The golden radiance swallowed her, burning brighter than a thousand dawns. Lys reached for her bow, but her fingers slipped into nothing — the world around her melted away, reforming into a place she had not walked in years.
She froze.
It was her village.
The modest cottages of timber and thatch. The narrow fields where she had chased fireflies as a child. The little stream where she had taught her brother to skip stones. Smoke curled gently from chimneys, and laughter carried on the crisp morning air.
But it couldn't be.
The Dominion's fires had burned it to ash. She had buried the bodies herself.
And yet here it stood, whole and alive.
Her knees weakened as a figure stepped from one of the cottages. Her mother, basket on her hip, humming the old harvest song. Her father followed, carrying a bundle of wood, smiling the same tired but proud smile he had worn every day of his life.
"Lys!" a voice rang out — clear, bright.
Her little brother. Running down the dirt path, stick in hand like a sword, his grin wide and careless. He skidded to a stop in front of her, eyes wide with wonder. "You came back! We thought you'd be gone forever."
Lys's bow slipped from her hand. She fell to her knees, arms wrapping around him, trembling so violently she could barely breathe. He smelled of pine and earth, real, alive. Tears carved silent tracks down her cheeks.
It was impossible. And it was everything she had ever wanted.
The Perfect Life
The world moved with a dreamlike ease. Days unfolded in warmth and peace. Her mother's cooking filled the air with spice and comfort, her father told his old stories by the fire, and her brother begged her to teach him archery in the meadow.
Everywhere she turned, there was life. Wholeness. Family.
No war. No Dominion. No Heart-Spire.
Lys found herself smiling more than she had in years. She laughed. She sang. She dared to believe it might be real.
But in the quiet moments, unease gnawed at her.
At night, she lay awake, listening to the creak of the rafters, the distant rush of the stream. Her bow leaned against the wall, untouched. Her quiver hung full, arrows gathering dust.
And in her heart, she felt it — the faint thrum of something vast, waiting. Calling.
The Offer
It was on the seventh morning that the illusion revealed its teeth.
She walked the path into the forest with her brother, his chatter a constant melody. But as they reached the clearing, the air shimmered, and a figure stepped out of the trees.
A tall woman draped in flowing green and silver, her eyes golden as the Spire's walls. She bore the Helm's weight in her voice when she spoke.
"You could have this forever," the woman said, gesturing to the boy, to the village behind them. "A world where no one you love is lost. Where the Dominion never touched you. Where your arrow need never fly again."
Lys's hand twitched toward her bow, but she forced it down. Her throat was dry. "And what of them? My companions?"
"They will continue their march. Without you, they may falter, they may fall. But you will not see it. You will not carry that weight. Your family will be your world. Is that not what you have always longed for?"
Her brother tugged at her sleeve. "Stay, Lys. Don't leave us again." His eyes were wide, brimming with tears. "Please."
Her heart broke.
The Splinter of Truth
She stumbled back, clutching her chest. "This isn't real. It can't be."
The woman only smiled. "Does that matter? Real is what you choose. You've carried grief long enough, archer. Would it not be mercy to lay it down?"
Her mother appeared on the path, calling gently. "Lys, come home. The stew is ready."
Her father waved. "Stay, daughter. There's no battle worth your life."
Her brother clutched her hand. "Don't go."
Lys's vision blurred. She wanted to scream, to run, to give in. She had lived with the weight of their loss for so long — to feel them alive, warm, whole — it was unbearable to think of letting it go.
Her bow pulsed at her side, faint light threading along the wood.
She remembered Carlos standing before the crown of the Dominion, refusing power even when it was within his grasp. She remembered Rina spitting in the face of golden chains, choosing bonds she couldn't deny.
And she remembered her own oath: to never let her arrows serve lies.
Breaking the Illusion
Lys drew her bow. Her hands shook, but her aim was steady.
Her brother's eyes widened in horror. "Lys? What are you doing?"
The woman in silver tilted her head. "Would you kill him again? Could you?"
Tears burned her eyes as she whispered: "You are not him. You are not them. You are only what I wish I could have back."
She loosed the arrow.
It struck the boy's chest — and he shattered into light. Her parents dissolved into dust, their voices silenced. The village burned away, leaving only smoke and ruin, just as it had in truth.
The woman smiled sadly. "So be it. You chose the wound instead of the balm. You chose truth."
The world collapsed.
Return
Lys fell to her knees, gasping as the Spire's crystal chamber reformed around her. She wept silently, her bow clutched to her chest.
When she finally looked up, her companions were there — Carlos, Thalor, Rina, Maren. Their faces were pale, marked by their own battles, but they were alive.
Carlos stepped forward, his voice quiet. "You saw them, didn't you?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
He knelt, pressing a hand to her shoulder. "And still you came back."
Rina's smirk faltered, softer than usual. "Takes guts to walk away from paradise."
Lys closed her eyes, whispering: "It wasn't paradise. It was a cage."
The Spire pulsed, the golden light peeling away from her and settling now upon Maren. The mage stiffened, her hands trembling as energy wrapped around her.
Lys rose, wiping her tears, her bow still warm with the last arrow she had fired. She said nothing as Maren vanished into the vision, but her heart was steel.
She had faced her deepest longing and refused it.
And she would do so again, as many times as needed, for the sake of what lay ahead.