The silence after Lirae's declaration wasn't silence at all.
It was memory—sharp, splintered, and screaming.
Raen didn't move.
Couldn't.
The girl who stood before him—white hair tangled, eyes the color of sunset bleeding into night—was not a stranger. No. She was a wound dressed in flesh, smiling like she'd waited lifetimes to see him suffer.
"You should've died with me," she whispered, voice trembling with glee. "But you didn't. You left."
The temple ruins around them pulsed with old blood. Runes carved into the stone wept a dull red glow. Ashveil growled behind Raen, but he didn't summon the beast. Not yet.
Because he remembered her.
Not from this life.
From the one before.
From before the pact. Before the gods. Before the Threadrift.
"…Lirae."
The name tasted like ash.
She smiled. "You remember."
Of course he did.
He remembered the girl who died choking on poison meant for him. The girl who once told him, "If you ever break your promise, I'll break the world to reach you."
He had thought her words childish.
He hadn't understood what kind of soul she carried.
Until now.
"You're dead," Raen said.
She tilted her head. "Yes. I was. But death is just a door, isn't it? You broke through yours. I shattered mine."
Her blade—thin, almost ceremonial—dangled from her fingers like a lover's promise. It wasn't steel. It was bone. His bone.
A memory of a past life's rib, torn and reforged.
"Why are you here?" Raen asked.
"Because you forgot me."
"No—"
"Yes," she cut in, sharp and cold. "You let them take me. Then you became this. Shatterborn. Hero. Killer. Everyone remembers your legend, but no one remembers mine."
Her voice cracked, and that broke something in Raen.
Not guilt.
Regret.
She stepped closer.
And he let her.
"You think I hate you?" she asked softly. "I don't. I worship you. I love you. That's why I'm going to hurt you. Because only love can cut that deep."
The world tensed.
She moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Raen dodged, barely. Her blade scraped his cheek, and he felt his memory tug—flickering images of a rain-soaked rooftop, a kiss, a promise made over blood.
She wasn't just attacking his body.
She was unmaking parts of him.
Psychic damage. Soul-slicing. Emotional grafting.
Whatever she'd become, it was tied to him on a level even the gods feared.
"Lirae," he snarled. "Stop."
She laughed, twirling. "I can't. I already gave myself to the one who listens beneath the altar."
The what?
Before he could question, she whispered, "Let me show you what you left behind."
And everything went dark.
---
He stood in a graveyard.
His graveyard.
Tombstones of all the people he'd failed—his old comrades, Lyra, even Ashveil.
And Lirae stood in the center, arms wide.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said. "All the lives you touched. All the ones you ruined."
He fell to his knees. Not from weakness. From weight.
This was no illusion. It was punishment.
"You did this," he said.
She knelt beside him, brushing his cheek. "We did this, Raen. Together."
Her hand trembled as it touched him. There was longing there. Still. Somewhere beneath the madness.
And for a brief second, the world shook—not from power.
From possibility.
If he reached out… maybe he could pull her back.
Maybe.
He tried.
But her eyes went wide.
And she screamed.
Not in pain.
In ecstasy.
"I knew you still loved me."
Raen pulled back.
But it was too late.
She stabbed the memory-blade through her own chest.
Reality shattered around them.
---
Raen stumbled back into the ruined temple, coughing blood.
Keir was at his side instantly, hands glowing with minor healing runes.
"What the hell happened?"
Raen didn't answer. He was staring at the spot where Lirae had stood.
She was gone.
No, not gone.
Changed.
The air shimmered—and she reappeared behind them, taller, wings made of glass and veins unfurled like angelic nightmares. Her voice now echoed with two layers: hers and something deeper. Something older.
"She's merged," Raen whispered. "With a Threadworn echo."
Keir's face paled. "That's suicide."
"No," Raen said. "That's obsession."
Lirae—Lirae no longer—raised her arms.
The sky tore open above them.
And hundreds of black feathers fell, each one a shard of a broken timeline.
Ashveil roared, summoning fire to shield them.
Keir shouted, "Do you have a plan?!"
Raen didn't.
Until now.
He reached for the runes burned into his palm. The Summoned Flame. He closed his eyes—and thought not of violence, but of memory.
He summoned not Ashveil.
But a girl.
A memory of Lirae. From before.
A younger version. Before she'd broken.
The summon appeared—confused, frightened, innocent.
Lirae paused.
The wings behind her flickered.
Raen whispered, "I remember her, too. The part you buried."
The summoned Lirae looked up at her older self.
And smiled.
"Don't hurt him."
The real Lirae screamed. Her voice became a storm. The timeline shook.
And then—
She vanished.
The sky sealed.
Only silence remained.
Keir was shaking. "What the actual flame-sucking hell was that?"
Raen didn't answer.
Because where Lirae had stood… something remained.
A message. Burned into the stone.
"This is only the first hurt. The second will break your name."
Raen touched the words.
And behind him, the summoned Lirae faded into light, leaving behind a single crimson feather.
A countdown.
He didn't know when.
But she would return.
And next time—
She wouldn't hesitate.
---
[End of Chapter 30]