It began with silence.
Not the kind that comes from peace. The kind that descends after something breaks.
Riley stood on the edge of the Wound—a scar of molten glass stretching from the smoldering Hollow to the echoing ridges beyond. The battle at the Relay had left more than blood and ash. It had carved something deeper: a fracture in the world itself. One that pulsed beneath her boots, humming like a second heartbeat.
She couldn't feel her fire. Not truly.
She still burned. Her veins still whispered flame. But something was muted. Dimmed.
Daphne sat ten paces behind her, shoulders wrapped in a torn thermal cloak, eyes sunken from lack of sleep. She hadn't spoken much since the tower collapsed. Since Riley had clawed her way out of the ash with blood in her mouth and the name "Velrax" coiled behind her eyes.
They had won.
But nothing felt like victory.
Riley's internal monologue unraveled in quiet confession as she gazed over the ridge.
This wasn't what I wanted. Not really. I wanted to fight. I wanted to matter. But I didn't want to feel like this. Like every step forward costs a piece of me. Like fire isn't a gift. It's a tax.
She touched her chest. The ember pendant from Kaelira flickered once. Then dimmed.
Are you still watching? Still guiding? Or am I just another failed spark in a long line of broken flames?
Tactically, they were in a bind.
Brael was gone. Last seen holding off a second wave near the ruined cliff paths, his glider torn and his voice silent over the comm. No body.
Just absence.
The Echo-Born were scattered. Those who survived the Hollow were regrouping in nearby ruins, tending to injuries and mapping movement patterns from Skuldrith scouts. But the energy was brittle. No more speeches. No songs.
Just maintenance.
Daphne finally spoke. "The surge fried our long-range network. I'm rerouting through the internal flame circuit, but we're going blind past the Divide."
"So we follow the smoke," Riley said, kneeling beside her. Her voice was hoarse but steady.
Daphne shook her head. "We follow memories. Kaelira's last coordinates burned a path through the gate. If we follow the heat signatures left behind by the Echo trail, we can trace it."
Riley leaned her head against Daphne's shoulder. The warmth between them was faint, but real.
"You still believe we can get through?" she whispered.
"Not believe," Daphne replied. "I remember it. I've seen it."
That night, they began preparations.
Riley gathered the remaining bonded pairs and convened in the skeleton of a shattered amphitheater beneath the open stars. They planned in whispers. Tactics born from lived trauma.
There would be three squads:
Vanguard: Flame-bearers, front-line disruption using mirror fire to destabilize Skuldrith echo shells.
Threadrunners: Swiftest of the bonded, tasked with weaving through fractures to deliver signal beacons.
Core: Riley and Daphne, supported by a tactical pulse-sync team, moving directly toward Echo Gate.
Daphne and Riley spent hours testing gauntlet fluctuations. The soulbond, still intact but bruised, was erratic. Their shared visions came in flashes: towers collapsing, a field of clocks ticking backward, a child standing before the Gate, alone.
Was it her?
Or someone she had forgotten to remember?
Before dawn, they stood on the rim of the Divide.
Riley turned inward.
I should be terrified. But I'm not. I feel... ready. Not whole. But sharp. Like every scar I carry has carved me into the blade I need to be.
Daphne looked at her and took her hand.
"You don't have to be fire all the time."
Riley smiled. "But I do. Because the Gate won't open for anything less."
They crossed the final ridge as the sun rose.
The sky above Echo Gate was a torn scroll of color—violet, ash, and red lightning. The structure itself hovered between worlds, a spiraled arc of glass, memory, and shadow. Beneath it, time unraveled. Whole sections of the ground blinked in and out of existence.
Riley dropped to one knee as the fire inside her surged.
She saw them.
The first Chosen. The ones from the tower. Caught in loops. Children repeating their final moments over and over again. A girl with silver eyes screaming. A boy clawing at a locked door.
She saw herself.
No... not just myself. Owen.
He's still here. Still echoing.
Tears cut hot lines down her face.
Daphne crouched beside her. "What do you see?"
"The cost."
"And?"
Riley rose.
"The path through."
She ignited her flame.
It answered with fury.
The Echo Gate began to stir.
And behind it, the Skuldrith moved.
Not in lines. Not in armies.
But in spirals.
The war was no longer linear.
It was recursive.
And it was about to begin again.