Light gave way to cold.
Aric hit the ground hard enough to jolt the breath out of his lungs. Not stone — something springy and brittle, like glass under cloth. He rolled and came up on one knee, scanning.
Silence.
Lyra was a few steps away, sitting upright, hair plastered across her face. "We're… alive?" she croaked.
The bell-eyed child stood perfectly still, head tilted, bells glowing faintly. "Alive," it said, "but not home."
Aric straightened. The place looked like the inside of a frozen sea. Huge, translucent planes rose from a bottomless black, some angled like shards of crystal, some rippling like water caught mid-wave. Everything had a pale blue tint. Mist drifted between the shards. When he breathed, his own exhale cracked like breaking ice.
'So this is the Outer Rungs,' he thought. Out loud: "Stay quiet. Sound behaves differently here."
Lyra pressed a palm to the ground. "It's like glass."
"Not glass." Aric rubbed his fingers together; faint flakes of light clung to his skin. "Condensed resonance. This is where echoes come to die."
"Cheerful," she muttered. "Does it at least have a way out?"
"Somewhere. If the legends are true."
She gave him a look. "You really have to stop saying that."
He almost smiled. "Noted."
They started moving carefully across the nearest plane. Their boots made small chiming noises instead of footsteps. The air was thin, and every noise carried far. Somewhere off to their left, a ripple passed through a frozen wave and a burst of faint laughter echoed, then stopped.
Lyra shuddered. "I don't like it here."
"You've said that about every place so far," Aric said lightly.
"I've been right every time," she shot back.
The child's bell-eyes flickered. "Outer Rungs are the Domain's edge. No rules here. Echoes drift until they fade."
Aric filed that away. 'No rules means opportunities. And dangers.'
A little further on, the frozen planes dipped into a wide basin. In its centre stood a single upright pillar of dark metal, humming faintly. Around it lay scattered fragments of broken bells, each one etched with names in a language he almost recognised.
He crouched beside one, tracing a finger over the letters. They pulsed faintly under his touch. "Name-markers."
Lyra crouched too. "Like gravestones?"
"More like anchors," Aric said. "Hold a piece of someone here when they cross the boundary. Without one, you dissolve."
She went pale. "We don't have one."
"Yet." He rose and scanned the basin. The pillar hummed again, a slow heartbeat. His instincts prickled. "That thing might work."
They descended into the basin. The ground crackled with every step. Up close the pillar was taller than a man, its surface covered in overlapping lines, like script written and erased a thousand times. The hum rose a little when he approached.
Lyra hugged herself. "I have a bad feeling."
"That's your survival instinct," Aric said. "Listen to it but keep walking."
She gave him a flat look. "Do you ever not sound like a manual?"
"Sometimes," he said.
He reached the pillar and placed his palm on it. Cold shot up his arm. For an instant his vision blurred — flashes of other places, other times. A ringing voice whispered his name, or what it thought was his name. He hissed and jerked his hand back.
Lyra steadied him. "What happened?"
"It… knows me," he muttered. 'Not good. Not here.'
The pillar's hum became a low chime. Around the basin, the frozen planes trembled. Hairline cracks spidered outward from the pillar's base.
"Aric…" Lyra's voice was tight.
"I see it." He drew a breath, forced his thoughts to slow. 'No anchor, no exit. This pillar could stabilise us, but it's keyed to a name. Not mine.' He glanced at the child. "You know what this is?"
The child tilted its head. "A Resonance Anchor. Feed it a name and it holds you. But names are sharp."
Lyra swallowed. "We don't have any names to give."
"Everyone has names," Aric said softly. He drew a small blade and nicked his thumb. A bead of blood welled. He pressed it to the pillar and whispered, barely audible, a fragment of a name he hadn't used in years.
The pillar drank it in. The hum steadied. Faint light spread from his palm into the etched lines, coiling around the three of them like threads.
Lyra gasped. "What did you—"
He raised a finger to his lips. "Shh. It'll hold for a while."
The cracks in the frozen planes stopped spreading, but the air grew heavier. Across the basin, shapes began to move inside the ice: blurred figures pressing against the surface, mouths open in silent screams.
Lyra took a step back. "Aric…"
"I see them." He sheathed the blade. "We should go."
They turned back toward the slope — and froze.
In the centre of the basin, a new shape was forming, rising out of the ice like a statue coming to life. It was a woman's form, translucent, hair floating around her like water. Her eyes were hollow voids rimmed in frost. When she spoke, her voice was a dozen overlapping whispers.
"Master," she said, looking straight at Aric.
Lyra stared. "Master?!"
Aric's mind went blank for an instant. 'That word again.'
The woman tilted her head, a slow, jerky motion. "You left me," she whispered. "You left us all."
The child's bells flickered violently. "Not good," it said simply.
Cracks raced out from under the woman's feet. The frozen planes trembled, shards lifting as if drawn to her. The temperature plummeted.
Lyra hissed, "Aric, who is she?"
"I don't know," he said — but even as he spoke, a memory stirred, of a voice calling him by another name long ago.
The woman raised an arm. The shards of ice-echo lifted higher, points aimed at them like spears.
Aric's instincts screamed. "Run."
They bolted up the slope as the first shard shot past, embedding itself where Aric had stood. It didn't shatter; it stuck, humming like a tuning fork.
More shards lifted, circling the woman like a crown. Her whispers rose to a chant, each word a knife.
Lyra panted, "Any more brilliant plans?"
"Working on it," Aric said. 'Anchor bought us stability but also made us a beacon. And now… this.'
Another shard sliced the air near his ear. He ducked. "Keep moving!"
They reached the top of the basin. Ahead the frozen planes stretched out, ripples leading toward a distant arch of dark metal. Beyond it, a faint glow — a way forward.
Aric glanced back. The woman had stepped onto the pillar itself, her frost-rimmed eyes locked on him.
"Master," she whispered again, louder this time. The word cracked the air like ice breaking.
The pillar hummed back, deeper, almost eager.
Lyra grabbed his sleeve. "Aric! That arch — can we make it?"
"If we're fast," he said. 'If she lets us.'
The woman raised both arms. The shards flared. The pillar's hum reached a crescendo.
Aric's mind whirred. 'She's bound to the Anchor. Maybe…'
He spun, cupped his hands, and threw a different name — a false one — into the air like a seed. The resonance snapped. The pillar flickered. The shards hesitated for a heartbeat.
"Run!" he barked.
They sprinted toward the arch, boots chiming on the frozen ripples. Behind them the woman screamed a word he couldn't understand, and the whole basin cracked open.
They dove through the arch as the floor collapsed, a roar of breaking echoes swallowing the place behind them.
Light flared ahead.