The star did not descend. It peeled open.
Like a wound in the night.
Like a scream made physical.
Inside was no army. No monster. No blinding radiance.
Just a girl.
She wore no crown. Carried no weapon. Her clothes were made of threads of timeline silk, stitched from futures that never bloomed. Her eyes—blank. White. Not dead. Not empty. Too full.
Naia stepped back. "Okay. I take it back. I'm scared."
"Is that…" Korrin whispered. "Is that another Liss?"
Elyse frowned. "No. Not Liss. But close."
Liss stared.
And the girl blinked.
"Hello," she said. Her voice had seven echoes. "I am Memory's Host. The forgotten child of the first false god.
I am the part of you that died but refused to stay dead."
The world shook.
And more arrived.
Dozens. Hundreds. Reflections.
Children. Soldiers. Kings. Beggars. Versions of souls the world erased. Paradoxes made flesh.
"We were erased," the Host said. "We are no longer silent."
Thessaly stepped forward.
"Then why are you here?" she demanded.
"To be remembered," the Host replied.
And the sky cracked again.