The first time Lyra saw the Skyhold, she thought it was a mirage.
Suspended miles above the fractured earth, the fortress hovered like a dream carved from obsidian and starfire. It defied all natural laws. Columns of light held it aloft, woven through with celestial patterns that shimmered and shifted, as if remembering a time long past.
"It was once called Nyrrhal, the Anchor of Realms," Vaelion said quietly "In the old tongue, it meant the still point in the turning void."
Lyra didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the impossible construct — a place where gravity and time bent, and reality frayed at the seams.
"And now?" she asked.
"Now it's a war front."
The party camped at the base of a mountain known only as the Thornspire, the last piece of land high enough to offer a view of the Skyhold. The mountain itself was scarred by time and magic. Every stone whispered, every breeze carried echoes of old battles.
Kaelen sharpened his sword in silence, the grindstone's rhythm the only sound in their makeshift shelter. His mind was on what lay above — and what they might lose to reach it.
"You know what I hate about floating fortresses?" he muttered.
"The fact that they float?" Riven offered with a smirk, checking the straps on his daggers.
"No. The fact that something always waits inside them that knows you're coming."
"Well, it's not like we're subtle," Lyra said "We've collected four Fragments. If anything was watching… it already knows."
She lifted her hand. The Fragments pulsed faintly beneath her skin — the Ember Vein's light, the Hollow Mark's whisper, the Flame Trail's fire, and now the Celestial Echo. Each one a key, each one a curse.
"We're going into that place to find the fifth," she said "We don't have the luxury of stealth."
That night, Lyra dreamt.
Not of the past — but of the future.
In her vision, the Skyhold burned. Its halls cracked open, void leaking into the skies. She saw shadows, not like those from the Hollow, but something else — cleaner, more ordered, sharper. They marched in perfect formation, armored in light that didn't belong in the mortal world.
And at their head was a man — or a god — whose face she couldn't see.
But he wore the Ember Crown.
And it responded to her presence.
"Come to me," the voice said, no longer distorted or distant "Bring the Heart. Finish what we began."
She awoke with a gasp, heart racing, palms glowing faintly.
"Another vision?" Vaelion asked. He hadn't been asleep.
"No," she whispered "A warning."
By dawn, the decision was made.
They would ascend the Skyhold.
And they would do it by following the Stellar Ladder — an ancient conduit of light hidden within the Thornspire itself. A remnant of the Aethar'kin's design, it had once connected the Realms together like arteries.
But it hadn't been used in millennia.
And no one knew if it still worked.
Inside the mountain, the path was treacherous.
Twisting tunnels lit by veins of sleeping magic. Gravity warped the deeper they went. Steps tilted upward, only to fold sideways. Walls breathed. Shadows moved where light should not exist.
It was a trial of the mind as much as the body.
"I think I just walked across a ceiling," Riven muttered.
"You did," Vaelion replied "Keep your thoughts focused. This place reacts to uncertainty."
"Great. So if I start questioning reality, I fall into a void?"
"Or worse. You loop."
Lyra pressed forward. The Fragments helped stabilize her footing. She could feel them resonating with something ahead — a tether of memory and power, long dormant.
Then, finally, they found it.
A vast chamber opened before them.
Circular. Ancient.
A ring of floating platforms surrounded a beam of light that stretched from floor to ceiling — and beyond.
At its base stood a dais etched with star-sigils.
"This is it," Vaelion whispered "The Stellar Ladder."
"Looks more like a death ray," Kaelen grunted.
"A death ray that ascends," Riven corrected "So… an elevating death ray?"
Vaelion stepped forward and placed his palm upon the dais. Light flared, then stabilized. The platforms began to rotate slowly, aligning with constellations above.
"It recognizes us," he said "Or rather… it recognizes her."
Lyra approached the beam.
And it sang.
The Stellar Ladder accepted her presence as if welcoming home a long-lost child.
A bridge of light formed beneath her feet, connecting the platforms in sequence. Above, the Skyhold shimmered, and the clouds parted to reveal its full majesty.
"Hold on to something," Vaelion warned "This isn't flight. It's transition."
"Transition to what?" Kaelen asked.
"To a place between moments. Between Realms."
Before anyone could respond, the light surged.
And the world fell away.
They didn't so much ascend as transform.
The Ladder didn't lift their bodies — it separated their essence from the pull of mortal gravity. For a brief moment, Lyra felt her memories stretch like threads in a loom, her soul pulled taut and vibrating with starlight.
Then, just as suddenly, they were there.
The Skyhold was not made of stone.
It was built from intent.
Massive halls wove like music into spires that shimmered with impossible geometry. Every corner whispered. Every door waited to be opened — or judged.
And something knew they had arrived.
"This place is… awake," Riven whispered.
"It's aware," Vaelion corrected "The Skyhold isn't just architecture. It's a being."
Kaelen touched his sword hilt "Then let's hope it's a friendly one."
The first chamber they entered was filled with mirrors.
Each showed not their reflection — but possibilities. Lyra saw herself in dozens of forms: older, broken, crowned, dead. One version of her held the Heart aloft as the Realms burned. Another wore a crown of void.
"These aren't lies," Vaelion warned "They're choices. Paths that could yet come."
Lyra touched one mirror — and it shattered, revealing a corridor of light.
"Then we choose."
Deeper in, they found inscriptions written in Aethari Glyphs — a language lost to all but the most ancient.
Vaelion read aloud:
"To bind the Crown is to chain the Infinite. To wear it is to echo the First Flame. Only the Starborn may temper its will."
"What is the First Flame?" Lyra asked.
"The source of all light," Vaelion said "The star that birthed the Realms — and perhaps… the thing that watches now."
"Watches?" Kaelen asked.
"The Skyhold has a guardian," Vaelion said "And it knows we're here."
As if summoned by the words, a low hum echoed through the halls.
Light coalesced into a figure — not quite human, but not alien either. It floated above the ground, robes of shifting constellations trailing behind it.
Eyes of pure energy locked onto Lyra.
"Bearer of the Heart," it said "You have come to seek the Fifth Fragment."
"Yes."
"Then you must prove you are not the Usurper reborn."
Lyra stood tall.
"I am Lyra Starborn. I do not seek dominion. I seek restoration."
The guardian tilted its head.
"Then enter the Trial of Threads. Walk the Web of Realities. Choose your truth."
A doorway opened behind it — leading not into a room, but into a shifting web of light and shadow.
"This is her path alone," the guardian said "She must walk it unaided."
Kaelen stepped forward "Wait—"
"She'll come back," Vaelion said "If her will is true."
Lyra looked at them all — Kaelen, Riven, Vaelion — then stepped through.
And the door closed.