The journey to Aevir began before dawn.
Elara stood on the deck of a skycraft—an airship powered by sunforged crystal and celestial currents. Around her, the horizon bled from navy to pale gold, like the world itself was holding its breath. Lunareal shrank behind them, a silhouette of domes and spires wreathed in mist.
Cassian stood at the prow, wind tangling his hair. He hadn't spoken much since the Summit.
"Did I screw everything up?" Elara asked, joining him.
"No," he said. "You woke them up."
"'Them' being…?"
"The Five. The Pact. The shadows under it. You made them remember we're not safe—not even under the stars."
Elara ran her fingers along the rail. "What happened in Aevir, Cassian? Why is it sealed?"
He turned to her then. "Because it's a tomb. And a warning."
They arrived at Aevir by midday.
From the sky, the city looked like bones—white marble ruins sprawled across a cratered basin, half-swallowed by the sand. Great statues lay shattered, faces lost to erosion, arms reaching for a sky that never answered.
Tyrene met them at the gate, along with two cloaked Seers and a unit of Raven Guard. Her expression was tense.
"The gate's under the main vault," she said. "We found it three days ago. It was dormant. Until you passed the Crucible."
"Meaning I woke it up?" Elara asked.
Tyrene didn't deny it.
They led her underground.
The descent was steep and silent. The walls were carved with constellations she didn't recognize—twisted, broken, rewritten. Her fingers brushed one. It burned cold.
At the bottom, they reached it:
A door of pure obsidian, circular, etched with a spiral of stars. In its center, a shallow indentation the shape of a hand.
"Of course," Elara muttered. "It wants blood or touch or both."
She stepped forward. Cassian caught her wrist. "You don't have to—"
"Yes. I do."
Her palm met the obsidian.
The stone screamed.
It wasn't a sound. It was memory—a thousand voices crying out in languages long dead. Pain. Power. Loss. A star dying with a name carved into its final breath.
The door opened.
Inside: darkness. Thick, coiled like smoke. But at its center pulsed a faint light, like a dying heart.
They entered.
It wasn't a room.
It was a library.
Endless rows of floating crystal tablets spun gently through a vast chamber lit by starlight trapped in glass. The air felt sacred, like breathing in silence.
Tyrene approached the center pedestal. "This was the Archive. The first one. Before the sky fractured. Before the Houses."
Elara's hand hovered over one of the crystals. "And no one's been here since?"
"No one alive."
Cassian turned toward a wall lined with ancient glyphs. "Some say this is where the first Fulcrum fell. Where she broke the pact and bound the stars to her rage."
"Why?"
He looked at her.
"To save someone."
Elara felt the weight of it. Her chest tightened.
Was that the price of power? Always loss?
Then something shimmered at the far end of the room.
A shape. Human. But not.
Elara stepped forward slowly.
"Hello?"
The figure turned. It was a woman—tall, cloaked in robes of twilight. Her eyes were starlight itself.
"You are late," the woman said.
"Excuse me?"
"I was meant to speak to the Fulcrum the moment she crossed the gate. But timelines fracture. Threads tangle. And you… you are new. Not from this weaving."
Tyrene stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"I was once called Ithiriel. Keeper of the Constellant Flame. Now, I am a remnant. A spark."
"A memory?" Elara asked.
Ithiriel nodded. "Yes. But one encoded with purpose. You have questions. I have warnings."
"Why me?" Elara asked. "Why pull me from Earth?"
"Because Earth is not separate. It is the thread they tried to cut. You are the tether."
Cassian stiffened. "You mean the Rift?"
Ithiriel tilted her head. "The Rift is not a place. It is a person. A bloodline. A fracture walking."
Elara's knees went weak. "You're saying… I'm not human?"
"You are more than. You are both."
The words fell like stone in her chest.
Cassian moved to steady her. "What do you mean by 'warnings'?"
Ithiriel stepped back, lifting her hands. Stars bloomed in her palms, forming a constellation—a spiral collapsing inward.
"They will rise again. The ones cast into the Veil. The Hollowed. They remember the Pact's betrayal. They remember what was theirs."
"Who are they?" Elara whispered.
"The Ashen Coil."
Tyrene swore under her breath.
Cassian's face paled. "They were destroyed."
"No," Ithiriel said softly. "They were bound. And the chains are weakening. The Fulcrum is the key—to reforging the Pact or unmaking it."
Elara felt the pull of gravity shift. She was no longer a lost girl from Earth.
She was the axis on which a galaxy might fall.
Back on the surface, the sky had darkened.
And not from clouds.
From wings.
Thousands of black shapes swarmed across the horizon—crows, larger than any natural breed, their feathers trailing smoke, their eyes ember-red.
"The Coil is moving," Cassian said. "Already?"
"They must have felt the gate open," Tyrene said.
Elara clenched her fists. "Then we fight."
Cassian drew his blade. "No. We run."
"But the Archive—"
He grabbed her hand. "If you die, it doesn't matter what truths we found."
She hesitated—but only for a moment.
Then they ran.
They made it back to the skycraft just as the crows descended.
Flames lit the ruins behind them. Screams echoed through broken arches.
Elara stood at the railing as they soared into the sky, heart pounding.
"They know I'm here now."
Cassian stood beside her. "They always did."
She stared out over the clouds, her chest aching with a fear too large to name.
"What happens next?"
He looked at her.
"You gather your stars."