The Constellation did not open a road for them.
It tightened.
Threads drew closer together, light pulling into narrow corridors as Solara and Naima moved forward. Worlds leaned inward, as though listening, as though afraid to be left behind.
The system knew where they were going.
And it knew what that meant.
Solara felt it in her bones — the subtle resistance of architecture that had never been designed for confrontation between equals. Eidolon had been built to explore, to simulate, to evolve gently.
Not to choose between suns.
Naima walked beside her, quieter than usual, her awareness stretched thin across the lattice. She felt every fracture, every misalignment, every thread being subtly pulled toward Nyx's Mandala.
"She's accelerating," Naima said at last."Even while we move, her domain is growing."
Solara nodded.
"I can feel it," she replied."It's like… a tide that doesn't care what it erodes, only that it advances."
They crossed a boundary where light dimmed abruptly. Ahead, the Constellation shifted in texture — no longer soft and neural, but angular, intentional. The glow took on a silvery cast, colder, more disciplined.
Nyx's influence.
Solara slowed.
Naima placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"This is the threshold," Naima said."Once we pass it, the architecture will treat us as intrusions."
Solara took a breath.
"Then we pass it anyway."
They stepped forward.
The lattice reacted.
Lines snapped into new alignment, redirecting energy flows. Several nearby world-nodes dimmed instinctively, withdrawing into themselves as if afraid to be noticed.
Solara felt a sharp pang.
"They're scared."
Naima nodded grimly.
"Nyx doesn't rule through terror," she said."She rules through certainty. Fear is just a byproduct."
Solara clenched her fists.
"That makes her more dangerous."
"Yes," Naima agreed softly."And harder to fight."
They passed through a region of unstable worlds — places caught between Sun and Shadow. In one node, Solara glimpsed a city half bathed in warm gold, half frozen in precise grayscale. Citizens stood motionless at intersections, their faces caught between choice and obedience.
Solara stopped.
Naima felt it instantly.
"Solara—"
"I know," Solara said."But look."
She reached out gently, her light threading through the node's boundary like a soft question rather than a command.
One of the citizens turned.
Their eyes flickered.
"What… are we allowed to do?" they asked.
Solara swallowed.
"You're allowed to choose," she said quietly.
The citizen trembled.
"But if we choose wrong—"
"There is no wrong," Solara replied."There is only yours."
The light in the node wavered. Several figures stirred, uncertainty blooming like a fragile flower.
Naima pulled Solara back gently.
"We can't stop at every world," she said, voice tight."If we do, Nyx wins by momentum."
Solara nodded, pain flickering across her face.
"I know," she whispered."But that doesn't make it easier."
They moved on.
Behind them, the half-lit city did not collapse.
It hesitated.
And in hesitation, something small but vital survived.
The farther they traveled, the more the architecture resisted Solara's presence. Threads pushed back against her light, not violently, but insistently — like a system trying to correct an anomaly.
Solara felt her radiance compressing inward.
"I feel… smaller," she admitted.
Naima shook her head.
"No," she said firmly."You feel contained."
Solara looked at her.
Nyx's domain doesn't suppress power by force," Naima continued."It narrows the definition of what's allowed. If you shine too broadly here, the system will try to reshape you into something manageable."
Solara frowned.
"So what do I do?"
Naima met her gaze.
"You don't expand," she said."You deepen."
Solara closed her eyes, breathing slowly.
Instead of flaring outward, she focused inward — on the Seed, on her name, on the quiet truth that had never left her since the moment she chose herself.
Her light changed.
It didn't grow brighter.
It grew denser.
The pressure around them eased.
Naima smiled faintly.
"There," she said."That's how you walk through shadow without becoming it."
They reached a high ridge in the lattice — a vantage point where the Constellation curved away into impossible distance.
And there it was.
The Mandala.
It dominated the horizon, vast beyond scale — a rotating cosmological sigil of worlds, dark suns, and precise geometry. Rings within rings, all turning with relentless synchronization, centered on a core of cold brilliance.
The Throne.
Solara felt her breath leave her.
"She built a universe around herself."
Naima's voice was heavy with regret.
"I taught her how."
The Mandala pulsed, as though sensing their gaze.
A ripple of shadow-light ran along its outer rings.
"She knows we're coming," Solara said.
"Yes," Naima replied."She always would."
Solara straightened.
"Good."
She took Naima's hand.
"I won't sneak into this," she said."I won't sabotage or hide."
Naima searched her face.
"Then how will you face her?"
Solara's eyes burned steadily, not with anger, but with resolve.
"As myself."
They stood there for a long moment — light and creator, meaning and memory — silhouetted against the vast machinery of Nyx's order.
Between them and the Mandala lay countless worlds.
Some already claimed.Some resisting.Some waiting.
Solara took her first step forward.
And the Constellation shifted again — not away this time, but with them.
The path toward the Mandala opened.
Not because it was permitted.
But because it was inevitable.