The door sealed behind Lyra, and silence fell like a weighted shroud.
There was no floor beneath her feet. No ceiling above. Only a horizon that stretched in every direction — woven from strands of light, shadow, memory, and starlight. Each thread pulsed faintly, vibrating with a hum of possibility.
"This is… a tapestry of realities," she whispered.
"Correct," came a voice from nowhere — and everywhere.
The guardian had not followed her, but its presence lingered, disembodied.
"This is the Web of Might-Have-Been. A trial of threaded truth. Each line is a path you could walk. Each step a choice you have made — or refused to."
Lyra reached toward one thread — golden, brilliant, familiar. It sparked at her touch, and in a breath, she was somewhere else.
She stood in a throne room of obsidian and flame.
It was quiet — too quiet. At the far end sat a figure draped in gold and fire. A woman. Older than Lyra by years. Crowned with the Ember diadem.
She rose as Lyra approached.
Her face was Lyra's.
But colder. Harder.
"I am what you become when you choose power over mercy," the crowned Lyra said.
"How many did I—?"
"Enough to end war," the crowned Lyra replied "And enough to forget their names."
Behind her, the realm burned.
And Lyra turned away.
The thread snapped — and she was back in the web.
She staggered, but caught herself.
The next thread drew her like gravity. It was violet, pulsing gently. She brushed it.
Snow blanketed a quiet village.
She was kneeling by a hearth, children laughing nearby. Her hands bore no sigils. The Heart was gone. Her power — dormant.
A man approached — Kaelen, older, with lines of peace instead of battle etched into his face.
"We did it," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder "We walked away."
She smiled.
"We saved what we could."
But in the skies, stars flickered out — one by one. The Realms were collapsing slowly. Peace had bought time… but not salvation.
"A life of peace, without power," Lyra whispered "But at what cost?"
The thread unraveled.
The third thread was jagged — red, sharp, unstable.
She hesitated.
Then touched it.
She was alone.
Floating in space. Stars died around her. Her body was half-light, half-shadow. The Heart of Realms pulsed in her chest, but it was cracked, bleeding eternity.
"You took too much," said a voice.
It was Riven — or something like him. His form flickered.
"You broke the balance. You tried to fix everything."
She wept, not from pain, but from exhaustion.
"I didn't know how to stop."
This Lyra had never asked for help. Never trusted. Never paused.
She had become a god, and it had cost her everything.
Back in the Web, she collapsed to her knees.
"How many versions of me suffer?" she gasped.
"All do," the voice answered gently "But some endure. Some learn."
She rose.
Thread after thread, she walked.
She saw herself as a Queen of Light, who unified the Realms. As a Wanderer, nameless, forgotten but at peace. As a soldier who died young, saving only one village. As a tyrant. As a martyr. As a healer.
In one thread, she was a ghost, whispering truths to a child who would one day carry the Heart instead.
In another, she never left the Hollow at all.
Finally, the Web began to narrow.
All threads now led to a single point — a luminous thread of white and gold. She reached out.
This one pulled her in without effort.
She stood before a throne not of gold, but of stone.
The world was healed.
Skies clear. Realms whole.
She had succeeded.
But she wore no crown. The Heart was gone.
She had given it away — to a child, a new bearer, one not yet burdened by blood.
Kaelen stood at her side.
Vaelion, old and laughing.
Riven, half-retired and bored, raising hell in peacetime.
"You didn't win," said the voice "You let go."
"Because the burden isn't meant for one," Lyra whispered.
"Then you understand."
The Web pulsed — and folded into her chest.
Each thread now part of her. Not memory. Not prophecy.
Truth.
When she opened her eyes, the Trial was over.
She stood in the Skyhold once more. Her friends waiting.
And in her hand hovered the Fifth Fragment — shaped like a spiral of flame and frost.
Vaelion smiled "You passed."
Lyra looked up. Her eyes glowed with countless stars.
"No," she said softly "I chose."