When the light faded, the world was no longer the same.
Aren opened his eyes to a sky torn in two — half burning gold, half bleeding red. The air itself shimmered like fractured glass, every breath vibrating with unstable energy. He lay on his back amidst a sea of floating threads that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Lyra was kneeling beside him, her face pale, eyes wide with disbelief. "Aren… what have you done?"
He tried to speak, but his throat burned. The words came out like echoes of other voices — dozens, hundreds, layered over his own.
"I… don't know."
The crimson light around him intensified, threads spiraling toward his body, weaving into his skin. His veins glowed faintly red. Each pulse made the world tremble.
Lyra reached out, but the moment her hand touched him, she flinched.His skin was hot — not from fire, but from raw truth trying to escape through every pore.
"You're merging with the Web," she whispered. "Aren, it's consuming you."
He sat up slowly, the ground beneath him forming from shattered vows. "No. I'm consuming it."
The Priestess's voice echoed from afar, faint but mocking.
"And what then, Oathbreaker? When every lie becomes yours, how long before you forget which truth was real?"
Aren clenched his fists. "Until I find the one that matters."
They stood on what was left of Mirithal — now a field of glass and threads floating in an endless void. The Web above them pulsed like a living heart, feeding on chaos. Its song was no longer distant. It was inside Aren's mind, whispering fragments of memories that weren't his.
"Promise me you'll come back.""I swear I'll protect you.""Don't forget who you are."
Every voice was a vow lost to the Web, but now they echoed through him as if he had made them all. He staggered, gripping his head.
Lyra steadied him. "You have to control it before it devours your mind. Anchor yourself!"
He met her gaze. "How?"
"Remember who you are."
He hesitated — and that hesitation was enough for the Web to strike.
Thousands of threads shot down from the sky, forming figures — shades of the past, woven from broken promises. Each one bore a familiar face, twisted by betrayal and regret.Among them… was Eira — the girl he had once sworn to save.
Her expression was gentle, yet hollow.
"You promised, Aren," she whispered. "You said you'd never let me die."
Aren's heart shattered. "Eira… I—"
"You lied."
The shade lunged at him, blade shimmering with golden light. Aren barely blocked in time, his crimson sword clashing against her spectral one. Sparks of red and gold filled the void.
Lyra played her flute, notes slicing through the air, dissolving the weaker shades — but there were too many.Hundreds surrounded them, chanting fragments of their oaths. The sound grew deafening, suffocating.
"We believed you.""You broke your promise.""You deserve the Web."
Aren roared and unleashed the Crimson Thread.It surged outward like a storm, consuming the shades in waves of red fire. The world quaked as the Web recoiled, its threads snapping violently.
When the chaos cleared, nothing moved — except Lyra.She was trembling, her flute cracked, her hands bleeding from the backlash.
"Aren… you killed them all."
He looked down. The ground was littered with glowing remnants — fragments of the shades.Each one pulsed faintly with sorrow before fading into the void.
"I freed them," he said, though his voice shook.
Lyra stared at him, tears forming. "No. You're starting to sound like her."
Aren froze. The Priestess's words echoed in his mind. Every truth you seek will demand a lie in return.
He turned away, clenching his fists. "If I stop now, they die for nothing."
Lyra whispered, "And if you don't, you'll stop being you."
Hours — or maybe centuries — passed in that timeless void. Aren and Lyra wandered through the remnants of collapsed cities, each one consumed by the Crimson Thread's expansion. Wherever Aren walked, the Web rewove itself — but imperfectly.The sky rippled like liquid. Mountains floated upside down. Rivers flowed with molten light.
The Web was rewriting the laws of reality, aligning itself to his will.
He no longer needed to summon his sword. It was part of him now — a blade made from pure vow-energy, burning crimson and whispering with countless voices.
Lyra watched him silently. She could feel the distance growing between them — not emotional, but existential. The Aren she knew was still there, buried under layers of power, but every vow he absorbed made him less human.
When they stopped by the remains of a ruined chapel, Aren collapsed to his knees. His hand trembled as the Seal — or what was left of it — began to fracture further, bleeding light.
"I can hear them all," he said quietly. "Every lie ever told. Every promise ever broken."
Lyra knelt beside him. "Then let me share it."
He shook his head. "No. You don't understand. The Crimson Thread doesn't share — it binds. If you touch it, you'll be trapped in the Web forever."
Her eyes hardened. "Then I'll risk it."
Before he could stop her, she placed her hand on his chest. A blinding surge of crimson and gold erupted between them. The world twisted.
When the light faded, Lyra was still there — but her eyes now glowed faintly red, and a small crimson mark had appeared on her neck.The Thread had accepted her.
"Now," she said softly, "you're not alone."
For a long time, Aren said nothing. Then — for the first time since the awakening — he smiled.
"Then let's rewrite this cursed world together."
Above them, the Web shuddered — almost in fear.Somewhere deep within it, the Witness stirred again. Its voice was faint but chilling.
"The Crimson Lie has begun."