The wind near the cliff had gone still—not from peace, but because something unseen was listening. Lana stood at the edge, boots planted in dry moss, the tips of her fingers tingling. Beneath her skin, something hummed like a buried string being plucked by memory.
It wasn't a voice, not exactly. It was a song. Wordless. Hollow. Low and strange and sad enough to make her heart twitch in her chest like it recognized the sound but didn't know from where.
"It's calling you again," Kieran said beside her, his voice quieter than usual, like he didn't want to interrupt whatever was rising out of the ravine.
Lana gave a slow nod, but didn't turn her head. "It's different this time," she murmured. "Not a warning. Not a trap. It's like it's been waiting for me."
Nyx was already working. Her screen buzzed and flickered with strange pulses, the signal reacting to something beneath them. "There's a frequency spike. South of us, about fifty meters. A new ravine just formed—less than a day old."
Jason didn't look thrilled. He rubbed the back of his neck, tension bleeding into his jaw. "And let me guess—you want to go toward the creepy singing pit in the middle of the unknown."
Lana said nothing.
Which was answer enough.
Jason sighed. "Of course you do."
"It's not a trap," she repeated. "It's a challenge."
She turned—and with that one look, ended the debate. The group followed her without another word.
---
The descent into the ravine was uneasy. The trail wasn't carved so much as offered—black moss thickened under their feet, creating uneven footholds that led downward in winding spirals. Crimson-veined stone glowed faintly along the walls, casting a muted, unsettling light.
The further they went, the heavier the air became. Not in temperature, but in feeling. Like they were walking into someone's grief.
"It's not natural," Jason muttered, stepping cautiously behind Nyx.
"It's not meant to be," she replied without looking. "The terrain is responding to Lana."
Lana heard them, but their voices felt distant. The song in her head was louder now—still without words, but full of something like longing.
At the bottom of the ravine, the world opened into a hollowed space surrounded by jagged stone. In its center stood a dome.
It didn't look man-made, or even machine-built. It looked grown. Seamless. Smooth like polished bone, but faintly translucent. Light pulsed inside, soft and rhythmic—like a heartbeat waiting for a reason to beat faster.
The song was loudest here.
Lana approached, slowly. Her hand reached out, almost of its own accord.
Jason called from behind her. "Lana, wait—"
But her fingers were already on the surface.
The moment her skin touched the dome, the world unraveled.
A wave of raw, unfiltered memory hit her—so sudden it stole her breath. Her knees buckled. She didn't fall, because Kieran was already there. He caught her as her eyes rolled back, lowering her gently to the mossy ground.
"Lana!"
She didn't respond. Her fingers twitched, and her chest rose and fell like she was trapped inside a dream that wouldn't let go.
Nyx knelt beside her. "She's not hurt. There's no trauma spike. It's psychic resonance—something inside the dome is syncing with her. Testing her."
Then the dome pulsed. Once.
Then again—stronger.
The whole ravine vibrated.
And then it happened.
The dome exploded.
Not violently. Not destructively. It released. Like a sigh held for centuries.
A pulse of energy slammed outward.
Kieran threw himself over Lana, shielding her with his body. The blast pushed against his back like a wave of pressure and light.
Jason stumbled sideways, losing his footing. He twisted mid-fall to protect his gear, hitting the dirt with a grunt as his scanner bounced beside him.
Nyx dropped to one knee, raising her arms to shield her face from the searing white flash. Her fingers caught the edge of the light, and she hissed, ducking lower.
Then—silence.
Dust floated through the air like falling embers.
And Lana—
Lana stood.
Her movements were slow but deliberate. Her hands flexed at her sides. Her breathing was steady. Her eyes opened—and they were no longer just her own.
Gold rimmed her irises, flickering like light off metal. Across her brow, barely visible, two faint ridges had begun to form. Not grotesque. Not monstrous. Just... different. Like the beginning of horns not yet ready to emerge.
Jason pushed to his feet, cradling his bruised shoulder. "She's growing them again."
Nyx stepped closer, her voice quiet but certain. "Every time she connects to a shard, it pushes her forward. The changes aren't just physical. They're symbolic. She's not becoming a Throneshard... she's becoming the core they orbit."
Jason stared. "So she's the eye of the storm now."
"She's the one it all remembers."
Lana didn't say a word. She walked toward them with calm steps. Her skin glowed faintly, as though some of the light from the dome had decided to stay with her.
Then she stopped—right in front of Kieran.
"I need you," she said.
There was no drama in it. No urgency. Just truth.
Kieran stepped into her without hesitation. His hands found her waist. Her fingers tangled in his hair. And when their lips met, there was nothing gentle about it.
It was violent in how soft it felt. Urgent in how slow it was. His breath caught in her mouth. Her body pressed into his like she was afraid of forgetting the shape of him.
Their kiss deepened. Their mouths learning each other again—not for the first time, but like they had forgotten how close they had become.
Nyx blinked, blushing faintly. "Should we... um..."
Jason turned his back and started walking. "Nope. I'm going to go scout before this turns into a biology lesson."
Nyx followed. "They're not even pretending we're here."
Now alone, Lana and Kieran sank to the mossy ground. They didn't speak. They didn't need to.
The world had stopped trying to rush them.
Her fingers traced the scar on his collarbone. His lips brushed her pulse. They moved in quiet rhythm, the way only people who've fought too long and lost too much know how to do—like they'd earned this.
When Lana whispered, "You're mine," it wasn't a question.
Kieran's voice rumbled against her throat. "Always."
The stars above didn't blink.
The earth didn't judge.
The song that had called her had gone quiet—because she had answered it.
But across the cracked sky, somewhere far beyond this quiet moment, another shard awoke.
And it had felt her.
And it did not feel love.