The city of Yvarra had never looked so alien.
What was once a familiar skyline of marble towers and crystalline domes now shimmered with strange energy, warped by the ever-widening tear between realms. The once-clear skies were streaked with aurora-like ribbons, fragments of the Realm of Echoes leaking into reality. Magic surged in the air like a second heartbeat, humming beneath the cobblestone streets and in the spaces between words.
Aelric stood atop the Western Spire, the highest vantage point in Yvarra, staring down at the fractured horizon. The tear had grown again overnight, splitting the sky just above the Citadel's heart. It pulsed like a wound refusing to close, its violet light bleeding into the clouds.
"The portal's unstable," Kael muttered beside him. "We thought we were sealing it, but instead... it's feeding on something."
Aelric didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the shape just barely visible within the portal's core—a silhouette, moving slowly but purposefully. Not a monster, not a shadow. A person. Watching them.
"You see it too," said Isolde, her voice carrying the tremble of unease. She joined them, clutching her rune-forged spear, its tip glowing faintly. "The one inside the portal."
Aelric nodded. "I've seen them for the last three nights. Every time I close my eyes, they're closer."
Kael's brow furrowed. "A projection? A memory?"
"No," Isolde said firmly. "It's a warning."
They descended the spire in silence, the city whispering beneath them. Everywhere, people were preparing—packing, praying, some fleeing. The nobles had already abandoned their estates, leaving behind empty halls and frightened servants. Even the Academy had shuttered its libraries. Only the Wardens remained, and even they were growing uneasy.
When they returned to the courtyard, Arin was waiting. His hands were smeared with soot, his cloak torn, and a fresh burn streaked across his left arm.
"The glyph-stabilizers failed," he said grimly. "The last anchor point melted before we could redirect the flow. The portal isn't just opening—it's pulling from both realms."
Aelric rubbed his temple. "So we either let it consume this world... or we go inside and sever the tether from within."
Silence fell.
"You're not serious," Kael said.
"I am," Aelric replied. "That figure… whoever they are, they're calling to us. They're not attacking. They're waiting."
Isolde shifted. "It could be a trap."
"Or it could be the only way out."
That night, they stood before the portal.
It had grown into a churning vortex, a storm of color and sound that defied logic. It spun slowly, impossibly, suspended between the twin pillars of the Old Citadel's gate. Energy crackled across its surface. Symbols older than language shimmered across its edge like fireflies caught in a gale.
Aelric placed his palm against the air just inches from the vortex. It felt warm—comforting, even—like a home he never remembered living in.
"I can't explain it," he said softly. "But this… feels familiar."
"You've touched the other world too many times," Arin warned. "Your soul might already be half-there."
Aelric smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Then I'm the best candidate to go through."
Kael stepped forward. "You're not going alone."
"I figured you'd say that."
Isolde and Arin joined them, forming a silent agreement forged in fire, blood, and heartbreak. They had started this journey together. They would see it through.
Without further words, they stepped into the portal.
The transition was not immediate.
It was like falling without speed, like drowning without water. The world stretched, unraveled, folded over itself. Sounds echoed as if in reverse, and light refracted through memories rather than lenses. Aelric felt himself split and merge again, the core of who he was being peeled back and examined by something ancient and indifferent.
Then… stillness.
They stood on a floating pathway of black obsidian, suspended in an ocean of stars. Each star pulsed with rhythm, like heartbeats in the distance. Above them stretched constellations they didn't recognize, and below, fragments of familiar places drifted—Yvarra's spires, the Academy's towers, the ruins of ancient cities.
"Where are we?" Kael asked, breathless.
"The Echoing Way," whispered Isolde. "The space between worlds."
Ahead, the figure waited.
They wore robes of midnight and a mask that shimmered like polished moonstone. In one hand, they held a staff topped with a crystal identical to the one Aelric had retrieved from the collapsed Temple of Veyrn. In the other… was nothing. Yet the presence of power radiated from their body like a second sun.
"I've been waiting," the figure said. Their voice was layered—male and female, young and old. "You have come far, Aelric of Yvarra. But your journey has only begun."
"Who are you?" Aelric asked. "Why show yourself to me?"
"Because your heart was unchained by fate. You, among them, chose love over prophecy. You broke the loop."
Aelric's heart stilled. "You know about Lira."
"I know everything. I am the Keeper of What Could Have Been."
The others bristled.
"You caused this rift?" Kael demanded.
"No," the Keeper replied. "I am its guardian. The rift opened when prophecy was defied. When love conquered destiny. The price of freedom... is always imbalance."
"Then what do you want from us?" Isolde asked.
"To restore balance," the Keeper said, stepping aside. "Beyond this path lies the Nexus of Echoes, where choices birth worlds. One of you must decide: seal the rift and forget what was lost… or embrace the divergence and face what comes."
Aelric clenched his fists. "There has to be another way."
"There is always another way," the Keeper said softly. "But not always a way without cost."
They reached the Nexus after what felt like hours—or seconds.
It was a hollow sphere of light, swirling with moments past and possible. Within it, Aelric saw flashes of his life—meeting Lira in the rain-soaked ruins, holding her as the world burned, watching her vanish in his arms. He saw Kael's loyalty, Isolde's pain, Arin's sacrifice. He saw every version of himself he could have been.
And then… he saw her.
Lira stood in the center of the light, untouched by time.
"Aelric," she whispered. "You came."
He ran to her, heart aching with every step.
"I never stopped trying," he said.
"I know." She touched his face. "But I don't belong here. I'm only an echo… a fragment left behind when the worlds were torn."
"I can bring you back."
"No," she said. "But you can remember me. And you can choose."
Behind him, the Keeper raised their hand. "It is time."
Aelric turned to the sphere.
Two paths emerged—one glowing gold, the other pulsing blue. One would seal the rift, return Yvarra to stability, and erase all memory of what had happened. The other would keep the connection open—unstable, dangerous, but full of possibility.
He looked at his friends. At Lira.
And he stepped forward.