The Vault pulsed, its breath thick with something ancient. The fractured mark on Zara's arm burned like fire, its rhythm syncing with the heartbeat echoing from the throne.
The Hollow Sovereign stood before her. Not a man. Not a shade. Something Aeroth had once called its ruler.
The air shimmered, curling through the chamber like unseen fingers pulling at the threads of reality. Noel stood tense behind her, his twin blades raised but unmoving. He wasn't speaking anymore.
Because what could he say?
This wasn't a fight.
This was a choice.
Zara clenched her fists, inhaling slowly. The Echo—the reflection of herself that had embraced the cult—smiled from the edges of the Vault, watching with quiet amusement.
"You feel it, don't you?" the Echo murmured. "The weight of it. The knowledge that everything before this moment has only been a prelude to what's waiting."
Zara did feel it.
But she wouldn't admit it.
Not yet.
The Hollow Sovereign moved closer. His form was unnatural, shifting like ink spilled across parchment, edges flickering between solid and ephemeral. The silver glow in his hollowed gaze never wavered.
"You have touched the fractures," he said, voice smooth, deep, laced with something that felt more like understanding than menace. "You have undone their silence. You are ready."
Zara exhaled slowly. "Ready for what?"
The Vault trembled.
The walls did not crack.
They shifted.
The glyphs along the altar rewrote themselves, forming new symbols—ones she did not recognize, but somehow understood. The crescent moon, the serpents coiling through its center, the jagged lines cutting through its edges.
Noel cursed under his breath. "Zara, don't—"
She stepped forward.
She wasn't listening.
The Vault had waited long enough.
The Hollow Sovereign extended his hand, palm facing the throne. "You are the last key, Zara Lune."
Her breath caught.
The mark on her arm pulsed again—brighter now, searing, demanding.
This wasn't just a seat of power.
This was a seal.
One meant to be broken.
Noel moved toward her, gripping her wrist hard. "Think before you act," he snapped. "Don't let it pull you in."
She wasn't letting it pull her in.
She had already stepped forward willingly.
She had spent years running from answers.
Now, she wanted the truth.
Zara clenched her jaw, shifting her grip on the dagger. The blade pulsed like a second heartbeat, humming in sync with her own.
She stepped toward the throne.
The Vault screamed.
***
The Vault screamed.
Not in words. Not in sound. In memory.
The walls shifted, pulsing with unseen energy, responding to Zara's presence in a way that no mortal should ever understand. The mark on her forearm seared through her skin, pulling at the core of her existence like a tether connected to something far beneath Aeroth.
Her feet nearly faltered, but she didn't stop.
Noel was beside her, his body tense, his grip firm around his twin blades. "Zara. Don't."
She didn't listen.
The throne loomed before her—black stone, jagged crescents, carved into the remnants of something that had once ruled beyond human comprehension. The glyphs around its base swirled, bleeding into new shapes, forming symbols that should have never existed.
She could feel it.
The Hollow Sovereign watching.
Waiting.
Zara reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed the throne's surface, the world collapsed.
Everything went silent.
No wind. No breath. No sound.
Not even her own heartbeat.
Then—
A single note.
Low.
Haunting.
It threaded through her veins, curling beneath her pulse, merging with the mark on her skin like ink bleeding into parchment.
She saw flashes of Aeroth before the Circle ruled it, before the rewritten histories shaped its foundations. She saw temples buried in blood, figures kneeling before altars of fractured moons, voices singing in a chorus of forgotten tongues.
And then—
She saw herself.
Not her reflection.
Not the Echo.
Her.
Standing on the other side of the throne.
Eyes dark.
Expression blank.
Waiting.
Zara gasped, her vision lurching back into place, her lungs finally remembering how to breathe. She stumbled away from the throne, heart hammering against her ribs, the weight of the Vault pressing down on her.
Noel caught her before she fell.
"Zara!" His voice was sharp, grounded, pulling her back.
She clenched her teeth, forcing her body to steady.
The throne pulsed.
The Vault did not relent.
The Hollow Sovereign stepped forward. "You have seen it now, haven't you?"
Zara exhaled sharply.
"I saw something," she muttered. "But I don't know what it means."
The Sovereign tilted his head. "You will."
The glyphs along the altar flickered violently, twisting, burning, rewriting themselves.
Something had changed.
Zara could feel it, deep in her bones.
Noel narrowed his eyes at the throne, his jaw tight. "That thing is not just a seat, is it?"
Zara swallowed. "No. It's a door."
The Vault pulsed again, and Aeroth trembled.
Something beyond the throne was waking up.
And soon—
It was coming for her.