The Seed's roots coiled around Young Kael's heart, Lyra's shadow entwined with his pulse. The cathedral reformed around them, grander and more grotesque—a monument to time's endless hunger. Survivors cowered as golden vines caged them, their bodies aging and rejuvenating in torturous cycles.
"This is power," Lyra crooned through him. "Not a burden. A crown."
But Kael clung to a memory: Older Kael's last words, amber eyes flickering through the gold. "Break it… even if it breaks you."
Young Lira knelt before the throne, her shadow severed but her hands bound by thorns. "Kael! Fight her!"
Lyra's laughter vibrated in Kael's bones. "He is fighting. And losing."
Kael's claw trembled as he reached for Young Lira's throat. "Run," he hissed through gritted teeth.
She headbutted him, her blood splattering the Seed's roots. The cathedral shuddered.
"Enough!" Lyra seized control, hurling Young Lira into a wall. "You want a martyr? I'll give you one."
Tessa's moths swarmed from the cracks in reality—her consciousness preserved in their luminous wings. They stitched Older Kael's ghost into fleeting solidity. He lunged, spectral hands gripping Kael's shoulders.
"The Seed's core is your heart now," he said, voice fraying. "Rip it out. Now."
Lyra's shadow recoiled. "You'll die!"
Kael grinned. "I know."
He plunged his claw into his chest.
Time shattered.
The cathedral fractured into shards of moments: Lira's laugh, Gideon's first betrayal, his mother's final breath. Lyra's shadow screamed, unraveling as Kael tore the Seed free—a golden, pulsing mass of roots and regret.
"You can't!" she wailed. "The cycle needs me!"
"No," Kael said. "It needs nothing.*"
He crushed the Seed.
Light swallowed the world.
Kael floated in the void, Lyra's shadow clinging to his fading form. "You'll come back," she whispered. "You'll miss me."
"Maybe," he said. "But not today."
He let go.