The words come out flat. Defensive. A wall built of syllables.
Elisabeta's smile fades. She shakes her head, and her silver eyes hold something that might be sorrow or might be understanding.
"No. I am not." She tilts her head. "I am the part of you that remembers me."
Micah tries to move past her. She does not move. Does not flicker. Does not fade. She stands between him and the path, solid as memory, immovable as grief.
"You should turn away from this, Micah."
He shakes his head. "You are not her."
"But I am the part of you that is her." Her voice is soft. Patient. A lullaby sung in a language he has almost forgotten. "And you know this is not what she would want for you."
He steps forward. She does not yield.
"I have no idea what she wants." His voice cracks on the last word. "Because she is dead."
Elisabeta's eyes do not waver. "And you think that is because of you."
He says nothing. His boots scrape stone. One step. Then another.
"You were too young." Her voice follows him, gentle and relentless. "What would you have been able to do?"
He keeps walking. The mist curls around his ankles. The abyss yawns beneath his feet.
"You should not blame your father."
Micah stops. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He does not turn around.
"It is because of him." The words taste like ash. "Because of his name. His choices." He corrects himself, jaw tight. "Because of his betrayal."
Elisabeta's voice is quiet. "And you think he betrayed you when he rescued your sister and not you."
Micah's jaw flexes. His eyes burn. "He made his choice. It is clear who he favors."
A hand reaches for him—not touching, not quite, just hovering at the edge of his awareness. He feels the warmth of it, the almost-touch of fingers that cannot reach.
"How could he choose between the two of you?" Her voice breaks on the question. "You are both—"
"He already did!"
The words tear from his throat, raw and bleeding. He looks down, fighting for breath, fighting for balance, fighting for anything that will keep him upright.
When he looks up, she is gone.
Well done.
Thye's voice slithers back into the silence, satisfied and patient.
Micah's lips press together. He moves forward.
The ledge bends. He rounds the curve, and there—standing in his path, blood seeping through her shirt, a trail of red running down her face from a wound he cannot see—is Marya.
His sister.
His blood.
He looks past her.
Her voice reaches for him, small and broken. "Micah?"
He walks through her. Not around. Not past. Through. Her image dissolves at his touch, scattering into mist that curls and fades.
He does not look back.
Sanza appears next—small and red-haired, eyes wide with that desperate eagerness that children wear like armor.
"Big bro!"
Micah's eyes narrow. He keeps walking.
"Hey, can you show me—"
The voice trails off. Micah does not slow. Does not stop. Does not acknowledge.
Very good.
Thye purrs, and the sound resonates through his bones.
You are almost there.
The ledge narrows. The wall curves. He is close now—close to something, though he cannot say what. The mist thickens, and the abyss below grows louder, the crash of water becoming a roar.
Then a figure blocks his path.
Haku stands with her back straight, her white hair cascading past her shoulders, her golden eyes—those terrible, seeing eyes—fixed on him with an expression he cannot read.
Micah groans. "Grandmother."
She smiles. There is no warmth in it. Only knowledge. Only judgment.
"This is not the path."
He presses forward. She does not move.
"I am in no mood for lectures from you."
Haku tilts her head. "You are the one to carry on—"
"I am not interested."
Her smirk deepens. "Neither was he."
Micah's hands curl into fists. His voice rises, cracking against the stone. "I am not him!"
Haku nods slowly. "No. But you stand in his shadow." Her eyes bore into him, unblinking, relentless. "Forever running from what you are."
"ENOUGH!"
The word echoes through the shaft, bouncing off walls, swallowed by mist. Haku's image fades—not dissolving, but receding, stepping back into the darkness from which she came.
Micah takes a breath. His chest heaves. His hands shake.
They will be no more.
Thye whispers, her voice curling through his thoughts like smoke.
They will not keep us from becoming.
He nods. His feet find the ledge. The path stretches ahead.
Not much longer.
The mist parts. The abyss roars. Micah walks forward, and the darkness swallows him whole.
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