The flames didn't fade. They rose higher—licking the spines of ancient tomes, igniting the ceiling of the chamber with whispers only the dead could understand. Lyra and Raven stood motionless, hands still stained with the blood they'd willingly offered. But the ground didn't shake. The relic didn't glow. There was only silence.
And then—
something shattered.
Not a wall. Not a stone. Something older.
The heartbeat of the realm itself.
Lyra felt it first. Her magic recoiled, curling inward like a dying star. Pain lanced through her chest, not physical—but ancestral. Her veins burned with frost, her bones creaked with heat. She gasped, stumbling, and Raven caught her.
"It's taking something," she rasped.
Raven's grip tightened. "No. It's deciding."
The relic pulsed once. Then again. And on the third pulse, the chamber cracked open like a wound.
They were no longer underground.
They stood at the heart of the veil.
Everything was weightless here. Clouds of stardust floated past forgotten ruins, fractured time stitched together with light. The echoes of other selves shimmered around them—choices they didn't make, kisses never taken, battles they never fought.
And before them, a mirror.
No—**not a mirror.**
A door.
Inscribed with a language they shouldn't understand. But they did. Because the bond made it so.
**One must stay. One must forget.**
Lyra's breath hitched. "That's the price."
Raven's eyes darkened. "Separation."
**A life for balance. A memory for peace.**
They stood in silence as the meaning settled into their bones. The prophecy never asked for death.
It demanded loss.
Either Lyra or Raven would have to remain trapped in the veil—alone, guarding the doorway between realms. The other would return, but without any memory of the bond, the battles, or the love that had grown in the shadows.
"You can't ask me to forget you," Lyra whispered, eyes brimming.
"You can't ask me to leave you," Raven replied, voice breaking.
The veil pulsed.
**Choose.**
Raven stepped forward first. Of course he did.
"You have a realm to protect, Lyra. Your people need you."
"They need *us.* Not just me."
He smiled, faint and heartbreaking. "Then remember me in dreams. I'll haunt them gently."
Lyra's hands trembled. Her body moved before her heart could catch up.
She shoved him.
Hard.
Into the light.
Raven's scream was swallowed by the veil.
And then—
nothing.
She stood alone, before the doorway, breath ragged, throat raw. But the veil settled. The realms quieted. The relic vanished.
The balance was paid.
Somewhere far away, in the waking world, Raven blinked awake in a quiet forest clearing. He held no memory of Lyra. No memory of sacrifice.
Just a strange ache in his chest.
And a name on his lips he couldn't place.
Lyra.
Back in the veil, she stood sentinel. Silent. Still.
And smiling—because she remembered enough for them both.