For a heartbeat there was nothing.
No floor, no ceiling, no sound. Just weightlessness and the faint taste of copper on Aric's tongue. His fingers dug into Lyra's wrist. He thought, 'If this is how it ends, at least we jumped first.'
Then light bloomed beneath them.
They hit ground hard, rolling across a surface that felt like stone but shifted under their palms like sand. Aric coughed, spat dust, and pushed himself upright. Lyra was already sitting up, clutching the Mirror, eyes wide.
"Vale," she whispered. "Where are we?"
Aric looked around.
They were on a plain of grey stone, cracked into huge hexagonal plates like a dried lakebed. Overhead stretched a sky of pale violet, no sun but a soft glow everywhere at once. In the distance, towers of thread rose like giant needles, disappearing into the sky. Between them hung strands of gold and blue, some swaying gently, some taut as if under tension.
The air smelled faintly of scorched silk. Every breath tasted metallic.
He murmured, "A loom-field."
Lyra tilted her head. "A what?"
"A place where the Landlord weaves new threads. I've only heard of it." He crouched, touched the ground. It was warm, vibrating faintly like a distant drum. "We're still inside the Arch, but deeper. This is where it makes tolls into chains."
Lyra shivered. "Feels like being watched."
They both turned at the same time.
Across the cracked plain, a shape approached. Not walking but gliding, its lower half dissolving into threads that melted into the ground. It had a body vaguely human — tall, slender, clothed in a robe of black and silver — but no face, only a smooth expanse where features should be. Around its head swirled a halo of tiny spindles, each spinning a different coloured thread.
The scent of iron and silk grew stronger.
Aric thought, 'Not Sere. Something older.'
Lyra whispered, "What is that?"
"The Tollkeeper proper," Aric said quietly. "The one Sere serves."
The faceless being stopped a few paces away. When it spoke, its voice was like dozens of quiet whispers layered together.
"Thread-thieves."
Aric straightened slowly. "Travellers."
"Fragments of my loom," the whispers said. "Return them."
Lyra took a half-step back. "Vale—"
Aric raised a hand, silencing her. "We paid a toll."
The halo of spindles rotated faster. Threads unwound from the ground and curled up around the being's legs like pets.
"Not enough."
Aric smiled thinly. "Always more, isn't it?"
He thought, 'We can't fight it. But maybe we can talk it into its own knot.'
Aloud he said, "We jumped. We landed here. That means your Arch failed. Maybe you should be paying us."
The halo slowed slightly. The being tilted its faceless head.
Lyra stared at him. "Vale, what are you—"
He cut her off with a look. "Negotiating."
"You carry a key," the whispers said. "A shard of my name. Return it and walk out."
Aric chuckled softly. "If I did that, you'd spin us into your tapestry like flies. No, thank you."
The halo shivered. Threads snaked toward him, thin and sharp. He stayed still, letting them stop inches from his chest. The Mirror under his coat throbbed like a heartbeat.
"Lyra," he murmured, "get ready to run."
Her knuckles whitened on the Mirror. "Where?"
"Anywhere but here."
She hissed, "That's not a plan."
"It's tradition," he said with a small grin.
Despite the tension, she almost laughed. "You're insane."
"Cunning," he corrected.
The being's halo slowed again, the spindles clicking softly. "Why bargain? You are already woven."
Aric's eyes narrowed. "Because even looms tangle."
He moved suddenly. Not an attack — just a step forward, enough to press his palm to the nearest thread. The Mirror pulsed bright, and for a moment the thread under his hand flared gold.
The Tollkeeper hissed, a sound like silk tearing.
Aric thought, 'Good. It can feel that.'
He said aloud, "You want the fragment? Then make me an offer worth a knot of my Name."
The halo froze.
Lyra stared at him. "You're going to sell it?"
"Trade," he murmured. "There's a difference."
The Tollkeeper's threads trembled. "What do you desire?"
Aric felt Lyra's eyes on him. He didn't look at her. He thought, 'A way out. Information. Power. All of it.'
He said, "A path beyond your looms. And knowledge of the next Domain."
For a long moment the being was silent. The sky above flickered, violet to grey to violet. Then the halo spun faster.
"Agreed. Give me the fragment and your toll is paid. I will give you a name for the road ahead."
Aric smiled slowly. "Half now."
"No half."
He shrugged. "Then no trade."
The halo whirled like a storm. Threads shot from the ground, wrapping around his boots. Lyra cried out as more threads whipped toward her. She raised the Mirror instinctively. Light flared.
The Tollkeeper hissed again.
Aric moved.
He grabbed Lyra's free hand, yanked her toward him, and slammed his palm onto the ground. "Name!"
The Mirror pulsed blindingly. The threads at their feet snapped, recoiling. The cracked plain shuddered, hexagonal plates shifting like puzzle pieces.
Lyra whispered, "Vale, what did you—"
"Shortcut," he muttered.
The ground under them split open, revealing a seam of golden light. Threads swirled wildly, trying to close it.
He grinned. "Jump?"
She stared at him. "Again?"
"Tradition."
This time she laughed, breathless but real. "You're mad."
He said softly, "Mad Prince, remember?"
Then they jumped.
The seam swallowed them. The last thing Aric saw before the light closed was the Tollkeeper's halo fracturing, spindles scattering like sparks.
They landed on hard stone again — but not the grey plain. This was different: a wide stairway of obsidian leading up into darkness. The air was cool, smelling of rain instead of silk. Above them glimmered faint stars.
Lyra sat up, blinking. "Where…?"
Aric got to his feet slowly, scanning the shadows. The Mirror at his ribs was dim now, but steady. "Not the Arch. Not the loom-field. We're out."
She stared at him. "You think so?"
He tilted his head, listening. No hum, no threads. Just a faint dripping somewhere far off. He allowed himself a small smile.
"We're in the Eighth Domain," he said. "Finally."
Lyra exhaled, a shaky laugh. "Vale… you're impossible."
He offered her a hand. "And yet here we are."
She took it, still laughing. For a moment, despite the exhaustion, there was something almost light between them. They started up the stairway together, their shadows stretching long behind them.
Halfway up, Aric paused, looking back at the darkness below. He thought, 'Keys cut both ways.' Sere's voice echoed faintly in his memory.
He murmured, "Let's see what door we just opened."
Above them, the stairway bent into an archway of black stone. Beyond it glowed a faint green light and the sound of distant bells.
Lyra squeezed his hand. "Ready?"
He smiled. "Not even slightly."
They stepped through.