In the husk of a derelict Watcher vault, deep beneath Kyrra's shattered bones, something stirs.
A mirror broke.
From its face emerged ink-dark threads—not such as those of the Loom, but gnawing, knotted, born of failure. A shape coalesced out of shadow—featureless, shrouded in whispers. Not god nor man.
It whirled towards the surface, and the mirror before it bloomed with hundreds of faces—Kael, Elira, Astren, and the shattered pieces of the world they fought to free.
"Freedom…" it sighed. "A fantasy so fragile."
And it began to rise.
---
Atop the hill, Kael stood beside Elira on the edge of the circle, watching the sun sink into gold.
"I pictured it would be more an ending," Elira whispered.
Kael wrapped his hand around hers. "Perhaps that is so because it isn't."
A first flare of a new campfire flickered behind them. More would be lit in the hour. From sea to shining sea. By those who were free to define their own purpose.
