Lyra's breathing was shallow but rhythmic. Her chest rose and fell beneath the thick velvet sheets, a soft glow pulsing around her body—evidence of the Astral Garden's magic still working within her. Nyelle sat by her side, hand gently over Lyra's forehead, maintaining the tether of residual time energy.
Ren Zian stood in silence at the doorway, his robes still damp with astral dew. His entire being ached—not just physically, but spiritually. The Astral Pact pulsed like a second heartbeat in his chest. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
Nyelle turned her head slowly. "You bonded with her memory, didn't you? With Seris."
Ren's breath caught. "She was there... in some form. She gave me the pact, but it felt more like... a warning."
Nyelle's eyes darkened. "Time can echo things even the gods want buried. If Seris reached you... something worse is coming."
Ren stepped forward, knelt beside Lyra, and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was warm now—no longer deathly pale. He let out a breath of relief. "She's going to make it."
Nyelle gave a faint nod. "Thanks to you. But there's a cost. You know that, right? Astral pacts twist your soul. You're not the same anymore."
He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers. They trembled faintly, as though touched by threads of another realm. Power shimmered under his skin, soft and humming, like it was waiting for something—or someone—to activate it fully.
Later that night, Arin returned with a report: Kael had been seen reappearing on the western ridge, his pride wounded, but his ambition clearly unshaken. Worse, the gods' envoys were becoming more visible. Disguised as messengers, they moved among mortals, whispering chaos and sowing fear.
Ren paced the candlelit war tent. A new pact meant a new ability—"Reverie Bind"—but its full power remained a mystery. For now, all he could feel was its lingering heat and a vivid memory of Seris whispering: "Your next bond will break you."
He stared at the map spread across the oak table. Small pins marked temples, old sanctuaries, forgotten ruins—all potential sites of divine interest. His fingers hovered over a region shrouded in perpetual twilight.
The Temple of Hollow Echoes.
He didn't know how he knew the name, but it felt lodged in his bones.
A sudden cry echoed from the medical tent.
Ren sprinted out, nearly colliding with Nyelle. They reached Lyra's bedside as her eyes snapped open—golden flame flickering within.
"Zian..." she whispered hoarsely. "Did we win...?"
He took her hand. "You're safe now. Rest."
But she shook her head. "No. I saw something... before the Garden pulled me in. A temple buried in twilight. Someone was calling your name."
Ren froze. "Another pact?"
Nyelle's voice turned cold. "Or a trap."
Lyra struggled to sit up, her hand tightening around his. "You can't go alone. There's more. The voice... it was hers. Seris. Again."
That name again. Echoing like a drumbeat through his fate.
Before Ren could respond, a gentle knock interrupted them. Arin stepped in, her expression unreadable.
"The scouts returned," she said. "Something's coming through the Riftline. Not Kael. Something worse."
"How bad?" Ren asked.
"A divine construct," she replied. "A Soul-Taker. Sent when the gods want to erase someone completely."
Nyelle paled. "They're accelerating. We don't have time."
Ren straightened, his weariness vanishing beneath a hardened gaze. "Then we hit first. The Temple of Hollow Echoes. That's where the next move begins."
Outside, storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast over the mountains.
And far away, in a hall of blackened stone, a cloaked figure whispered into a divine mirror:
"He's awakened the Astral core. We strike at dusk."
The gods were done watching.
They were about to act.