The wind stopped.
Just—gone.
No sound. No movement. The snow froze midair like suspended ash.
Lucien raised his hand, shadowfire twitching at his fingertips.Amara stood slowly, the Blade of Ruhaen gripped tight in her palm. It didn't hum — it listened. Her pulse echoed through it. It wasn't steel. It was sentience.
Then the figure stepped from the frost.
He looked… unfinished.
His face was smooth, too smooth. Hair like bone strands. Eyes the color of mirrors — no whites, no irises, just reflection. A long coat draped over a body that didn't bend quite right. Each step he took bent gravity slightly sideways.
Lucien stepped forward. "You shouldn't be here."
The man smiled. "Neither should she."
Amara raised the blade. "Who are you?"
He tilted his head. "I'm called Morren. Once."
"You're Spiral?"
"No."
"Flame?"
He shook his head. "I was the first to touch the Blade and live. Before the Circle. Before the Flame-Bearers."
Amara tightened her grip. "Then why didn't you take it?"
Morren smiled wider — and this time, something cracked in his cheek. A fissure that glowed.
"Because it chose to wait."
He circled them slowly.
"It's not a weapon. It's a compass. It finds the one who will burn truth into the world's bones. And you—" he looked at Amara, "—are the first who held it without screaming."
Lucien raised a hand. "Stay back."
Morren's head turned too far — unnatural. "Still loyal to her, gatekeeper?"
"Always," Lucien said.
Morren's expression twisted. "And yet you're unraveling. That mark on your chest? That wasn't given. That was claimed. You're being rewritten, Lucien. And I don't think she's ready to watch what comes out."
Amara stepped between them. "What do you want?"
Morren's voice dropped. "To warn you."
He looked at the Blade.
"It's not done testing you. It will show you more. Offer you choices. Ask things of you no one should be asked. And eventually—"
He leaned in, voice like broken bells.
"It will offer you Lucien."
The blade pulsed.
Lucien stiffened.
Amara's voice was low. Controlled.
"I'll never trade him."
Morren smiled again. "You won't have to."
He stepped backward.
And dissolved into frost.
That night, they camped in a hollow beneath a cliff. No magic. No fire.
The Blade rested beside Amara like a living thing.
Lucien sat across from her, silent, staring into his hands — where the shadowfire had turned dull gray.
He finally spoke.
"Would you do it?"
Amara looked up. "What?"
"If the Blade asked. If it meant saving the world. Would you trade me?"
Silence stretched.
She didn't answer.
Not because she didn't know.
Because she knew too well what the answer meant.
Lucien stood. Turned. Walked into the snow.
Alone.