The air was different in the between-place.
It didn't move the way wind should. It pressed in, like breath held too long—dense, waiting. Lyra and Raven stood side by side, chests still heaving from the impact of their hearts returning. Neither spoke. Not yet. The silence between them wasn't empty—it pulsed with the weight of what they'd just survived.
Above them, the sigil continued to burn into the sky.
A twisted shape, unfamiliar and yet… deeply known. It bent in on itself like a serpent eating its tail, encircled by flame and frost. As they stared at it, Lyra's body reacted first—her magic surged beneath her skin, not wild, but aware. Alert. Like it recognized something she couldn't name.
Raven reached out and steadied her by the shoulder. "Your veins—"
They glowed. A faint gold, not like her usual magic. This was older. "I feel like something's waking up," she murmured.
He didn't answer right away. His own body was reacting too—his eyes darker than night, and veins under his throat pulsing with crimson threads of energy. Their magic was syncing again… but not like before. This wasn't a quiet pull. It was a scream echoing between them.
"What is this place?" Lyra asked, her voice quiet. "It's not my realm. Not yours either."
"No. It's something else. A seam between everything. The space where the veil thins… or breaks."
They walked forward, slowly, unsure what lay ahead. The ground was cracked stone laced with veins of silver and black. In the distance, there were ruins—half-sunken pillars and twisted metal, structures that defied logic. It looked like a place built by those who had known both creation and catastrophe.
"I saw this place in a vision once," Raven muttered. "But it was a dream I never remembered when I woke."
Lyra touched a broken arch as they passed it. It pulsed under her fingers. "We weren't meant to come here," she whispered. "Or maybe we were always meant to, just… not like this."
The sigil in the sky pulsed once more, and a wave of sound rolled through the land. Not a voice—just a tone. Pure, ancient, and full of warning. Lyra fell to her knees. Raven barely caught himself from collapsing.
And then… they heard a voice.
Not from the sigil. From within the ruins.
"Blood and bond… both spilled and sealed."
They froze.
A figure emerged—draped in what looked like starlight and smoke, its face hidden beneath a hood that shimmered between forms. Male. Female. Neither. Both.
"You've come farther than the last," it said.
Raven stepped in front of Lyra instinctively. "Who are you?"
"I am what remains of those who first bore the curse of connection. The ones who dreamed of uniting the realms before the world was ready."
"You're part of the prophecy," Lyra said, rising. "A guardian?"
The figure laughed softly. "A witness."
It turned to the sigil. "The mark has returned because your bond awakened it. You've survived the creature. But the test was not the end—it was only the opening wound."
Lyra swallowed hard. "What happens now?"
"Now you must choose. Every version of you has failed before. They gave in—to love, to fear, to power. And the realms suffered for it."
The figure raised its hand, and two paths shimmered in the air behind it.
One path showed a vision of the realms united—magic flowing freely, Raven and Lyra standing at the heart of it all, hand in hand. But there was war behind them. Screams. Fire. Loss.
The second showed them apart. The veil restored. Magic balanced but cold. Their lives separate, untouched, unbroken—but alone.
"There's no clean ending," Raven said bitterly.
"There never is," the figure agreed. "But your connection is different. Stronger. You held onto yourselves even when the creature tried to split you. That… changes the possibilities."
Lyra reached for Raven's hand. He took it without hesitation.
"We're not choosing now," she said. "Not yet. We still don't understand the full prophecy."
The figure nodded. "Then understand this—each step forward awakens more of what sleeps. You will be hunted. Tested. The bond between you is not a gift. It is a weapon. One that can heal… or destroy."
And then it was gone.
The sigil above dimmed slightly, but it didn't disappear.
Lyra turned to Raven. "We need answers. Real ones. Not fragments."
"I know someone," he said. "Someone who guards the oldest texts. But getting to him… it won't be safe."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Nothing is anymore."
They turned together, heading toward the next unknown.
The sigil flickered behind them—once, twice.
Then began to bleed.