The stars above him bled.
Joe sat upright, gasping. The earth beneath him was soft, velvet-dark, glowing faintly with constellations that moved beneath the surface like swimming fish. The circle of flame on his chest throbbed with heat—not painful, but present, like a heartbeat.
There was no Warden. No gate. No voice guiding him.
Only the sky—and the sound of quiet weeping.
It wasn't human. It was the sky itself, mourning.
"Where am I now?" Joe muttered, standing slowly. His limbs felt heavier, not from exhaustion but from gravity that didn't belong to this world.
As he walked, memories flickered at the edges of the plain. Ghosts of things not yet lost: a face he didn't recognize, whispering a name he hadn't learned; a tower rising in fire; a girl with white eyes and black wings.
The seventh eye remained open.
He moved toward the sound of the weeping.
Through a field of ancient statues—each one bearing his face. Some were kneeling. Others reaching. One was shattered entirely.
In the center stood a tree made of crystal, its branches reaching into the sky like pleading hands. It cried light. Drops of starlight fell from its leaves and vanished before touching the ground.
Beneath the tree stood someone waiting.
A woman.
She looked young and impossibly old, her body wrapped in tattered silk, her hair drifting like smoke.
Joe approached carefully.
"You're not the Warden," he said.
"No," she replied. Her voice sounded like music, layered with echoes. "I am the one who watches what remains. The Archivist."
"What is this place?"
"The Vein of the Sky. The last layer before your crossing. Here, all that has been remembered must now be chosen."
Joe felt the pressure then. A thousand choices bearing down on him.
"I don't understand what I'm meant to do."
The Archivist stepped aside.
Behind her, nestled in the tree's roots, was a coffin. Simple, ancient, and bound in gold thread.
"You must bury the last thing you swore you never would," she said. "Only then can you enter the Final Spiral."
Joe stepped forward, trembling. "And if I refuse?"
"Then your path ends here. You may carry your power. But never your peace."
He looked at the coffin.
He knew what had to go.
He placed his hand on the lid.
And whispered her name.
The coffin opened, swallowed the word, and sealed shut.
The circle on his chest burned bright. Then dimmed.
The stars stopped weeping.
Joe turned back to the Archivist.
"I'm ready."
She nodded. "Then walk the sky. One last time."
The plain cracked.
A stairway of light appeared, rising endlessly.
Joe stepped onto it, eyes forward.
End of Chapter 9.