upon a heartbeat.
"This place is…" Lyra whispered, awed.
"Holy," Noxy said, her voice softer than usual. "Few beings dare tread here—not out of fear, but reverence. Even magical beasts will not cross into this place."
They moved deeper into the corridors. The halls were wider than anything Lyra had ever imagined, their ceilings lost in shadow above coiled beams of stone that twisted like woven threads of fate. Mosaic murals covered the walls with breathtaking craftsmanship—battles between celestial titans, constellations dancing across eternal skies, and great spools of golden thread held by cloaked figures.
In one alcove stood a fountain, its waters still shimmering with mana despite the decay around it. Statues lined the sides of the chamber, each one unique—warriors, scholars, oracles, and one central figure more finely carved than the rest: a woman veiled in starlight, her hand extended as though offering guidance.
Lyra paused there, staring.
"That statue… it feels like… me," she murmured.
"Perhaps it is," Noxy answered.
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They continued past arches wrapped in flowering vines, some glowing faintly with ambient light. Cracks in the walls revealed veins of crystal embedded deep within the stone. Broken columns lay scattered like fallen guardians. Even ruin could not strip the place of its majesty.
A side passage led them through a chamber of shattered mirrors, each still faintly reflective, catching glimpses of other places—not their own.
"These are memory mirrors," Noxy explained. "They once showed the fates of those chosen."
"Do they still work?"
"Not for now. Too much time has passed."
Eventually, they came upon a grand hallway. At its end stood a pair of massive doors, carved from stone darker than night, etched with swirling constellations that pulsed in rhythm with the air around them. The doors were silent yet expectant, like a riddle waiting to be spoken.
Just as Lyra reached out toward them, the ground trembled. A pulse echoed like a heartbeat stirring from slumber.
"Something's coming," Veyrith said, tensing.
Light gathered before the doors.
A figure emerged: a tall knight clad in luminous armor that shimmered like a sky full of stars. His helm concealed his face, but his presence was undeniable. His sword gleamed with celestial fire.
"Who dares approach this sacred threshold? State your purpose."
Before Lyra could answer, his gaze met hers—and he froze. Slowly, he knelt, lowering his blade.
"Your Highness."
The temple held its breath.
"You… know me?" Lyra asked.
"Of course. I am Sir Aurelion, commander of your guard. I have awaited your return for countless cycles."
"I don't remember you. Or this place. I lost my memories… I don't even know who I really am."
Aurelion bowed his head.
"The fates often demand sacrifice. But I see you still carry the spark. We never doubted you would return."
"Then… will you let me enter? I need to reclaim what's inside."
Aurelion stood.
"I cannot. It was your own command that I ban all entry—even yours—until you proved yourself anew."
"What? Why would I do that?"
"Because you feared what lay within could be misused. And because you knew, should you fall and forget, only a version of you worthy again could reclaim it."
Lyra's fists clenched. "Then what do I need to do?"
He raised his sword.
"Defeat me. In single combat. Without aid. Without mercy. That was your decree."
Veyrith growled from behind her. "You can't be serious."
"I am bound by the ancient vow. As are you, Your Highness."
Lyra drew her weapon. Her breath trembled.
"Fine. Let's begin."
The glyphs along the walls shimmered. The room brightened. Aurelion stepped forward.
And the clash began.
Lyra lunged first, her blade enhanced with fire and wind. Aurelion parried with ease. Sparks flew. His strikes were graceful, efficient, terrifyingly fast. Every blow drove her back. His form was unrelenting, elegant—like a blade honed by centuries of waiting.
She cast binding vines—they shattered.
She threw poison mist—it dissolved on contact.
He was not flesh. He was magic given purpose.
Lyra dodged a strike that split the marble behind her. Another clipped her arm, sending pain searing through her nerves. Her knees hit the ground. She rolled away, gasping.
"You've grown weak," Aurelion said, voice full of sorrow. "What has the world done to you?"
"I don't know!" she cried, staggering up. "But I came this far. I won't stop here."
Aurelion advanced. His blade blurred in a sweeping arc. Lyra blocked—barely. Her legs buckled from the force.
She tried to cast a barrier—it shattered on contact.
She sent a surge of frost—he blinked past it and slammed her into a pillar.
Stone cracked. Her vision spun. Blood trickled from her brow.
"Is this all you are now?" he asked, lowering his sword.
"I'm not done," she hissed, dragging herself upright.
She hurled a firebolt—he deflected it with a flick.
She lunged again—he sidestepped and slammed the pommel into her ribs. She gasped. Her knees collapsed.
"Your flame is dim."
"Then let me rekindle it!"
She screamed, thrusting upward with a desperate pulse of magic that forced him back a step.
Her body trembled. Her breaths came ragged. Her mana was almost gone. Every muscle screamed in protest. Blood ran down her side.
"You fight well," Aurelion said. "But it is not enough."
"Then I'll make it enough!"
He raised his sword to end it— the air trembled.
Something stirred.
The glyphs on the walls pulsed.
The temple… answered.
She felt it—a pull in her chest. A thread.
And then—again—the shift.
Time slowed. Her pain fell silent. Her heartbeat aligned with the world.
Mana swirled around her. Her limbs moved not from effort, but instinct. Her eyes locked on Aurelion.
He stepped forward—
She met him.
Their blades clashed. But this time, she didn't yield.
She parried.
She dodged.
She countered.
Aurelion's strikes grew faster, but Lyra flowed with the rhythm of the battle, her spells weaving in perfect timing. Flame burst from her hand. He blocked.
She used shadow to vanish—appearing at his flank. A slash. He grunted.
He summoned a radiant burst. She formed a water shield, dispersing it.
They danced through dust and light.
And she began to drive him back.
"Now I see it," Aurelion said between blows. "The soul of the weaver. The star reborn."
Lyra layered her spells—fire, wind, and shadow. She struck from three angles at once. His armor cracked.
He lunged. She spun, binding him with lightning threads. He broke free—but not in time to block her blade.
She plunged her sword into his chest.
He staggered. Light spilled from the wound.
He knelt.
"You have awakened," he said softly.
His form dissolved into stars.
The great doors to the Heartchamber groaned open, golden light flooding the hall.
Lyra stood swaying, soaked in blood, every nerve frayed—but standing.
"You did well," Noxy whispered.
Lyra stepped forward.
Alone.
And the past awaited her within.