As we crested the next hill, the air seemed to shift, growing heavier. In the distance, a massive structure rose against the horizon, dwarfing the surrounding trees, its silhouette stark against the fading light.

  The forest gave way to rolling hills, and by the time we reached the Observatory, the sun was setting. Long shadows stretched across the landscape, and the massive structure rose before us like a monument to something ancient and unknowable.

  The walls were black stone, carved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with golden light. Vines coiled around the base, their leaves glowing faintly in the dim light. The shattered dome at the center loomed like the hollowed skull of some forgotten titan.

  “Well,” Lyra said, resting a hand on her hip. “This is creepy. I like it.”

  Aeryn shot her a sidelong glance, her shadows flickering. “It’s dangerous. Don’t get comfortable.”

  “I never do,” Lyra said with a smirk. She turned to me, her dark eyes gleaming in the fading light. “What about you, Vale? Feeling brave?”

  “Brave enough,” I said, though my voice didn’t sound as confident as I hoped.

  Lyra stepped closer, tilting her head as she studied me. “You’ve got potential,” she said, her voice dropping slightly. “Not bad to look at either.”

  I felt heat rush to my face. “Uh… thanks?”

  Aeryn’s shadows snapped like a whip, the temperature around us dropping.

  “Keep your focus,” Aeryn said sharply, stepping between us.

  Lyra raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “Relax, shadow queen. Just making an observation.”

  “Make fewer,” Aeryn said, her tone ice-cold.

  Lyra grinned, stepping past her toward the Observatory. The movement drew my attention—her confident stride, the way her coat swayed around her legs, the faint glint of the daggers strapped to her thighs.

  I snapped my gaze away quickly, but not quickly enough. Aeryn’s sharp eyes caught the flicker of my attention, and her shadows coiled tighter around her, almost protectively.

  The air inside the Observatory was colder than I expected, thick with dust and the metallic tang of ancient magic. Columns stretched toward the crumbling dome above us, and glowing runes crawled along the walls like living things.

  The shard in my pocket pulsed steadily, its whispers rising to a near hum.

  “This place feels alive,” I said, running a hand along one of the glowing symbols.

  “It is,” Aeryn said, her voice low. “The Threads are stronger here. Everything they touch leaves a mark.”

  Lyra sauntered over to a nearby table, her fingers brushing lightly against the surface. “And here I thought libraries were supposed to be boring.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Aeryn snapped.

  Lyra picked up a cracked lens, holding it up to the faint light filtering through the broken dome. “Relax. It’s just a trinket.”

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  “You don’t know that,” Aeryn said, her shadows curling at her feet.

  Lyra turned to me, ignoring Aeryn’s glare. “What do you think, Vale? Should we take a look around, or let her brood in peace?”

  I glanced at Aeryn, then back at Lyra. “I think… we should probably not poke the ancient magic.”

  Lyra sighed dramatically, setting the lens back down. “You’re no fun.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “You really let her call all the shots, huh?”

  “I—no, I—” I stammered, my face heating again.

  “Stop wasting time,” Aeryn said, her voice sharp. “This isn’t a field trip.”

  We moved deeper into the Observatory, entering a vast chamber dominated by a massive orrery. Its intricate gears turned slowly, projecting a swirling map of golden threads into the air above us.

  The shard in my pocket pulsed harder, and the whispers sharpened into something clearer.

  “What is that?” Lyra asked, her voice hushed for once.

  “They call them Constellations,” Aeryn said softly. “A map of the Threads, drawn in light” I stepped closer, the shard’s light flaring in my hand. The threads shifted in response, aligning into new patterns. Symbols appeared, etched into the air like glowing runes.

  “What’s it doing?” I asked.

  “It’s recognizing the shard,” Aeryn said, her eyes fixed on the swirling threads. “The fragment still knows its place in the weave.”

  “Fascinating,” Lyra said, stepping beside me. She leaned closer, her arm brushing against mine. Her voice was a murmur in my ear. “What do you think would happen if we pulled one of those threads?”

  I froze, the heat of her proximity scattering my thoughts. “Uh… bad things?”

  “Relax,” she said, smiling faintly. “Just a hypothetical.”

  Aeryn cleared her throat, her shadows flaring briefly. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  Lyra grinned, stepping back with exaggerated nonchalance. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The room trembled suddenly, and a deep, resonant voice filled the air.

  “Who dares disturb the Threads?”

  The light above us twisted, coalescing into a massive shadowy figure. It was humanoid but indistinct, its form flickering like smoke caught in a storm. Its eyes burned yellow, twin embers in the darkness.

  “Guessing that’s not a librarian,” Lyra said, her daggers already in her hands.

  “The Keeper,” Aeryn said, her voice tense.

  I felt the shard in my hand grow heavier, its light flaring brighter. “What is it?” I asked, though my chest already tightened with the answer.

  “The Keeper of the Threads,” Aeryn said. “Once a guardian. Now a prisoner of the Rift.”

  The figure stepped closer, its voice low and commanding. “You carry the fragment, thief. The wound. Do you know what you hold?”

  “Not really,” I admitted, forcing myself to stand tall.

  The Keeper tilted its head. “The shard is not a gift. It is a key—a tool of fracture and creation. And you, Sion Vale, are its blade.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands.

  The Keeper gestured to the swirling threads. “The world is a weave, and the Threads bind its shape. You have severed one. Do you intend to sever more?”

  “I didn’t mean to sever anything,” I said. “I just want to fix it.”

  The Keeper’s laugh was low and cold. “There is no fixing what has been broken. There is only choice. To sever or to bind.”

  “What happens if I sever?”

  “The world unravels,” the Keeper said. “The Rift consumes all.”

  “And if I bind?”

  “All becomes one,” the Keeper said. “No freedom. No choice. Only the will of the Weaver.”

  The shard pulsed violently, its whispers rising to a deafening roar. The Keeper’s form began to dissolve, its voice echoing faintly.

  “Choose wisely, thief. The Threads will not forgive failure.”

  The room fell silent, the swirling threads returning to their original patterns.

  “Well,” Lyra said, lowering her daggers. “That was ominous.”

  “We need to leave,” Aeryn said, her voice firm. “If the Keeper knows we’re here, others will too.”

  “Others?” I asked.

  “Kael,” she said. “or worse.”

  I nodded, slipping the shard back into my pocket. Its weight felt heavier now, its whispers sharper.

  “What’s the plan?” Lyra asked, resting a hand on her hip.

  “We head to the Spire,” Aeryn said. “It’s where the shard was taken. If we’re going to repair the Threads, it starts there.”

  Lyra sighed. “Of course it does. Nothing ever happens somewhere nice.”

  “You can stay behind,” Aeryn said, her tone clipped.

  Lyra grinned. “Not a chance. Someone has to keep Vale from tripping over his own feet.”

  I shook my head, following them out of the Observatory. The Keeper’s words lingered in my mind: “Choose wisely.”

  For the first time, I understood that the shard wasn’t just a tool. It was a choice that could change everything.