The First Roar
The spire's chains clattered into nothing. Fragments of molten light fell away, dissolving before they hit the floor.
Then came the sound.
It was not a voice. Not thunder. Not anything mortal.
It was the roar of a star collapsing, the howl of every dying world stretched into a single scream.
Lyra staggered back, clutching her chest. The Seed thrashed inside her, not resisting, not warning—but answering.
The air rippled. And from the core of the spire stepped the Echo Lord.
No longer smoke, no longer fragment. He was vast and solid, his body carved of obsidian and burning veins of crimson light, wings like shredded void trailing behind him. His eyes were not eyes at all, but twin suns blackened at the edges.
"Finally," he said, every syllable shaking the chamber. "Finally unbound."
Kaelen raised his blade, silver fire flaring to meet the darkness. But even he felt it—this wasn't like the shadow. This was power without limit, the abyss given flesh.
The Fleets Tremble
Outside, every ship faltered.
On the Sovereign, Admiral Veyric gripped the rail as the void itself seemed to bend. "Report!"
"Admiral," the officer stammered, eyes wide at the readings. "The labyrinth isn't destabilizing—it's… obeying something. All vectors are converging. It's him. He's using the labyrinth like it's an extension of his body."
Across the battlefield, the Harbinger laughed—a raw, guttural roar of triumph. "Yes! This is the storm I was promised!" His fleet surged toward the gate, heedless of losses.
Azhira, by contrast, went pale. Her hand trembled on the scrying staff. "No… no, this was never meant to happen." Her fleet shifted, defensive lines forming. For the first time, fear colored her voice.
The labyrinth's corridors pulsed, reshaping. Factions found themselves cut off, swallowed, or hurled into ambushes as if the entire battlefield were a chessboard—and the Echo Lord the only player.
Inside the Chamber
Kaelen charged. His blade struck the Echo Lord's arm with the force of a collapsing star—
—and shattered.
The pieces of the phaseblade fell, scattering in silver sparks. Kaelen was thrown back, slammed into the wall with a sound that tore the breath from his lungs.
"Kaelen!" Lyra screamed, rushing toward him.
The Echo Lord lowered his gaze to her, amusement flickering across his monstrous features. "You are the Seed's song. I will make you my voice. The galaxy will tremble when you speak in my name."
Lyra's silver fire surged again, defiant. "I am not your vessel."
Her light clashed with his darkness, the chamber becoming a storm of colliding forces.
But unlike before, he was no longer restrained. Every wave of her energy, he devoured. Every strike, he twisted. The Seed screamed inside her, not in rebellion—but in recognition.
Kaelen forced himself upright, blood in his mouth. He had no blade, no strength left to stand. But his eyes locked on hers. "Lyra. Don't fight him on his terms. Remember—you're not alone."
Her heart hammered. She could feel it—Kaelen's resolve, Azhira's dread, Veyric's fury, even the Harbinger's savage joy. Threads of connection spun through her, through the Seed, through the galaxy itself.
And with that realization, she pulled.
The chamber shuddered as light and shadow warred, not as enemies, but as something far more dangerous: rivals for the same heart.