The dawn spread across the horizon like a fractured promise, its light threading through the jagged landscape beyond the Spire. I leaned against a cracked stone pillar, the shard’s energy still humming faintly in my veins.

  Aeryn stood a few steps away, her silver hair catching the morning sun. She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite place—equal parts relief and something softer, something that made my chest tighten.

  Lyra was perched on a rock nearby, idly spinning one of her daggers. Her dark eyes were sharp, but the usual smirk she wore was absent.

  For a moment, none of us spoke. The world felt fragile, like it might crack open at the slightest word.

  Finally, Lyra broke the silence.

  “So… anyone want to explain what the hell just happened?”

  I sighed, pushing off the pillar and pacing across the ruined ground. “What just happened,” I said, turning the shard over in my hand, “is that we stopped the Wraith from tearing the world apart. Again.”

  “And in the process,” Lyra said, raising an eyebrow, “you turned yourself into… what, exactly? Some kind of Thread-whisperer?”

  “Thread-weaver,” I corrected, unable to resist a smirk. “Has a better ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Lyra rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. He’s back to being insufferable.”

  Aeryn crossed her arms, her violet eyes narrowing. “You’re avoiding the question.”

  I stopped pacing, meeting her gaze. “I’m not entirely sure what I am now,” I admitted. “But the shard’s part of me—completely. The Threads… they’re not just something I can touch anymore. They’re something I can shape.”

  Her expression didn’t soften. “And what are you going to do with that power?”

  “That depends,” I said, the smirk fading from my face. “What does the world need more—a savior, or a troublemaker?”

  Aeryn’s shadows flickered faintly, a telltale sign of her frustration. “This isn’t a joke, Sion. You’ve altered the balance of the Threads. The Rift might be quiet for now, but it’s not gone. And if you make one wrong move—”

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  “Then the whole thing comes crashing down,” I finished, my tone sharper than I intended. “Yeah, I know. Believe it or not, I’ve been thinking about this.”

  Lyra leaned back, her smirk returning. “He’s got a point, Aeryn. If he screws up, we’re all doomed anyway. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

  Aeryn shot her a glare. “You’re not helping.”

  “Wasn’t trying to,” Lyra said, twirling her dagger.

  I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Look, I get it. This is big. Bigger than any of us. But if I can save this world, I’m willing to accept a little risk.”

  Aeryn didn’t respond immediately, her eyes searching mine. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

  I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Careful is my middle name.”

  “Liar,” she said, but her lips twitched into a faint smile.

  As the sun climbed higher, I felt the weight of the world settle on my shoulders again. The Wraith was gone, but its words lingered, a shadow I couldn’t quite shake.

  “There’s something bigger going on here,” I said, breaking the silence. “The Wraith wasn’t just severing Threads for fun. It had a plan.”

  “Plans don’t matter when you’re dead,” Lyra said.

  “Maybe not,” I said, “but the Threads are still fraying. The Spire’s stable for now, but it’s not going to hold forever. We need to figure out why this started—and who else might be pulling the strings.”

  Aeryn nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “If we want answers, we’ll need to find the other Cores. The Threads don’t begin or end here.”

  “Great,” Lyra said with mock enthusiasm. “More death traps. Just what I always wanted.”

  As we prepared to leave, the weight of what we’d been through settled over us. Aeryn lingered by the Spire’s base, her shadows flickering faintly as she traced a hand over the cracked stone.

  “Hey,” I said, approaching her.

  She glanced at me, her expression guarded. “What is it?”

  “You’ve been quiet,” I said. “More than usual.”

  “I’m just thinking,” she said softly. “About the Threads. About what happens next.”

  “Not about the Wraith?”

  Her gaze sharpened, her shadows coiling slightly. “That’s part of it. The Wraith… it wasn’t just an enemy. It was a warning. If we’re not careful, we’ll end up like it—twisted, consumed by power.”

  I hesitated, then reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going to let that happen. Not to me. Not to you. I decided that the second I pulled you out of the Rift.”

  She looked at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Just remember that.”

  As we left the Spire behind, the landscape stretched out before us—a world scarred by the Rift, but not yet broken.

  Lyra walked a few paces ahead, her usual swagger returning as she hummed a tune I didn’t recognize. Aeryn walked beside me, her shadows weaving faint patterns in the air.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to hope.

  “I meant what I said back there,” I said, glancing at Aeryn. “This isn’t just about fixing the Threads. It’s about making them better. For everyone.”

  She raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And here I thought you were just a troublemaker.”

  I grinned, the shard’s energy sparking faintly at my fingertips. “Can’t I be both?”

  Her laughter was soft, but it warmed the cold air around us.

  As we walked toward the unknown, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something bigger—something that would either save the world or shatter it beyond repair.

  But either way, I wasn’t going to do it alone.