The starlit bridge shimmered beneath their feet—not a bridge of stone or wood, but of memory and ancient soulstuff. Each step forward pulled them deeper into a realm no god dared claim: Eidra, the heart of forgotten myth.
There were no suns here. No moons.
Only a sky of molten ink and drifting beasts—serpents of light, turtles bearing islands on their backs, whispering bones of titans who never were.
Eidra was not built. It was remembered.
And as Light and his companions entered, the realm remembered them back.
---
The Test of Threads
They passed through a forest made of ropes and red strings, each thread tied to a soul—some broken, some knotted, others shimmering with regret.
Barak touched one by mistake.
His past unraveled before them: a child burning in a collapsed house, his scream muted by guilt.
Light caught Barak before he collapsed. "Don't let it define you."
Barak wiped his face. "It already did. Now I'll change what it means."
The forest parted.
At its center stood three weavers—faces hidden by veils of ash.
They called themselves the Sisters of Loom.
"Only those with unbroken threads may pass," they chanted.
Sila stepped forward, blades drawn.
"Our threads are frayed," she said. "But they haven't snapped."
She sliced the air.
The threads parted, and the path opened into a sea of flame that wasn't fire.
It was memory made wild.
---
The Skyroot Leviathan
Crossing the sea meant sailing a vessel that listened to thoughts.
Kyle whispered the shape of his dreams, and a boat rose—shaped like a giant feather, its hull made of bronze that hummed with bloodlines.
But the Sea of Eidra was no peaceful realm.
Halfway across, the waters convulsed.
From beneath rose the Skyroot Leviathan—an ancient being who devoured forgotten myths so they would never return to the surface world.
It spoke in a voice older than wind.
> "What gives you the right to walk among those who died for truth?"
Light stood tall. "We didn't come to steal truth. We came to finish what they began."
The Leviathan growled, coiled… and dove.
Instead of attacking, it circled their ship, then disappeared into the depths.
They sailed on.
---
The Flame of Neshama
At the center of Eidra rose a monolith: the Neshama Flame, the soulfire of the first myth, said to be the moment the universe learned to speak itself into being.
But it was guarded.
Not by monsters. Not by gods.
But by the Forgotten, beings who were erased from every story ever told.
One stepped forward—a being wrapped in papyrus and shadow.
"I was a king," it said. "Now I am no one. What will you become once the world forgets you too?"
Light stepped toward the flame.
"Then let it forget," he said. "Let me burn so others remember."
He placed his hand in the fire.
And it did not burn him.
It sang.
The flame entered him. The sigil on his palm expanded, now shaped like a crown of ash and starlight.
He had become the Neshama Blaze.
Not a warrior. Not a god.
But a myth reborn—born not to conquer, but to redeem.
---
Final Scene
As the companions turned from the flame, the sky of Eidra twisted.
Towers fell. Rivers reversed. And in the distance, a horn echoed—a sound not heard since the Fall of the Silent Pantheon.
Mira gripped her staff. "What is that?"
Sila's eyes narrowed. "It's her."
Morrigan had found the gate.
And she wasn't coming alone.
Black ships pierced the sky.
Wraith-knights descended, armor made of guilt and vengeance.
The Prophet of Eidra's voice rang out from the void.
> "The peace is over.
The veil is torn.
The War of Eidra has just begun."