The corridor beyond the veil was made of starlight and bone.
Lynchie stumbled forward, her limbs cold from the winds of elsewhere. The figure in black glided ahead, robes whispering without motion. Every step echoed strangely—not like sound on stone, but like thought striking a distant bell.
No one had spoken since the veil sealed behind them.
It wasn't a portal—not really. It felt more like being swallowed. The air here shimmered with concepts she couldn't name. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes burned with uncried tears.
The space reminded her of a dream she'd had once, long ago—a dream where she was not herself, but someone ancient, watching the rise of stars from behind glass rivers.
"Where are we?" she managed to say, her voice frayed.
The figure did not turn. "Between."
"Between what?"
"What you were, and what you will not yet become."
Cryptic. Infuriating.
Lynchie scowled, but her defiance faded as the corridor opened into a dome of obsidian glass. There were no walls—just layers of sky woven into geometric patterns, constellations rearranged into meanings she didn't understand.
At the center floated a pool of light. Not water. Not fire. A liquid made of presence.
Around it stood nine thrones—empty.
The figure stopped and turned.
"You were not chosen, Lynchie Fuentes Regino. You were remembered."
Her name on its tongue felt like prophecy and punishment.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
The figure tilted its head, mask gleaming. "You were meant to sleep through this age. Your birthright buried. Your name forgotten in the folds of mortal time."
Lynchie stepped back. "What are you talking about?"
A tremor ran through the dome. The stars overhead blinked. A breath passed through the air—not hers.
"The Rift broke the veil," the figure continued. "And now memories leak into flesh. The war that shaped the heavens is waking again. And you, lost heir of the Shattered Line, must now walk a path even the Architects feared."
Lost heir. Shattered Line.
She felt like she was going to be sick.
"No," she said. "I'm just a student. I have exams. I—"
"Do not lie to yourself, child of convergence. Your sister Cristine knew. Your brother hides. Even your youngest is already watched."
Her heart seized.
"Niftalyn? What did you do to her?"
The figure raised a hand. "Nothing. Yet. But the Abyss watches those who carry remnants of forbidden light. The angels cannot shield her forever."
"You said I wasn't chosen," Lynchie snapped. "Then let me go. Let someone else fight your forgotten war."
The figure lowered its hand. "You are not here to fight."
Lynchie blinked.
"You are here to witness."
Before she could respond, the pool of light at the center bloomed outward.
A vision surged through her—
A battlefield of broken halos. Wings burned into ash. A dragon asleep beneath a falling star. A mask like the one before her—shattered.
And her own face—not hers, but older, crowned in celestial fire.
Lynchie screamed.
But no sound left her throat.
The light devoured everything.