They followed the sound into the main hall.
The chamber was vast, its vaulted ceiling swallowed by shadow. Faded banners hung like torn shrouds, their colors long bled away. At the center, standing on a cracked mosaic, waited a figure they all knew—black wings unfurled, a long tail swaying with lazy precision.
"Nakea…" Kael's grip tightened on his sword.
The demon girl turned. Crimson eyes glinted with amusement—and something older. Her face was young; her gaze was not.
"Well, this is disappointing," she said, almost playful. "I was hoping for a challenge."
One beat of her wings sent a shockwave through the hall. Stone groaned. Kael braced, but Nakea was already there—fingers closing on his sword arm. With effortless strength she flung him across the room, armor and all.
Mira's Twin Arcs blazed to life: a ribbon of flame, then a folding wave of ice. Nakea stepped aside and the spells savaged the floor behind her.
"Too slow," she murmured—then vanished, reappearing at Mira's shoulder. A single tap sent the mage skidding backward, boots screaming against stone.
Elira rushed in, Lumeveil flashing gold. For a heartbeat, light and shadow coiled along the edge—an unmeant blend. Nakea's eyes narrowed with interest; she caught the blade on a bare palm and pushed Elira back without drawing a weapon.
Her smile sharpened. "You… remind me of them. Your parents."
Elira froze. "What do you—"
"Too much of your father's stubborn courage," Nakea went on, stepping away. "And the same dangerous spark your mother carried."
She turned her head slightly, eyes cutting toward Mira. "And you—little ringbearer. The way your fire and water reach for each other… that temper is inherited. Your kin tried to braid elements that hate sharing a stage." A faint laugh. "They paid for the attempt, but the pattern survived in you."
Mira's jaw tightened. "Say their names."
Nakea's lashes lowered. "Names are the first things history steals. But I remember the sound of their magic—how frost sang inside flame, how tide smothered ember only to feed it brighter."
Her gaze slid to Kael. "And you, stone-child. Your step is honest. Your guard remembers a fist that made pikelines buckle. He wore a second skin that the storm obeyed." The corner of her mouth lifted. "You're quieter than he was."
Kael set his stance, breath even. "He stood. I will too."
Nakea laughed—soft, almost sad. "Compared to them, the three of you are still far too weak."
Mira lifted the rings, heat and frost whispering at the edges. "Then stop talking and—"
"Grow," Nakea cut in, voice unhurried. "Or come find me when you're ready to hear the truth."
She spread her wings. Wind ripped through the hall, banners snapping, dust spiraling upward—and then she was gone, swallowed by the dark above.
Silence crashed back in.
Kael hauled himself up, armor dented but sound. "What was that about?"
Mira pushed to her feet, eyes still on the ceiling vaults. "She knew them—ours as well as hers." A beat. "And she wasn't guessing."
Elira tightened her hold on Lumeveil. The echo of Nakea's words clung to the stone like a curse she could not shake. Somewhere beneath her ribs, the blade-spirit's voice steadied into a quiet line:
Do not let borrowed truths decide you. Choose when to listen—and when to cut.