The Archives didn't shatter. They fractured.
Reality bent in strange ways, twisting around the weight of memory and fire. For Kael, Elyra, and Vespera, time had loosened its grip. The walls weren't stone anymore—they were reflections, bleeding between what was and what might still be.
Elyra woke first.
She stood in the center of a vast hall of mirrors. Each surface shimmered like mercury, warping her reflection. Some showed her as she was now—worn but determined. Others showed her older, crowned and cold. Still others, broken, surrounded by ash.
"This isn't real," she said aloud. Her voice echoed, but not in her tone.
One of the mirrors stepped forward.
No. Not a mirror.
Herself. A twin made of flame and shadow. A version of her with the same eyes, but no remorse. The Mirrorflame.
"You think you can change your fate?" it asked.
Elyra raised her chin. "I can try."
The Mirrorflame laughed. "You're too late. You already chose. You burned what couldn't be saved."
Elyra summoned her fire—not the rageful kind, but the quiet ember. The one Kael steadied. The one that felt like Starflame.
"I'm still choosing. Every day."
The mirror shattered. And she was alone again.
Kael woke kneeling before a throne carved of bone and frost. The king atop it wore Kael's face—older, crueler, crowned in fire.
"Is this what you fear?" the figure asked. "Or what you desire?"
Kael stood. "Neither."
"Liar. You want power enough to protect her. You'd trade your name, your soul. You've already begun."
The crown levitated between them. It pulsed with the same darkness he'd seen in the Pale Flame.
Kael didn't touch it. Instead, he turned away.
"I am more than what I fear becoming."
The ice beneath his feet cracked. The throne crumbled. The dream dissolved.
Vespera walked a bridge made of stars.
Below her, void. Above her, nothing.
Each step she took sparked constellations into life—her past, her blood, her betrayal. A tapestry of sins she could never unmake.
Then came the voices.
"You were supposed to protect her."
"You chose your path."
"Would you do it again?"
She answered with silence.
At the end of the bridge, a single figure waited: her sister. Eyes glowing with fire, lips parted in a quiet, endless scream.
Vespera dropped to her knees.
"I'm sorry. I can't undo it. But I won't let it be for nothing."
Her sister vanished.
And the bridge turned to light.
They returned to the Archives at the same time.
All three of them collapsed, gasping. The Curator watched.
"You have passed," it said simply.
Kael didn't rise. "Passed what?"
The Curator knelt. "You now carry the memory of what could destroy you. That is your armor. Or your ruin."
Elyra wiped her face, fire smudged into tears. "What's next?"
The Curator turned. "The Spire calls. The Pale Flame stirs. Your final path begins."
The doors behind it opened. Not into another hall, but into sky. A vast bridge of light stretched across the void—toward a tower made of obsidian and starlight.
Toward the end.
Or the beginning.