The throne room trembled.
Isabella clutched at the chains that bound her, the cold steel biting into her flesh. For the first time since she had been dragged into the Endless King's domain, she felt something change.
The shudder wasn't the usual pulse of the throne, nor the echo of his infinite presence. No—this tremor carried heat. A fire not born of the Endless, but of Alexander.
Her heart leapt. The Second Gate had fallen.
The King's voice spilled around her like an ocean breaking upon cliffs, booming through the black vaults of his chamber.
"Impossible… The Gate of Reflection is eternal. None pass it. None survive their truth."
Yet Isabella could feel it—the crackling threads of fire searing through the air. The chain around her left wrist glowed faintly, veins of golden light spreading like fractures in ancient glass.
She gasped, her pulse racing. Alexander's fire was reaching her.
The Endless King turned his gaze upon her, and though he wore no face, she felt the weight of his fury.
"You rejoice in his survival? Foolish child. The deeper he goes, the closer he draws to me. And when he reaches my throne, when the final Gate falls, he will not be your savior. He will be mine."
The words struck like daggers, but Isabella's fear was no longer absolute. She had seen his trembling. She had felt his unease.
And for the first time, she smiled.
"Then you are afraid of him."
The King's endless form shuddered, as though a thousand shadows hissed at once. His chains—those that bound worlds and stars—tightened, rattling like colossal serpents.
"I do not fear. I consume. He is nothing but a vessel—my chosen fire. When he burns through the final Gate, he will ignite the path of my return. And you, Isabella, will be the first to witness the end."
The chains binding her cracked louder. This time, not just her wrist, but across her waist, her ankles. She felt the strength of his bindings weakening.
Not because the King willed it—because his prison was unraveling.
---
The Voice in the Fracture
The cracks widened, and with them came whispers. Not the King's, not Alexander's—another voice. Faint, trembling, but urgent.
"…Isabella…"Her breath caught "Alexander?"
The voice came again, softer, as though carried through smoke and distance.
"…Hold on. I am coming. No gate will keep me…"
Her eyes burned with tears. It wasn't an illusion. It wasn't hope playing tricks. His fire had cut deep enough to reach her.
The King rose to his full height, a tower of shadows blotting out the void.
"Do you think he speaks to you? No. He speaks to himself. His voice cannot reach you. What you hear are echoes of his own madness as he is swallowed by the trials."
But Isabella knew. She felt the warmth threading through the cold void. His fire wasn't madness. It was a lifeline.
---
The Endless Falters
She straightened against the throne, blood running from her wrists where the chains still dug deep.
"You are wrong," she said, her voice steady despite her pain. "You are trembling because his fire is not yours to claim. He burns for me. That is what terrifies you."
The King's voice roared in fury, shaking the void. "Enough."
His chains lashed forward, tightening around her throat, her chest, crushing the breath from her lungs. She gasped, vision dimming—but still, the fire did not fade.
If anything, it burned brighter and as the shadows closed in, Isabella whispered, broken but unyielding:"He will reach me. And when he does… your eternity ends."
---
Far away, at the edge of the Third Gate, Alexander staggered forward, his wounds burning, his fire still blazing.
And for the first time, he felt her voice as well.
"…I believe in you."