The light swallowed them whole.
For a moment, there was nothing—no sound, no ground beneath their feet, only an endless ocean of shifting stars. The air felt alive, humming softly, like the world itself was breathing.
Ren opened his eyes to find himself standing on glass. Beneath the transparent surface flowed rivers of starlight, weaving patterns that changed every few seconds.
Lyra stood beside him, her cloak fluttering though there was no wind. Her expression held a mixture of awe and unease. "Where… are we?"
Ren looked around slowly. "Between realms," he said. "This is what remains when a world dies—but refuses to fade."
"An echo of creation," Lyra whispered.
He nodded. "The ancients called it Astral Verge. It's where all resonance is born—and where it returns when it's broken."
They began to walk. Each step they took rippled through the luminous ground, scattering small fragments of light that drifted upward like snow. The place was both beautiful and unsettling, familiar and strange, as though the universe had tried to remember itself and failed halfway.
"Ren," Lyra said quietly after a while, "when you fought your shadow back there… you said he was a part of you that survived the war of the stars. What did you mean?"
Ren didn't answer right away. His gaze was distant, lost among the floating constellations. "It's… hard to explain," he said finally. "There was a time when I stopped fighting for life. I fought because I couldn't die. That part of me became its own will, feeding on every victory, every loss. The moment I sealed the Citadel, that will split—and I left it behind."
Lyra frowned. "And it came back."
He nodded once. "It always does. Shadows don't vanish—they wait."
The path before them shifted, splitting into three luminous bridges that floated above an endless void.
Lyra studied them. "Which one do we take?"
Ren crouched down, running his fingers along the edges of the first bridge. The light pulsed faintly in response. "Each leads to a different echo of the same world. But only one connects to the true path forward."
"How do we know which one's real?"
Ren's lips curved slightly. "We don't."
Before Lyra could protest, he stepped forward onto the middle bridge. It pulsed violently beneath his feet but held firm. She hesitated for only a second before following him.
Halfway across, the air shifted again. Whispers filled the space around them—thousands of faint voices speaking in languages neither of them understood. Lyra flinched, gripping his arm.
"They're memories," Ren murmured. "Souls that never returned."
Lyra's voice trembled. "Are they… from your world?"
"From all worlds," he said softly. "From every war the stars have ever known."
The whispers grew louder. Shadows of forms began to appear—human, beast, spirit—each fading as quickly as they came. One figure reached toward Lyra, its hand made of shimmering mist.
She froze. "Ren…"
He stepped in front of her, raising his blade. The shadow recoiled, hissing before it dispersed into light.
"They can't touch you," he said, though his tone was tighter now. "But don't listen to them. They'll use your heart against you."
Lyra swallowed hard and nodded.
As they neared the end of the bridge, Ren felt a strange pull—like something calling him from ahead. The path opened into a massive gate of fractured mirrors, each reflecting a different version of himself. Some looked older, darker, others unrecognizable.
Lyra's hand brushed his. "Whatever this place shows you… it isn't who you are."
He exhaled slowly. "Maybe not. But it might show me what I could become."
With that, he reached for the gate. The mirrors shattered, and the light bent inward—swallowing them once more.
---
The fall felt endless.
Light twisted into darkness, then back again. Fragments of memory and color streaked past them—visions of cities, beasts, faces they couldn't recognize but somehow felt familiar. Then, with a sudden pulse, they landed hard on solid ground.
Ren groaned, pushing himself up. The air was thick here, tinted faintly blue, and every breath felt like breathing through a dream.
Lyra rose beside him, dusting off her cloak. "Where… are we this time?"
Ren scanned the horizon. Jagged cliffs rose from oceans of glowing mist, and above them, stars moved in slow spirals—as though time itself had forgotten how to flow.
"This isn't a realm," he said quietly. "It's a reflection. A world built from what's left inside us."
Lyra frowned. "Inside us?"
He nodded. "The Astral Verge doesn't create anything on its own. It pulls from what we carry—our fears, our memories, our desires."
As if in answer, a sound echoed in the distance: the low cry of a wolf. The ground beneath them shimmered, and outlines of familiar ruins appeared, half-buried in the fog. Ren froze.
"This… this is the valley where I fell during the second war," he whispered. "But it shouldn't exist anymore."
Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then it's your echo. Something the Verge wants you to face."
He looked at her, uneasy. "And what if it's yours?"
She didn't answer. Her gaze had already turned distant—focused on something forming in the mist ahead. A figure, faint at first, then clearer: a woman with long hair the color of frost, her expression soft and sorrowful.
Lyra's breath caught. "Mother…"
Ren stiffened. "Lyra, don't—"
But she was already stepping forward, drawn by the apparition. The woman's voice was gentle, almost melodic. "My light… you've wandered too long. Come home."
Ren felt it instantly—the distortion in the air, the pull of illusion wrapping around her. "Lyra, that's not real!"
She hesitated, her eyes wide, voice trembling. "But it feels real…"
The ghostly figure extended a hand. "Come back, child. You've done enough."
Ren moved, grabbing Lyra's wrist and yanking her back just as the illusion's touch warped into claws of black mist. The air cracked like thunder. The mirage screamed, its face twisting into something hollow and ancient.
Ren swung his blade, scattering it into shards of light. The echo's remnants rained down around them, fading into dust.
Lyra fell to her knees, gasping. "I… I saw her, Ren. Not just an illusion. Her voice—it was the same."
Ren knelt beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I know. The Verge uses truth to make lies stronger. That's why it's dangerous."
She looked up at him, eyes glassy. "If it shows us what's inside… then what did you see?"
He hesitated. The answer weighed heavy on his tongue. "Something I thought I buried. Someone I thought I lost."
Before she could ask more, the mist stirred again. The ground beneath them began to shift, forming patterns like constellations across the soil. From the center, light burst upward, creating a massive crystal that pulsed with familiar energy.
Ren's expression darkened. "That resonance…"
Lyra stood. "The Citadel's core."
He nodded slowly. "Or what's left of it. But if it's here—then something brought it."
The crystal pulsed again, and this time, a voice echoed through the air.
"Welcome back, Sovereign of the Star Wolf."
Lyra's eyes widened. "That voice—"
Ren's hand tightened around his blade. "It can't be…"
From the light stepped a figure in silver armor, his face a perfect reflection of Ren's—but older, colder, and wearing a crown forged of shattered starlight.
"I am what you left behind," the figure said. "And I've come to finish what you started."
---