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*Chapter Three: Echoes of Lost Realms*
The void between realms was like swimming through broken mirrors.
Fiona's ship, *VANTA*, sliced through the Unreal Territories—a forgotten stretch of space-time that had been wiped from the known universe after the Fracture War. Here, physics were optional, memory bled into reality, and dead monarchs were said to whisper from the shadows.
The ship's hull groaned against unseen pressure. Fiona stood at the bridge, gaze fixed ahead, circuits in her armor flaring to stabilize the path.
"Structural integrity holding," said VANTA's core AI. "But dimensional logic is deteriorating."
Fiona didn't respond. Her focus was on a signal—faint, ancient, and familiar. It pulsed not in sound or light, but in *pattern*. A kind of rhythm she had once trained to detect: a *monarch's echo*.
Not Davian this time. This one was colder. Slower. *Lyra.*
The Monarch of Ice and Snow.
Fiona narrowed her eyes. Lyra had vanished centuries ago, sealed inside her own realm to stop her power from freezing the monarch grid itself. But if her echo was breaking through...
"Set course. Lock onto Lyra's coordinates," Fiona ordered.
[17/08, 11:28 am] ChatGPT: The ship pulsed with agreement, veering through the collapsing edges of space. Static rained across the viewports as timelines warped and flickered.
Then—impact.
VANTA slammed into a sudden wall of cold energy, throwing Fiona off balance. Ice formed across the dashboard, crawling like fingers.
"Contact with external monarch field," the AI announced.
Fiona stood. "Override the hull shield. Let me out."
The ship hissed open into blinding white.
She stepped into *a frozen graveyard of stars*—a realm suspended in ice. Ancient cities, entire planets, and broken magical constructs were frozen mid-collapse. She hovered silently, eyes wide. Every surface was locked in stillness, yet alive beneath it.
She descended toward the source.
In the center of the graveyard was a cathedral of crystal and bone—shards of mirror-glass shaped into a throne room. Seated at the far end was a figure encased in translucent frost.
*Lyra.*
Still. Silent. Preserved.
Fiona approached carefully, letting her aura flicker—tech runes sparking to life in response to the frozen monarch's dormant field.
"Lyra," she said. "It's time to wake up."
No answer.
She reached out, circuits pulsing, and made contact with the throne's code-layer. It resisted—an ancient lock that hadn't been touched in hundreds of years.
Then, the ice cracked.
Not with violence. With *will*.
Lyra's eyes opened slowly. Pale blue, cold as death. Yet alive.
"You're late," Lyra said.
Fiona froze. "You've been aware this whole time?"
"I've *been watching*," Lyra whispered. "Waiting. Because only one of you could break the silence. The others are scattered. Broken. Or worse—bound."
Fiona lowered her hand. "The signal I detected—Davian is active."
Lyra's gaze sharpened. "Then the cycle is returning."
"The cycle?" Fiona asked.
Lyra stood slowly, the frost melting from her robes. "Monarchs weren't meant to rule indefinitely. We were guardians of balance. But balance breaks. Time loops. Control corrodes. And chaos—"
"—feeds," Fiona finished.
Lyra nodded. "And he's waking too. *Eight.* The Monarch of Control."
Fiona's circuits pulsed in reaction.
Lyra turned to face the vast frozen void. "If he awakens fully, he'll enslave the monarch grid. One by one. We'll be weapons—puppets. You felt the pull, didn't you?"
Fiona clenched her jaw. She had.
In the Vault.
In the breach.
She had *almost obeyed*.
"I won't be controlled," she said firmly.
"No," Lyra agreed. "But others will. Solaria's light has fractured. Lilith walks in the dark. And even Davian... is fading."
Fiona stepped forward. "Then we stop Eight. Together."
Lyra hesitated—then nodded once.
The frost around her shattered in a wave of snow and glass. Her power returned with a howl that echoed across the broken stars.
Two monarchs stood side by side again.
The balance had shifted.
And something was watching them from the shadows—smiling.