She was twelve.
Her name was Neve, and she lived in a house that used to burn every third Friday. Only now, it didn't. Because she'd changed it.
Lucas found her after the cocoon's defeat, guided by a dream from the Seed. Neve sat on a rooftop, staring at a dead crow she claimed would fly again next week.
"You're from one of the broken paths," she said, not looking at him.
"What does that mean?"
"You were supposed to be ash. But you're still moving. So are your choices."
She turned to him, eyes filled with stars that hadn't risen yet.
"I remember all the timelines. At least the ones Ephraal broke. Some bleed back into me."
Lucas knelt beside her. "Why me? Why now?"
Neve held out a drawing. Crayon on torn paper. It showed Lucas, Corin, and herself standing before a gate of bone. Behind it: the outline of a throne.
"This is where it ends," she said. "And begins again."
Lucas stared. "Is that… me on the throne?"
Neve smiled.
"Only if you forget why you're standing."