The High Ring had always felt like a world above the world.
Its towers rose higher than the tallest spires of Lyrien, catching the first light of dawn and holding it long after the streets below were swallowed by shadow. From its balconies, one could watch storms forming over distant mountains, see airships trace silver paths through the sky, and glimpse the slow turning of the stars themselves.
It was beautiful.
It was powerful.
And now, to Miren, it felt like a cage.
She stood alone in the chamber the council had assigned her — an elegant room of crystal and pale stone, far finer than anything she had ever known in the Archives. Silk curtains stirred in a faint, enchanted breeze. The floor glimmered with softly glowing sigils meant to keep the air warm and clean. Even the air itself felt curated, controlled, as though nothing here was allowed to exist unless it had been approved.
None of it felt like hers.
Beyond the tall window, Lyrien spread out beneath her in layers of light and shadow. Lanterns drifted through the air like fireflies. Bridges glowed with flowing runes. Somewhere far below, people walked through their lives, laughed in taverns, argued in marketplaces, fell in love, and went to sleep unaware that ancient forces were shifting far above their heads.
They didn't know that the world was already changing.
"They're going to keep me here, aren't they?" Miren whispered.
They will try, Arkel replied within her, his voice like distant starlight brushing against her thoughts. They believe walls and wards make things safe.
"Do they?"
No. They make things trapped.
The word settled in her chest like a stone.
Trapped.
Miren had spent most of her life among shelves of forgotten histories, hidden from the world. Safe, yes — but unseen. Overlooked. Erased in quiet ways no one noticed. And now, for the first time, everyone was looking at her.
And she had never felt so alone.
Her hand drifted to the faint glow beneath her collarbone, where Arkel's presence pulsed like a second heartbeat. There was a warmth there now — not heat, not pain — just something alive, awake, aware of her.
She felt it when she breathed.
She felt it when she was afraid.
Part of her wanted to curl inward, to disappear back into quiet obscurity.
Another part of her — deeper, older — stirred like a sleeping storm.
For open sky.
For motion.
For the truth she had buried.
A knock broke the silence.
"Enter," she said softly.
Seren stepped inside, his boots echoing faintly against the crystalline floor. His dark eyes flicked once to the door, then to the window, as though measuring escape routes without thinking.
"They're moving you," he said. "Permanent quarters. Inner Wing. More guards."
Miren's fingers tightened against the stone ledge of the window. "So I really am a prisoner."
"Not officially," Seren replied. "But in every way that matters."
"And if I refuse?"
His jaw tightened. "Then you become a problem."
They will not let you go easily, Arkel murmured.
Miren turned back to Seren. "What would you do?"
He hesitated — just a breath — before answering. "I'd want to see the horizon before I let someone else decide where my world ends."
Something in her chest pulled tight.
Not long after he left, Lady Aveline arrived.
She didn't wear her council robes tonight. Instead she wore simple gray, the kind of clothing meant for moving quietly through places no one was supposed to be.
"You have a choice," Aveline said softly. "Stay under the High Ring's protection… or leave."
Miren's breath caught. "Leave?"
"There are those beyond these walls who believe the Star-Bound Blade must walk the world again," Aveline said. "Not as a weapon — but as balance."
"And the council?"
"They would call it treason."
Arkel stirred, his presence sharpening. There are others who feel us waking, he said. Some will follow. Others will hunt.
"Why tell me this?" Miren asked.
Aveline met her gaze. "Because once, I chose safety over truth. And I have regretted it every day since."
A distant thunder rolled outside — though the sky was clear.
That was not weather.
That was something else.
"You were never meant to be hidden," Arkel whispered. "We were forged for the sky."
Miren swallowed. "What happens if I go?"
"You will be hunted," Aveline said. "You will be forced to remember what you tried to forget."
"And if I stay?"
"You will be safe," Aveline said quietly. "And slowly… you will disappear."
Miren didn't hesitate.
"I'm leaving."
Before midnight, they moved.
Through forgotten corridors and sealed passages, past doors no one had opened in generations, Aveline led them deeper beneath the High Ring. The walls changed here — older stone, older magic. The air smelled faintly of ozone and something metallic.
Far above, unseen eyes were already beginning to turn.
In a distant tower, a watcher of the Oracles paused, sensing a fluctuation in the star-lines.
In a ruined temple beyond the city, a cultist whispered a name long forbidden.
In the far deserts, something ancient shifted beneath the sand.
Mirael was moving.
At last, they reached a vast chamber where a glowing platform waited in silence, its runes humming softly like a held breath.
"The Sky Gate," Aveline said. "Once you step through, there is no returning unnoticed."
Miren took one final look back toward the High Ring.
At the towers.
At the quiet lies.
At the life she was leaving behind.
Her heart pounded — fear and something else braided together.
This is the beginning, Arkel whispered.
She stepped forward.
And the door closed behind her.