Blue light swallowed everything.
It wasn't like falling or walking — more like being pulled through a loom, each thread brushing his skin as it passed. Warm, cold, electric. When Aric opened his eyes he was standing on a floor of woven strands, an endless corridor of shimmering blue stretching in both directions. The walls were not walls but curtains of light, swaying gently as if stirred by an invisible tide.
Lyra was gone.
His fingers clenched empty air. "Lyra?"
Only the hum answered, the deep tone of the Arch vibrating up through his boots and into his chest. The Mirror throbbed at his ribs, faint but steady.
He thought, 'Separated. Of course. Classic trial move.'
The woven floor under his boots rippled once. Ahead, the corridor curved, leading into a brighter glow. He started forward, slow at first, one hand trailing the curtain of threads. They were warm and slightly sticky, like touching the inside of a seashell. Tiny images flickered across them: faces, hands, doors he'd never walked through but almost had.
"Vale," a voice whispered from the curtain.
He froze.
A boy's voice. High, thin. "Vale. Don't leave me."
His jaw tightened. 'They're already at it.'
The curtain bulged slightly and a shape pushed through — a child about ten, barefoot, soaked, dark hair plastered to his skull. His eyes were wide and full of accusation. "You promised," the boy said.
Aric's heart gave a single hard beat. The voice was exactly as it had been the last time he heard it — years ago, in a different Domain. He thought, 'Not him. Just a thread.'
He spoke his Name under his breath and stepped around the child. The image flickered, hissed like steam, and dissolved back into the wall.
He kept walking.
The corridor narrowed, the light dimming to a pale blue. The hum deepened, vibrating his teeth. The Mirror pulsed harder, as if warning him. Threads brushed his arms, whispering half-formed words:
"…not yours…""…take, take…""…owe…"
Aric murmured to himself, "Name. Path. Name. Path." Each word was a footstep, steady as a metronome. He imagined it anchoring him, a spike driven into shifting ground.
The corridor opened abruptly into a wide chamber — a dome of threads woven like a spiderweb. In the centre stood a table of black stone. Upon it lay a mirror shaped exactly like his, only cracked down the middle.
He approached slowly.
The cracked mirror reflected not him but a different Aric — older, gaunt, hair streaked with silver. That Aric stared back with hollow eyes.
"You're wasting it," the reflection said. "All the paths, all the Names. For what? A fragment you don't even understand."
Aric thought, 'Persistent little trick.'
He said aloud, "Move."
The reflection smiled bitterly. "You think you're cunning. You're only desperate. When this is over, there'll be nothing left of you but threads."
"I've been nothing before," Aric said softly. "Didn't stop me then."
He reached for the cracked mirror. It was warm, humming faintly. For a heartbeat he felt a pull — like gravity in reverse, trying to draw him inside. He tightened his grip on the real Mirror at his ribs, whispered his Name again, and let the cracked one go. It fell back onto the table and split into dust.
The dome shuddered. Threads parted ahead, revealing another corridor.
Aric exhaled slowly. "One test down."
He moved on.
This corridor was different. The threads here were dark, almost black, with thin lines of blue running through them. They smelled of iron and salt. The hum had become a rhythm like a heartbeat.
Halfway down, a voice called faintly: "Vale?"
Lyra.
He stopped dead. "Lyra? Where are you?"
"Here," she called. "I can't—"
Her voice cut off into a gasp.
He swore under his breath and started running. The corridor twisted left, right, like a labyrinth. Each turn brought new images flickering in the walls: Lyra bound in threads, Lyra sinking into water, Lyra's face blank and pale.
He thought, 'This is her corridor. They've overlapped us.'
At the next corner he saw her. She was kneeling on the woven floor, threads coiled around her arms and neck like snakes. Her eyes were wide but unfocused, lips moving silently.
Aric skidded to a stop beside her. "Lyra!"
She didn't look at him. Her gaze was fixed on something only she could see. Threads writhed tighter.
He grabbed her shoulders. "Anchor! Name! Path!"
Her lips trembled. "…Ryn…"
"Not real," he snapped. "Say it!"
Tears slid down her cheeks. "…he's here…"
"Lyra!"
He pressed the Mirror to her chest. It pulsed, sending a ripple through the threads. They hissed and loosened slightly. She gasped, eyes clearing for a heartbeat.
"Vale?"
"I'm here," he said. "With you."
The threads tightened again, hissing like boiling water. He thought, 'It's feeding on her guilt. Need to break the loop.'
He drew a knife from his belt — small, dull, but steel — and sliced at the nearest thread. Blue sparks flew. The thread recoiled but did not break. More writhed toward him.
He muttered, "Fine. We do it the other way."
He took her hands, pressing them between his. "Look at me."
She blinked, tears streaming. "I can't—"
"Yes you can. Say your Name."
Her breath hitched. "Lyra Vale—"
"Louder."
"Lyra Vale!"
The threads hissed and loosened. He felt them recoil like snakes from fire.
He grinned fiercely. "Good. Again."
"Lyra Vale!"
The last coil snapped and dissolved into blue sparks. She collapsed against him, breathing hard.
He held her upright. "You with me?"
She nodded weakly. "I… think so."
"Good. We're not done."
He helped her stand. The corridor around them shifted, threads trembling like an angry tide. The hum rose to a roar. Ahead, a doorway appeared, woven from black and blue strands. Beyond it glowed a faint golden light.
Lyra wiped her face. "What is that?"
"The way out," Aric said. "Or another trap."
"Of course."
She tried to smile. "You're heavy, you know that?"
"You're the one leaning on me."
"Shut up."
They moved toward the doorway. As they reached it, a figure stepped out of the golden glow. Sere.
But not Sere as she'd appeared at the Arch. This version was younger, her mask gone, her face bare and unguarded. Her golden eyes were softer but sad. Threads wound around her wrists like bracelets.
"Stop," she said quietly.
Aric stopped. Lyra tensed beside him.
Sere looked at them both. "You shouldn't be here."
Aric raised an eyebrow. "Your Arch invited us."
"It tests you," she said. "It tests everyone. But this—" she gestured at the corridor around them "—is mine."
Lyra whispered, "You're caught here too."
Sere's lips twitched. "We're all caught. The Landlord spins the threads, we walk them. Some of us just learn to guide others."
Aric's mind raced. 'This is the real Sere, or close enough. The Arch let me see her leash.'
He said aloud, "Then help us."
Her eyes flicked to the fragment-child's cage. "That thing is a key. But keys cut both ways."
Aric took a step forward. "Then tell me how to use it."
She shook her head. "Not here. Not yet. The Arch isn't done with you."
The hum rose again, vibrating the floor. The doorway behind Sere flickered like a dying flame.
Lyra hissed, "Vale…"
Aric's grip on the cage tightened. 'Choice time.'
He said to Sere, "Show us the path out."
"Give me the fragment," she replied softly. "And I will."
"Not happening."
"Then survive this room," she said. "If you can."
The corridor walls shuddered and burst outward. Threads shot up like spears, weaving into new shapes — doors, faces, claws. The golden light behind Sere vanished. In its place a chasm opened, threads whipping in a vortex.
Lyra grabbed Aric's arm. "What now?"
He grinned, a sharp, feral smile. "Now we improvise."