The Spiral was no longer balanced.
Its myth-lattice cracked at the edges, and the Codex trembled—not from external threat, but internal contradiction. Ever since Seres burned her name into the axis of narrative, the delicate equilibrium of the Tri-Consort Sigil began to splinter.
And the first to bleed was Celestia.
She knelt alone in the Sanctum of Echoing Faiths, once her temple of serenity. It was quiet, but not peaceful. The prayers no longer answered her. The glyphs etched across her back—divine tattoos written in dawnlight and promise—had started to blur. Some peeled away like dead skin.
She pressed her hands together, trembling.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
But she wasn't calling Darius.
She was calling herself.
The self who had once led worship, bathed in belief, stood beside him in divine equality. Before Seres burned brighter. Before Kaela rewrote contradiction. Before her faith was questioned by flame and chaos.