The morning sun never rose in Caelith the way it did in Liora. Here, the light crept through a haze of lavender mist, bleeding over the horizon like a bruise healing in reverse. Everything about this place felt like a memory retold through someone else's dream—distorted, haunting, and beautiful.
Aeryn stood on the edge of a crumbling balcony that jutted from the high towers of the Skyfall Citadel. His fingers traced the etched runes on the stone railing, ancient symbols of flight and freedom, though now the sky above felt like a cage. The winds whispered to him—not with words, but with emotion, regret, and longing. The same sensations he tried so hard to bury since coming to this realm.
Behind him, footsteps. Barely audible. He didn't turn.
"You didn't sleep again," Seris said quietly.
He nodded, not breaking his gaze from the horizon. "Didn't want to."
She joined him at the edge, her dark hair braided with shards of starlight—tokens from her people, the Skynaughts. "You heard it again last night, didn't you? The voice."
"It's getting clearer. It's not just whispers anymore. It called me by name this time." He finally looked at her. "It knew things… about me. Things I never told anyone. Not even you."
Seris's expression didn't change, but her hand subtly tightened on the hilt of her dagger. "We need to speak to the Veilkeeper."
Aeryn shook his head. "He warned us to stay away from the Astral Crypt. Said the veil is thin there, unstable."
"And yet your voice—this… calling—it's coming from beyond the veil. We can't keep pretending it's a coincidence. Not after what we saw in the mirrors yesterday."
The memory flickered through him like a jolt of electricity: reflections that moved out of sync, showing not his face, but versions of himself—older, bloodied, broken, smiling. One even had wings.
"Do you believe in alternate selves?" he asked suddenly.
Seris blinked. "You mean… like versions of us in other timelines? Other worlds?"
He nodded slowly.
"I believe we're not the only ones steering our fate. And I believe some parts of us remember what others forget."
Their eyes met, and for the first time in days, Aeryn felt grounded. "Then we go to the Astral Crypt."
The descent into the crypt was like diving into the throat of a sleeping god. The deeper they walked, the more the air pressed against them, thick with memories and lost dreams. The torches didn't burn here—they shimmered, light curling like fog instead of flickering flames.
The entrance to the Astral Crypt loomed ahead, flanked by two obsidian statues, both cloaked and faceless. Their hands were outstretched, palms upward, each cradling a shard of clear crystal that pulsed faintly as Seris and Aeryn approached.
"No turning back," Seris murmured.
Aeryn touched the nearest statue. The crystal pulsed brighter.
The door slid open without a sound.
Inside, the crypt was a cathedral of stars. The floor was obsidian glass, reflecting constellations that didn't exist in their world. Above them, galaxies spun slowly, suspended in ghostlight. The center of the room held a pool—not of water, but of memory.
It shimmered silver, the surface rippling with unspoken truths.
Aeryn stepped forward. The voice returned—this time like a sigh brushing across his soul.
"Aeryn... remember who you were..."
He froze. "Did you hear that?"
Seris shook her head. "I just heard your name—echoed. But nothing else."
He knelt by the pool. As he looked into its depths, the ripples formed images—his childhood in Liora, the fall of the Arcane Keep, the day his sister vanished into the portal. But then, something new.
A battlefield.
Himself—wearing silver armor laced with violet flame, standing atop a ruined gate, wings of shadow arching from his back. Around him, hundreds knelt in surrender.
"What… is this?"
"A shard of you," the voice whispered. "One path. One truth. Forgotten… but not lost."
Seris looked down. "I see it too now. That can't be an illusion."
The room trembled slightly.
A second image formed—a version of Seris, not as she was now, but cloaked in radiant gold, leading the Skynaughts in battle, eyes glowing with ancient power. Her reflection smiled—but it wasn't a kind smile. It was calculating.
They pulled back from the pool at the same time.
"This place shows more than possibilities," Seris said. "It shows fragments—potential selves. Realities that once were, or could be. But… why?"
Aeryn's hand clenched. "Because someone—or something—is trying to remind us of what we've forgotten. And the closer we get to the veil, the more dangerous it becomes."
Just then, the stars above them blinked out, one by one.
Then… silence.
Then… laughter.
Not cruel. Not mocking. But familiar.
A figure stepped from the shadowed corner of the crypt. Cloaked in flowing dusk-colored robes, with a face hidden behind a silver mask carved like a broken moon.
"Welcome back, Aeryn of Liora," the figure said. "It's about time."