The portal collapsed with a sound like breaking glass, leaving only silence and the sting of cold air where the light had been.
Noje's hand still tingled from touching it. Her chest still echoed with the memory of Zarin's scream. He knelt on the stone floor, shoulders hunched, breath ragged, as if every thread in his body had been pulled too tight and then cut.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know..."
"You couldn't have," he said, voice raw. "No Creator has ever stayed long enough to learn."
The silence that followed was louder than any scream. The wraiths had vanished with the portal, melting into the shadows like they had never existed—but something else remained. Not visible. Not audible. Just a pressure in the air that made Noje's skin crawl.
That was when she saw her.
A silhouette stood farther down the corridor, still as carved stone. She didn't emerge—she had always been there. Watching. Waiting.
Zarin looked up—and went completely still.
His face drained of color. It wasn't just pale, it was as if something had been ripped from him. A name escaped his lips, barely more than breath.
"That's impossible…"
The figure stepped into the torchlight.
She was beautiful in the way armor could be beautiful—sharp, sleek, commanding. A warrior built for both grace and ruin. Dark hair braided with silver wire shimmered in the dim light. Her eyes were a warm shade of brown, wide and gentle, the kind that invited trust before reason could argue.
But there was something wrong.
Her movements were too smooth. Too deliberate. Like someone imitating the act of being alive rather than actually living it.
"Hello, Zarin." Her voice was soft steel, polished and calm. "I've been looking for you."
Noje didn't move. She didn't even blink.
Because she recognized the name before he said it. She had seen it, scribbled in the margins of concept pages she never published. Half-rendered sketches of a girl with braided hair and a sword twice her size.
Zarin's voice broke the air.
"Eunha."
Her name held weight. It was a whisper. A wound. A wish.
"You're—how are you here?"
Eunha smiled, and for a second it was radiant. Almost too radiant.
"Does it matter?" she said. "I'm here now. We're together again."
She stepped closer, arms opening slightly, like she meant to reach for him.
Noje's stomach dropped.
Eunha's shadow fell across the stone floor—but it bent the wrong way. It twisted behind her, away from the light. The edges pulsed like ink in water. And it had fingers. Too many. Each one curling toward Zarin, patient and sharp.
Zarin didn't see it.
He was already moving toward her.
"No," Noje breathed. "Zarin..."
He didn't stop. He didn't even hesitate. There was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Not in battle. Not even in pain.
Hope.
Grief.
Longing so raw it bordered on self-destruction.
"I've been looking for you," Eunha said again, softer now, and her eyes locked on his.
But her shadow was smiling.
It was smiling too wide. With too many teeth.
Noje stepped forward, her fingers tightening around the charcoal she hadn't realized she still held.
She didn't know what Eunha was. Not yet. But she knew a drawing gone wrong when she saw one.
And whatever this version of Eunha was...
She hadn't walked back into this world alone.