The stairs sealed up behind them. Not with some dramatic slam—just a soft little shhhp, like the whole world upstairs shrugged and moved on. Maelin didn't bother turning around. Why would she? Whatever was down here... well, you don't just stroll away from that.
The air in the chamber thudded. Not a heartbeat, not really, but something slower, deeper. Dead as hell, honestly. Firelight flickered outta nowhere, tossing weird shadows all over the place. Some of them didn't even care about physics—moving when their owners stood still. Creepy? Yeah.
Right in the middle: a throne. Don't picture gold or velvet or any of that kingly nonsense. This thing looked like someone built it out of broken swords and old heartbreaks. Jagged, half-finished, humming with... not light, but memories. All over its surface, little ghost-scenes played out—wars, secrets, love, betrayals—on a nonstop loop.
Maelin walked forward. Every step felt like wading through regret that'd been left to rot.
Caelum hung back, eyes jittery. "This place... it feels like it remembers us."
Maelin cut him off, voice barely a whisper. "It remembers me."
The throne didn't speak, not exactly. More like something pressing right behind her eyes. And a name bubbled up—one she'd never said, but still hers, somehow.
> "Velastra."
She staggered, sword jittering in her grip like it recognized the name too.
"Did you hear that?" she shot over her shoulder.
Caelum shook his head. "No. But, uh, you're bleeding. From your nose."
She wiped it away, scowling. "Typical."
And then—crack. The throne split right down the center. Something crawled out. Not flesh and blood, more like a smudge of memory and rage. A warped reflection.
It had her face. Just older. Crowned. Eyes on fire.
"Key-Bearer," it said, voice like broken glass. "You shouldn't have come back."
Maelin's grip went white-knuckled. "I didn't come back. I got dragged."
The echo smiled—one of those smiles that makes you want to punch someone or cry, maybe both. "Then the cycle spins up again."
---
Below the Throne
Suddenly the room was doing origami—walls peeling apart, everything shifting. Now Maelin and Caelum stood on a platform, climbing slow as molasses above some bottomless sea of starlight and nothingness.
All around: statues, the old Choir, ancient guardians. Most cracked, leaking light like it hurt. And—yeah, one of them had Maelin's face.
Caelum's voice barely made it out. "They built this for you."
Maelin shook her head, hard. "No. They built it to keep me stuck."
The echo lingered near the throne. "You were never meant to leave the Forge. The Key must stay. The Song must stay silent."
Maelin glared at her ghostly twin. "Too late."
The sword flared. Not with the usual runes, but with stars.
And somewhere, way up past the chamber, past the Forge—something old and heavy turned its gaze her way. It is perfect for publishing