Friezzar's body went limp in Lyra's arms the moment the red light faded.
Not shattered.
Not broken.
Just… still.
His glow shrank to the faintest flicker, pulsing weakly from the cracks in his chest.
Lyra pressed her hand over it, whispering:
"Friezzar… Friezzar, please… stay with me."
Arden leaned over them, breathing hard.
"He's alive. I can see the glow — it's still there."
Oren barked orders from across the ruined guild hall.
"Mages! Stabilizing circle — now! Healers, assist Lyra! Shield bearers — surround the Vessel before it reactivates!"
Dozens of guild members rushed into formation.
But Lyra didn't move.
Her arms wrapped around Friezzar like she could anchor his soul to the world by touch alone.
She whispered into his wooden neck:
"You promised… You said you'd stay…"
Friezzar's glow flickered once.
Then faded again.
Lyra pressed her forehead to his.
"Please… please don't leave…"
THE GUILD HALL IN RUINS
The guild's front wall was gone.
Columns lay shattered across the stone floor.
Smoke and dust clouded the air.
Burning crimson lines carved through the courtyard — cuts from the Vessel's attack.
And at the center of it all:
The Second Vessel stood motionless.
Frozen mid-step.
Its eye dimmed to a dull ember.
A group of senior mages circled it, sweat dripping as they activated layered containment spells.
A shimmering dome of blue light formed around the construct.
Arden watched tensely.
"We need to be ready in case it wakes again. That thing barely used half its power."
Oren grimaced.
"It wasn't trying to destroy us."
He looked at Lyra, still cradling Friezzar.
"It was trying to retrieve him."
Arden clenched his jaw.
"And kill Lyra."
Oren nodded.
"Yes. Because she's his anchor."
Lyra lifted her head slightly.
"Anchor…?"
Arden crouched beside her, his expression softening.
"It means you're the reason he's alive. You're what stabilizes him. Without you…"
He sighed. "He'd collapse."
Lyra looked down at Friezzar.
Her fingers brushed the carved lines across his cheek.
"He's not… a spell. He's not an object. He chose me."
Her voice trembled.
"So I choose him."
Oren ran a hand over his face.
"Lyra… this means you're now the target."
Arden's hand tightened on his sword.
"And I'll make damn sure no puppet — no mage — no one lays a finger on her."
Lyra whispered:
"I don't care who they send. I won't leave him."
Friezzar's core blinked faintly as if responding to her voice.
Just barely.
But alive.
THE INNOCENT SLEEP OF A VESSEL
Lyra sat by Friezzar's bedside once again while half the guild rebuilt the hall and the other half tended to the wounded.
His body lay on the reinforced stone slab.
Still.
Silent.
But not empty.
Oren and three clerics placed stabilizing crystals around him.
Soft blue runes flickered into place.
Arden paced the room, stubbornly refusing to leave.
Lyra held Friezzar's hand and whispered:
"Come back to me."
Because even unconscious —
even wordless —
even still—
Friezzar's hand twitched in hers.
Arden froze mid-step.
"Did you see that…?"
Lyra's breath caught.
"He hears me…"
Arden frowned.
"He's responding to your voice subconsciously."
Lyra smiled faintly.
"I knew it."
But deep inside Friezzar's core—
something shifted.
Something ancient.
Something forbidden.
Something he had never unlocked before.
INSIDE THE CORE REALM
Darkness surrounded him again.
But this time, he wasn't floating alone.
A second presence pulsed behind him.
Not the Lyra-shaped silhouette from before.
Not warmth.
Not memory.
Something colder.
He turned.
And saw it:
A figure shaped like himself.
But older.
Sharper.
Carved with jagged, incomplete lines.
Like a prototype.
Or a blueprint.
Its voice echoed without sound:
"Fragment 01.
Awakening protocol initiated."
Friezzar stepped backward.
"…who…?"
The figure pointed at his core.
"You were not meant to choose.
You were meant to obey."
Friezzar shook his head.
"…Friezzar… choose."
The figure tilted its head.
"Why?"
A thread of memory passed through him—Lyra's hands, warm against his chest.
"…Lyra."
The figure blinked.
Its carved face shifted, confused.
"The anchor."
It stepped forward, lifting a hand toward Friezzar's chest.
"She overrides your command pathways."
Friezzar batted the hand away instinctively.
"…no."
The figure straightened.
"You misunderstood.
I am not your enemy."
Friezzar's glow dimmed slightly.
"…who…?"
The figure turned, and for the first time Friezzar noticed—
A shattered chain bound to its wrist.
Broken.
Hanging loose.
The figure whispered:
"I am what came before you.
Fragment Zero."
Friezzar's eyes widened.
"…Friezzar… first?"
"No."
The prototype's voice echoed like cracking ice.
"You are Vessel One.
I am Vessel Zero."
The world trembled.
"And Vessel Two has come to retrieve you."
Friezzar stepped back.
"…fight…"
"You cannot fight in your state."
The figure pointed toward his chest.
Friezzar looked down—
Blue runes cracked.
Dust swirling.
Mana leaking.
He placed a hand over his heart.
"…Lyra…"
The figure stared.
"You cling to the anchor.
It is your greatest strength.
And your greatest weakness."
The entire core realm pulsed with warning.
The prototype leaned closer.
"If the anchor dies—"
Friezzar flinched violently.
The figure finished:
"—so do you."
Darkness shattered like glass.
BACK IN THE REAL WORLD
Friezzar jolted —
Just a twitch —
Just enough to make Lyra gasp.
"F-Friezzar?! Friezzar, can you hear me?"
Friezzar's eyes remained closed.
But his mouth moved.
Barely.
One quiet whisper:
"…Ly…ra…"
Lyra held his hand to her face, tears forming again.
"Yes. I'm here."
Arden moved closer.
"What's he saying?"
Lyra brushed her thumb over his carved knuckles.
"He said my name."
Arden swallowed.
"That means he's still fighting."
Oren entered the room, face pale.
"There's more," he said quietly.
"News from Eldrook. The ruins are… changing."
Arden frowned.
"Changing how?"
Oren handed him a trembling sketch from a scout.
Arden's pupils shrank.
"What the hell…?"
Lyra looked too.
Her breath left her body.
The ruins were reshaping themselves into—
A labyrinth.
A dungeon.
Not collapsing.
Not exploding.
Forming. Growing. Preparing.
Oren's voice was grim.
"The Second Vessel wasn't acting alone."
Arden clenched his fists.
"It was a scout."
Lyra gripped Friezzar's hand tighter.
"What does that mean?"
Oren looked at her.
Eyes dark.
Voice heavy.
"It means the real threat is coming.
The master.
The creator."
Friezzar's faint glow pulsed painfully.
As if he heard.
As if he recognized the danger.
As if he feared it.