SFX: HHHH—SHIIIII—
The Fractured Marches ended without warning.
One step carried us from blackened shale and wind-scoured bone into manicured silver grass that shimmered as if dusted with frost. The air itself transformed—cleaner, sweeter, carrying the faint perfume of night-blooming jasmine and distant cedar. Above, the indigo sky softened into a perpetual dusk, as though a velvet curtain had been drawn across the bleeding black sun, allowing only the gentlest edges of starlight to seep through.
Lumora.
The Theocracy of Eternal Dawn.
We stood at the invisible seam where shadow surrendered to radiance. A single white marble arch marked the boundary—slender, elegant, carved with interlocking rings of sun and moon fused into an unbroken loop.
No guards.
No visible wards.
Yet the air pressed against my skin like a hand on my chest.
You do not belong here.
Sylvara halted at the threshold.
The diffused light caught her silver hair, igniting it from within. For the first time since the Marches, her posture softened—not in relief, but in something closer to reverence.
Or regret.
"This is as far as the bindings will let me lead without consequence," she said quietly. "Cross this line, and every Blade Saint, every Dawn Seer, every child trained with a wooden sword will know an abomination has entered the heartlands."
I studied the arch.
The eclipse threads tugged forward—eager. The serpent's core fragment, nestled beneath my scales against my sternum, pulsed in slow harmony with the marble rings above.
"Then we cross."
Sylvara's emerald gaze locked onto mine. "Lumora does not forgive. It purifies. They will come for you not as soldiers—but as believers. They will burn until either you are gone or they are."
I smiled. Fangs caught the soft dusk.
"I've been ash before," I said. "It didn't take."
Nyxara slipped to my side, shadows clinging to her even here. "How sweet. The princess worries."
Sylvara's hand brushed her hilt. "I worry about what happens when zeal meets eclipse. The prophecies speak of a shadow that devours dawn. They have prepared for you for centuries."
"Then they've had time to practice."
Elara snorted. "If they want a fight, they'll get one. I've burned prettier temples."
Veyra spoke from the rear, cautious. "The Sovereign has agents here. I could signal—"
"No," I cut in. "We move silent."
She nodded once.
I stepped forward.
SFX: TIIIIING—
The moment my boot passed beneath the arch, the world noticed.
A chime resonated—not sound, but bone-deep vibration. The marble rings flared white-gold, then dimmed. The silver grass bent away from my shadow as if it were a sickness.
Far away, along the false horizon, lights ignited—pinpricks at first, then dozens, then hundreds.
Ground-stars.
Awakening.
"They know," Sylvara breathed. "Minutes. Maybe less."
"Then we don't waste them."
Lumora's heartlands were a lie made beautiful.
White stone lanes. Silver-leaf orchards. Crystal fountains that sang without wind. Open pavilions where robed figures meditated in perfect stillness.
Eternal.
Unchanging.
Pure.
We avoided the roads.
Nyxara guided us beneath fractured light—where leaves broke radiance into weakness. Sylvara led us toward the Spire of First Light: a needle of white crystal that pierced the false dusk like judgment itself. At its base lay the Vault of Dawn.
The fragment was there.
The serpent had shown me enough to know.
We reached the outer gardens in under ten minutes.
Already the lights were converging.
Sylvara stopped at the ward-ring: slender obelisks encircling the Spire, woven together by a lattice of golden light.
"It recognizes blood," she said. "Mine will pass. Yours will burn."
I rested a hand on her shoulder. Eclipse and light rippled, neither yielding.
"Then bleed for us."
She didn't hesitate.
Moon-silver dagger.
Palm opened.
Blood luminous.
She pressed her hand to the obelisk.
SFX: SHRRRR—
The lattice parted.
We slipped through.
The air inside was charged—heavy. The Spire loomed above, refracting rainbows across our skin. At its base, a seamless marble door waited, bearing only a hand-shaped depression.
Sylvara stepped forward—
SFX: BOOOOM—
The ground shook.
Blade Saints descended from every direction—white-and-gold armor, moonlight blades drawn as one.
At their head stood a woman tall and iron-straight, silver hair streaked with gray, eyes the pale gold of winter dawn.
High Blade Matriarch Lirien Veyne.
Sylvara's grandmother.
"Step away from the vault," Lirien said calmly. "The abomination must not touch what lies within."
Sylvara didn't move. "This is necessity."
Lirien's gaze shifted to me—cold, absolute. "The shadow that devours light must be extinguished."
I stepped between them.
"Then do it."
Lirien raised her sword.
The Saints advanced.
SFX: FWOOOOOM—CLAAANG—
Elara tore into the left flank, axes blazing.
Nyxara vanished, reappearing behind the right—violet death blooming.
Veyra fought defensively, precise, grim.
At the center—
Moonlight met moonlight.
Sylvara and Lirien clashed, blades moving too fast for breath. Training against training. Blood streaked Sylvara's cheek.
I walked past them.
Saints tried to intercept.
I raised my hand.
Eclipse answered.
Their blades dimmed. Light bled away. One lunged—I snapped his wrist. Another struck—his sword dissolved in my shoulder.
I reached the door.
"Now!" Sylvara cried.
She broke from her grandmother, bloodied but standing, and slammed her palm into the depression.
SFX: HAAAAAA—
The door sang.
It opened.
Inside—darkness.
Absolute. Hungry.
At the center floated the shard: azure crystal veined with black starlight.
I took it.
The Spire screamed.
Light inverted.
And a voice—not memory.
Alive.
Two pieces claimed. One remains.
The final key sleeps in the heart of the one who hates you most.
The vision ended.
Outside, every Saint had frozen.
Cracks raced up the Spire.
"You have doomed us," Lirien whispered.
"Not doomed," Sylvara said, standing beside me. "Awakened."
I felt the threads tighten—closer now.
"The last piece is in Nocturne," I said. "In the Sovereign's throne room."
Nyxara smiled. "Home."
I raised the shard.
SFX: WHOOM—
Eclipse surged.
Light bent.
Every blade flickered out.
Darkness fell.
"We're leaving."
No one stopped us.
Not yet.
We crossed back beneath the arch.
The silver grass bent toward us.
Behind, the Spire groaned—one crystal facet shattering like falling starlight.
The border of light had been crossed.
And the eclipse—
Was spreading.