There was no sound at first—only rhythm.
A pulse that trembled through eternity, like the heartbeat of something too vast for the mortal mind to name. Arenne floated at the center of it, her body weightless, her spirit bound by threads of silver and black.
The Veil was no longer a wall—it was a living cosmos, breathing through her veins.
Then came the voices.
Not words, not yet—tones. Whispers. Songs of grief and wonder that folded over one another like waves. Each belonged to a soul: gods long dead, mortals forgotten, shadows erased from time.
And they all called her name.
Arenne… Eternal Queen… Keeper of our fragments…
Her pulse faltered. The sound didn't come from outside—it rose within her, every syllable echoing against the walls of her divine heart.
"What are you?" she whispered.
The Veil's voice responded, calm and infinite:
We are what you left behind. We are the memory of creation—the unending reflection of what cannot die.
"Then I am part of you."
You are our bridge.
Arenne turned slowly, watching as the threads of existence wove themselves into images.
She saw kingdoms that once flourished beneath her reign, now only dust and echo. Lovers who had knelt before her throne. Faces she had kissed, mourned, buried, and forgotten—until now.
And among them… Seraphyne.
The light around her shimmered, taking form: a body woven of memory and longing. She stood only an arm's reach away, her eyes filled with the same steady warmth that had once steadied Arenne through lifetimes.
Arenne reached for her. "Is it really you?"
Seraphyne smiled faintly. "In part. I am what the Veil remembers of me."
"That isn't enough," Arenne said. Her voice cracked, soft but fierce. "I remember the warmth of your hands, your breath against my neck, the way you laughed before dawn. Don't tell me this is all that remains."
Seraphyne's image flickered. "Then make it more. You have that power now."
"I don't want to reshape memory—I want to hold you."
Seraphyne stepped closer, her fingers tracing the air between them, shimmering with light that burned and comforted all at once. "To touch me fully, you'd have to dissolve into the Veil. You'd cease to be queen. You'd become memory too."
Arenne's breath caught. "So that's the choice."
"Always."
The light dimmed. Around them, the threads began to tremble. The songs shifted from reverence to unrest. Something deeper—something not of the light—was stirring within the weave.
The dark thread from before pulsed again, thicker now, spreading veins of shadow through the bright tapestry. The voices turned fearful.
It wakes… the forgotten one… the first echo…
Seraphyne's image flared with sudden intensity. "You must return, Arenne. Before it claims you."
Arenne hesitated, torn between the love that had anchored her for centuries and the world still waiting beyond this realm.
"If I go," she said softly, "will you fade again?"
Seraphyne shook her head. "No. You've already remade me in your heart. The Veil remembers what you love. That is its law."
Arenne closed her eyes, feeling tears form in the weightless space. "Then I'll carry you home."
Seraphyne leaned forward, and though her lips never truly touched, the light between them flared white-hot—memory and divinity merging into one brilliant spark.
The Veil screamed. The dark threads convulsed.
Something ancient and nameless stirred within its depths, whispering like a storm breaking:
You cannot hold both life and eternity, child of light… choose.
The voices of gods, mortals, and memories all fell silent.
Arenne stood alone in the heart of everything—her hand still outstretched, Seraphyne's fading warmth trembling in her palm.
"I've already chosen," she whispered.
And with that, she stepped through the light.
The Veil shattered behind her, not in ruin—but in awakening.
Elarion gasped under the sky as a thousand stars blinked to life, forming new constellations. The air itself hummed with divine pulse. Arenne reappeared in the sanctum, kneeling, glowing faintly with both silver and shadow.
Vaelen and Elyndra ran to her side, speechless.
"What did you bring back?" Elyndra whispered.
Arenne opened her eyes. For the first time, they were not wholly one color—one iris gold, the other deep violet.
"Not what," she said softly. "Who."
The air behind her rippled, and a faint outline—a woman of light—hovered in the space between worlds, smiling through the veil of dawn.
Seraphyne had returned.