The wind screamed.
Cracked stones beneath their feet vibrated as the sky warped overhead. The tower that housed Alari shuddered under the weight of too much power in one place. Mirror-shards of light spun around Iskra's blade like fireflies caught in a cyclone.
She stood across from them—lone and radiant. Her white hair floated unnaturally, and her skin shimmered as if her body couldn't quite contain what she had become.
Ash felt his heartbeat sync with the tower's pulsing core. Beside him, the others were ready: Kael with both blades drawn, Nia's circle swirling beneath her boots, Ren's air turning razor-sharp, Luin's eyes glowing faint silver, and Alari… the Eighth, floating just above the floor.
Alari wasn't breathing. She didn't need to. Her presence was steady and ancient. She didn't smile. She didn't blink. She simply looked at Iskra—and waited.
Ash stepped forward. "You don't have to do this."
Iskra's grip tightened on the blade. "Yes. I do."
The Memory Bleed Begins
The world fractured.
All at once, the tower vanished. The field shifted. The space around them folded like a mirror being broken inward.
They were no longer standing in the ruin.
They stood in a memory.
Ash blinked. He was still himself—but the world had changed. The sky was split in two: one half sunset, one half night. Beneath his feet, golden grass swayed in slow, unnatural patterns. In the distance stood the walls of a Cradle long destroyed.
A version from the first Spiral War.
Kael stepped beside him, looking older—scarred, fierce, already fighting something he didn't remember.
Ren gasped. "What the hell—?"
Luin's voice was calm. "This is a bleed. Alari's awakening triggered it. We're inside a memory-loop tethered to her existence."
"Whose memory?" Nia asked.
Iskra's voice cut through the dreamscape. "Mine."
The Duel
Ash saw her across the field—still armed, still glowing, but younger. Her features flickered. She was both girl and soldier, both now and before.
"I failed you," she said, not moving. "In the first Cycle, I watched you all fall. I tried to save what was left."
Ash shook his head. "This isn't saving."
"I know," she whispered.
And then she moved.
She became a streak of light—faster than sight. Her blade sliced down, and Ash barely got his arm up in time. Ember flared from his palm, forming a barrier of flame that shattered under the pressure but slowed her momentum.
Kael was there in a blink, intercepting with both swords. Sparks flew. Ren lifted both arms and sent a wall of compressed wind to pin her mid-air.
She vanished again.
Nia's glyph traps blinked into place—webs of blue energy forming concentric seals across the ground.
Luin raised his hand. "Don't kill her."
Kael scoffed, "Not sure we can."
But it was Alari who ended it.
With a single pulse of magic—not an attack, but a pull—Alari stopped the memory-loop. The dream shattered.
And they were back in the tower.
Everyone staggered.
Except Alari.
Alari Speaks
She descended slowly until her feet touched the broken floor.
Her voice was like wind brushing a flame: "Iskra, you remember everything. That's what makes you dangerous. But you forget that memory is only a shadow. You relive. We change."
Iskra said nothing.
Luin stepped forward. "You're afraid of her. Of Alari."
Iskra's mask slipped. "I'm afraid of what she can become."
Ash looked between them. "What does that mean?"
Alari's gaze shifted. "In every Spiral, the Eighth was created—not born. Made from broken timelines. I am potential—endless, aimless. The Spiral sees me as a threat. So it will do everything to consume me."
Nia whispered, "Even through her."
Iskra lowered her blade slowly. "She's right. I… don't know what I'm doing anymore. I only know what I'm supposed to do. The last Cycle ended with me alone. I was the one who couldn't save you."
Luin stepped forward. "Then help us this time."
Iskra looked at her reflection in the blade. "If I do… it starts again. The war. The flame. The end."
Ash walked to her side. "Then this time, we write a different ending."
The Pact of Eight
They stood in a circle around Alari.
No magic flared. No binding rituals were spoken. Just silence—and choice.
Ash offered his hand first.
Alari looked at it, then at him. "You're not afraid of me?"
Ash smiled. "I've been afraid every day since the Ember woke up in me. But I'm more afraid of repeating history."
She took his hand.
One by one, the others followed.
Nia. Kael. Ren. Luin.
And finally… Iskra.
The moment her fingers touched Alari's, the tower roared.
Light burst from its core.
The air trembled.
A circle of flame spiraled out beneath them—eight symbols now glowing around the center glyph. The Spiral shifted.
They weren't just sparks now.
They were a flame the world would remember.
Beyond the Tower – The Spiral Wakes
Far from Aegir's Fall, deep beneath the earth, something opened.
Buried in Rootstone, a vault blinked alive—its gears turning for the first time in centuries.
Inside, a single sphere pulsed.
"Cycle 88: Broken Loop Detected.""Eighth Spark Integration Confirmed.""Override Level: Cataclysm Protocol."
The Cradle would know soon.
And it would send everything it had.
Ash and Alari
Later that night, Ash stood on the broken rooftop, watching twin moons rise.
Alari joined him, quiet.
"You're still awake," he said.
"I don't sleep easily," she replied.
He nodded. "I wanted to ask… who do you think you are? If you're all of us… does that mean you don't have your own self?"
She looked at the stars. "I think I'm what's left when everyone else gives up. I'm the pieces nobody wanted. But you…" She turned. "You make me feel real."
He flushed, caught off guard. "That's… a lot."
She smiled—just barely. "I've never had someone look at me like I wasn't a mistake."
"You're not."
The rooftop trembled slightly.
Ash looked toward the east. "Something's coming."
Alari's expression darkened. "The Spiral's answer."
***
High above, in the floating spires of the true Cradle, a council met in the dark.
Seven figures cloaked in gold stood around a map of the continent. A flare of red light had appeared over Aegir's Fall.
"The Eighth has awakened," one said.
"The Spiral stirs."
"The last Cycle must not repeat."
A woman with eyes of coal stepped forward.
"Then let the Hunters loose. Let the forgotten return. If they wish to defy memory…"
She smiled.
"...let us show them what forgetting costs."
***
Eight sparks.
One flame.
But the Spiral is not done.
It watches.
And waits.
And soon—
—it devours.