The Arch of Threads rose before them like a living sculpture. Up close, it wasn't a single arch at all but hundreds of hair-thin strands woven together, looping and twisting into a tall, hollow shape. Each strand glowed faintly blue at its core, dark at the surface, like veins full of light. The whole thing vibrated with a sound just below hearing, a low thrumming that made Aric's teeth ache.
The air smelled sharp—ozone mixed with something sweet and metallic, like sugar scorched in a pan. Tiny sparks drifted up from the strands and dissolved into the mist above.
Lyra whispered, "It's… humming."
Aric tilted his head. The sound wasn't random; it came in pulses, like breathing. 'Alive,' he thought. 'This is a creature, not a gate.'
He shifted the cage on his shoulder. The fragment-child's filaments glowed brighter than ever, reaching out toward the Arch as if trying to brush the strands. It made a sound like wind over glass. The Mirror at his ribs throbbed back, a warning pulse.
Sere stood at the centre of the arch, hands folded before her. Without the hood she looked younger but no less dangerous. The bone mask covered only the lower half of her face, its spiral etchings glimmering faintly with each heartbeat of the Arch.
"Step carefully," she said. Her voice echoed in the strands, doubling and tripling until it was everywhere at once. "The Arch doesn't like strangers."
Aric stepped onto the first woven strand. It felt warm underfoot, not like hair at all but like polished wood that flexed slightly. Lyra followed, threads snaking from her fingers to anchor them both.
"Why does it feel like walking on a drum?" she murmured.
"Because it's hollow," Aric replied.
"Great. We're inside a giant harp now."
He almost smiled. "Try not to pluck anything."
They moved closer to Sere. With each step, the strands around them shifted subtly, tightening like a net. Faint whispers rose from below—the same kind they'd heard on the stones, but sharper now, like a thousand quills scratching parchment.
Sere tilted her head. "You feel it. Good. The Arch reads Names. It tests weight, balance, intent. It knows what's yours and what you stole."
"We didn't steal this," Aric said.
The toll-keeper's golden eyes glimmered. "Convince it."
Lyra's threads twitched. "And if it doesn't believe us?"
"Then you drown in memory. But not before it unravels you."
Aric's gaze flicked upward. The strands overhead shifted again, weaving tighter. 'Trap,' he thought. 'But a trap can be used.'
He said aloud, "Name your price."
Sere's eyes narrowed slightly. "I already did. The fragment."
"Not for sale."
"Then a memory. A deep one."
Lyra bristled. "Forget it."
Sere ignored her. "Or a Path I've never walked."
Aric shook his head. "You're thinking too small."
She blinked. "Oh?"
"I'll give you something better." He drew the Mirror from his coat. Its surface was dull now, like moonstone. "A glimpse of a door outside the Landlord's reach. A door you could walk through."
That made her still. The golden eyes flickered, and for a moment she almost looked human. "You lie."
"I don't," Aric said. "But you only get to see it if we cross."
Silence hung between them, broken only by the hum of the Arch. The strands pulsed, once, twice, like a slow heartbeat.
Finally Sere's voice softened. "The Arch won't accept words. It needs proof."
Aric tucked the Mirror back into his coat. "Then how?"
She raised one gloved hand. "Step into its heart. Let it weigh you. If it deems you rightful carriers, it will part. If not…" She tilted her head toward the glowing water below.
Lyra hissed under her breath. "Vale, this is insane."
"I know."
"We're not doing this."
"We are."
She glared at him. "You're not dragging me into—"
He glanced back at her. "Trust me."
She bit her lip, then sighed explosively. "You keep saying that."
"And you keep following."
She gave a bitter laugh. "That's my flaw."
Aric stepped forward. The strands under his boots bent inward, forming a shallow bowl of woven light. The hum rose, higher now, trembling through his bones. Lyra followed, threads coiling around his wrist.
Sere lowered her hand. "Then prove it. Prove the fragment is yours."
The strands above them shifted, closing like the iris of an eye. The hum became a deep chord. Around the bowl, faint shapes appeared—silhouettes of doors, faces, places, flickering like reflections on water.
Aric thought, 'Here we go.' He whispered his Name under his breath, anchoring himself. Lyra did the same, her voice shaking.
The Arch's voice came from everywhere at once, low and resonant: "Who carries what is not theirs?"
Aric raised his head. "We carry what was lost."
The Arch: "What was lost was owed."
Aric: "Debt can be paid."
The Arch: "With what?"
Aric hesitated, then spoke clearly. "With Path."
The strands trembled. Whispers rose, overlapping like waves. The glow dimmed, then flared. A tendril of thread uncoiled from the bowl and wrapped lightly around his arm. It was warm, almost gentle.
Lyra stiffened. "Vale—"
Another tendril brushed her cheek, leaving a faint line of blue light on her skin. The fragment-child in the cage shuddered, filaments reaching out desperately.
The Arch's voice deepened: "Then show Path. Show Name. Show truth."
Sere watched silently from the edge, golden eyes unreadable.
Aric closed his eyes. 'It wants a truth. But not all of it.' He opened them again and murmured to Lyra, "Hold onto me."
"What are you going to do?"
"Something stupid."
"Good. Consistency is comforting."
He gripped the Mirror, feeling its pulse sync with his own. The tendril tightened around his arm, and in his mind a door opened—light flooding through, pulling at him. Not a mirage this time but a corridor of threads leading inward.
The Arch whispered, "Enter."
Aric looked at Lyra. "Stay close."
She took his hand, threads winding around them both. "If we die, I'm haunting you."
"Wouldn't expect less."
Together they stepped forward. The bowl of strands opened beneath their feet like a flower, and the world dissolved into blue light.