The sea roared against the cliffs of Thalyssra, a constant voice of anger. Foam broke against black stone, and spray carried salt into the wind. The blood-red moon had set, but its stain lingered in the sky, bleeding into dawn like a wound that would not close.
Nysera stood at the edge of the cliffs, cloak whipping around her in the wind. Her shadows swirled restlessly at her feet, uneasy without the moon. They whispered still, fragments of voices she tried to ignore.
She is back. She is yours. End her.
Her jaw clenched. She would not listen. Not yet.
Seliora approached quietly, her boots crunching against gravel. She carried no lantern this time—dawn's pale light clung to her naturally, softening her outline. Nysera hated how fragile she looked. Fragile, and yet stronger than anyone she had ever known.
"She's not gone," Seliora said.
Nysera didn't turn. "I know."
"She didn't kill us."
"She tried."
Seliora's voice faltered. "No… she tested us. There's a difference."
Nysera spun on her, eyes flashing. "She raised Mother from her grave and used her as a weapon. Do you call that a test?"
Seliora's breath caught. The memory hung between them, raw and sharp. She had not slept since.
Nysera stepped closer, shadows rising behind her like wings. "Orryn is not our sister anymore. She's something else. Something the curse made."
Seliora held her ground, though her hands trembled. "She is our sister. That is exactly why we cannot abandon her."
The wind howled between them.
Nysera's voice dropped to a low growl. "You heard the prophecy as well as I did. One must fall."
"And you believe it?" Seliora's eyes burned with quiet fury. "You, who fight the whispers every night? You, who swore we were more than fate's puppets?"
Nysera faltered. The accusation cut deep. She had always resisted destiny, refused to bow to it. But seeing Orryn—seeing the Mirror's corruption burn in her fractured eye—had shaken her more than she dared admit.
Seliora stepped closer, her light brushing against Nysera's shadows. They hissed at each other but did not break. "I refuse to believe Orryn is lost. If we turn against her now, the prophecy wins before the fight even begins."
Nysera's voice hardened. "And if we hesitate, she kills us both. The prophecy doesn't need to wait for us to decide."
They stood inches apart, the cliffs roaring beneath them.
For a moment, the sisters looked at each other and saw everything they had lost—childhood laughter, the safety of three instead of two, the warmth of a family that had been torn apart.
Nysera's shadows softened. Seliora's light dimmed.
Silence stretched, heavy as stone.
Then Seliora spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "If Orryn is to fall… let it not be by our hands."
Nysera shook her head slowly. "If it comes to her or you, Seliora… I will not hesitate."
The words sliced between them.
Seliora flinched as if struck, but she did not answer. Her light flared once, then faded. She turned away, walking back toward the broken path that led inland.
Nysera remained at the cliff's edge, her shadows curling tight around her feet like chains.
She whispered to the sea below, voice ragged. "I already lost you once, Orryn. I will not lose Seliora too."
The waves swallowed her vow.
That night, Seliora lit her lantern again. She sat alone in the ruined chapel at the heart of the island, broken glass scattering moonlight across the floor. Her prayers were not to gods—they had abandoned Thalyssra long ago—but to memory.
She traced three names into the dust with her finger. Nysera. Seliora. Orryn.
Her hand hovered over the third, trembling.
"You are still ours," she whispered. "I will not let them take you. Not fate. Not the curse. Not even Nysera."
The lantern flame flickered, and for a heartbeat, Seliora thought she saw three shadows move along the chapel walls.
Only two belonged to her.
The third lingered, fractured, smiling.