The new world was alive—but not free.
Joe stepped onto soil that shimmered with the faintest crimson glow, as though embers slept just beneath its surface. The air was sharp, not cold, not hot—just aware. Every breath he took felt like an invitation and a warning.
Forests grew in spirals here. Mountains hovered. Rivers flowed upward.
He walked, and the land shifted to meet him.
No Warden. No whispers. No trials.
Just silence. And waiting.
Then, a voice.
Not outside. Inside.
Welcome, Veilborn.
Joe froze.
"I didn't say that name aloud."
You didn't have to.
A figure emerged from the mist. Cloaked in mirrored scales, its face ever-shifting, as if made from smoke caught in glass.
"You're not one of them," Joe said.
"No," it replied. "I am what waits beyond the Spiral. I am Emberwake."
Joe narrowed his eyes. "Another test?"
"Not a test. A choice."
Joe's hands curled into fists. "I'm done choosing between who I have to be and who I was."
Emberwake's face stilled for a moment. "Then choose what comes next."
Joe blinked.
Before him, the world split into three paths:
One burned like a warpath.
One wept like an abandoned temple.
One was dark, and silent, and endless.
Joe stepped forward.
And walked the middle path.
He didn't need to see where it ended.
He would write it himself.
End of Chapter 11.