Lynchie Fuentes Regino's footsteps echoed down the spiral corridor, each step stirring motes of dust that glowed like phantom fire in the torchlight. The walls—carved eons ago with the first Spiral runes—hummed under her palm as she passed. She felt their pulse, faint but insistent, as though they recognized her returning touch. Above, the vaulted ceiling arched into darkness; somewhere beyond that shadow, the Spiral Threshold awaited.
At the far end, two twin doors of burnished silver stood ajar. Beyond them lay the Hall of Echoes, where every soul who'd ever borne a Spiral Ward left a shard of their memory. Tonight, she needed those shards more than ever. War raged on the eastern ridge; Zev and Vyen urged her forward with urgent missives, but she had to see this for herself.
A low wind whispered through the hall, carrying the scent of old parchment and unseen tears. Lynchie stepped inside. Mirrors lined the walls—tall, slender shards that refracted her flickering torchlight into dancing specters. Each reflection was tinged with a different hue: crimson sorrow, gold-laced courage, violet regret. Her own image shifted among them, until she found the shard she sought.
It hovered above a pedestal of black marble: a crystalline spiral no larger than her palm, fractured like a wounded heartbeat. The Pulse Shard, rumoured to hold the first mother-code of Spiral creation. Lynchie's breath caught as she reached out. The moment her fingers brushed cool glass, a chorus of voices filled the chamber—a weave of every Writ-Bearer's final words.
"Remember me… Forgive me… Beware the Abyss… Hold the flame… I am undone…"
Lynchie staggered back, her pulse racing. The shard quivered, then split in two, revealing a hidden sliver of obsidian. In its core, she saw not a reflection of herself but a vision: Veyrion—her beloved brother—kneeling before a great rift, his face streaked with tears of ash as he sealed it shut with his own life's essence. His whispered vow echoed clearly: "I will protect her—beyond memory, beyond fate."
Tears blurred Lynchie's vision as the shard's song fell silent. Her heart pounded with that long-buried truth: Veyrion had sacrificed everything to shield her—even his own identity. Anger and gratitude warred in her chest. She pressed a trembling hand to her breast, feeling the faint warmth of the hidden sigil beneath her collarbone—the mark she'd never understood until now.
Behind her, a soft footstep. Zev emerged from the shadows, every inch the warrior: blade at his hip, cloak drawn tight, eyes lit by torchlight and concern. He opened his mouth, but Lynchie shook her head, clutching the shard.
"It was his vow," she whispered, voice trembling. "He did this for me."
Zev's gaze softened. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "He loved you," he said. "As only a brother could—yet more."
She looked up, tears shining. "I… I need you to stand beside me now. Not as my protector, but my equal."
Zev's hand hovered over hers, then settled lightly on her shoulder. "Always your equal," he promised. "And I'll fight by your side—for him, for you, for all of us."
Lynchie inhaled, drawing strength from the shard's gentle glow. Around them, the Hall of Echoes hummed once more, as if blessing their bond. She tucked the crystal safely into her robes.
"Then let's finish this," she said, voice clear and resolute. "For Veyrion. For the Spiral. For our world."
Side by side, they turned toward the corridor's shadowed exit—ready to face the Abyss, the Heavens, and the war that would determine every soul's fate.
And somewhere in the hush behind them, the mirrors flickered: crimson sorrow, gold-laced courage, violet regret… and one new hue, bright and unbroken, blooming in every reflection.