The battlefield convulsed as if the universe itself couldn't contain the violence. Shards of shattered realities crashed together—rivers of molten flame colliding with broken spires, deserts folding into frozen plains. The Architects' trial no longer resembled a chamber but a fractured cosmos stitched together with light and ruin.
And at its center: Lyra Solenne.
Her body glowed with the Seed's fire, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion. The whispers were louder now, insidious threads coiling into her mind. Give in. Become the vessel. Burn the false and rise eternal.
Kaelen's voice cut through the storm. "Lyra—hold fast!"
But his warning was drowned as Commander Seris Dhal struck again. His glaive carved a crescent through the drowned cityscape, dragging Kaelen into another maelstrom of collapsing towers and rushing tides. Sparks and water hissed into steam as they clashed, neither giving ground.
"Every second you fight me, she slips further," Seris snarled, his weapon pressing down like a star collapsing. "And when she breaks, I'll be the one to claim what's left."
Kaelen roared, muscles burning as he shoved Seris back, blade screaming with defiance. "Over my corpse!"
Above them, Lyra's own battle spiraled into madness.
Althira Venn moved with lethal elegance, her blade whispering in the dark. She never rushed—every strike was surgical, designed not to kill, but to bleed Lyra of will.
"You feel it, don't you?" Althira murmured as their blades sparked. "The Seed chewing through your soul. You're not its master—you're its host."
Lyra's hands trembled, but she lifted her glowing weapon. "I… won't… surrender."
Althira's eyes softened with something like pity. "Then you'll shatter."
Before Lyra could respond, the air ruptured.
Kaelith the Flamebound burst onto the platform, his molten hammer cleaving the floor in two. Firestorms erupted, licking at the edges of infinity. His body was a furnace of wrath, molten rivers pumping through armor fused to his flesh.
"She is MINE!" Kaelith roared, his voice shaking the void.
He swung at Althira, who danced aside, her blade flashing to cut across his lava-etched arm. The strike sizzled but barely slowed him. His hammer came down again, cracking the platform until Lyra nearly plunged into the black flame below.
From above, the Architect jury leaned forward, their colossal runes pulsing with unreadable judgment. Every strike, every cry, every whisper of doubt—they recorded it, weighing destinies in silence.
Lyra screamed as the Seed pulsed violently, her body arching. She could feel the others pulling at her—not just with weapons, but with will. Seris demanded order, Althira whispered surrender, Kaelith howled for conquest. The Seed resonated with all of them, testing her, tempting her.
And deep inside, she felt the Architect's voice again:
The Seed is not chosen. It chooses.
Her knees buckled. She didn't know how much longer she could fight it—fight them.
Kaelen broke free of Seris's assault just long enough to see the chaos above. Lyra, trapped between blade and fire. The platform cracking. The Seed devouring her.
And for the first time since the war began, fear knifed through him.
If he didn't reach her soon, they wouldn't just lose Lyra.
They would lose everything.