The void between worlds had transformed since the heir last drifted through its endless dark. What had once been a formless expanse dotted with memory-droplets like stars in a night sky now resembled a spider's web after the storm-silver threads crisscrossed the darkness in an ever-shifting lattice, each one pulsing with the same sickly light that had coiled around Kaelion's wrists in the catacombs. The heir's quill-bonded hand throbbed in time with the rhythm, the broken implement's fractured edges glowing brighter with each pulse, as if calling to something hidden in the dark.
The heir reached out, their fingers trembling as they approached the nearest thread. The moment before contact, the void seemed to hold its breath.
Then,
The world inverted.
The heir gasped as the non-space pressed against their body from all directions at once, their lungs burning with the sudden absence of anything resembling air. There was no ground beneath their feet, no sky above, only an endless silver plain stretching in every direction, its surface rippling like disturbed mercury. The heir's vision blurred at the edges as their mind struggled to comprehend the geometry of this place - angles that shouldn't exist, perspectives that folded back on themselves, dimensions that twisted like ribbons in the wind.
The air (if it could be called air) tasted of lightning and the sharp tang of freshly forged metal, each breath scorching the heir's throat. Their skin prickled with static, every hair standing on end as if charged by an approaching storm. The quill in their hand burned white-hot, its glow illuminating strange carvings along its length that hadn't been there before - symbols that hurt to look at, that squirmed like living things beneath the heir's gaze.
At the center of this impossible space floated the first prison.
It was beautiful in the way a spider's web is beautiful moments before the prey strikes - an intricate lattice of silver threads forming a perfect sphere that shimmered with trapped light. The heir's eyes watered as they tried to follow the threads' paths, each one weaving in and out of reality in patterns that made their head ache. The sphere pulsed like a living heart, its rhythm irregular, its surface marred by dark patches where threads had snapped and frayed.
Within its confines drifted something vast and terrible.
The heir's vision slid off its form like water from oil. One heartbeat it resembled a many-winged angel wrought from living shadow, the next a swirling mass of eyes and teeth and grasping hands, then simply an endless void within the void, darker than the absence of stars. Each transformation sent ripples through the prison walls, the remaining threads straining to contain the shifting mass.
The Hollow Crown sat atop the prison like a grotesque jewel, its jagged points buried deep in the threads, pulsing in time with the thing inside. The heir's stomach turned as they realized the crown wasn't merely resting on the surface - it was growing from it, its roots sunk deep into the prison's structure, feeding on whatever power kept the barrier intact.
"You're late."
The voice came from beside them, familiar and unexpected. The heir turned to find a woman standing impossibly close in this space that defied distance - or rather, the memory of one. Her silver hair floated around her face as if underwater, her features eerily similar to Kaelion's but sharper, wiser. She wore the same torn robes from the vault memory, the broken quill still clutched in her hands like a weapon. Blood stained her sleeves, fresh enough that droplets still floated weightless in the air around her.
"You're-"
"Dead?" She smiled bitterly, her violet eyes - so like Kaelion's, so like the heir's own - tracking the prison's restless movements. "Not quite. Not yet. This is before."
The heir understood. They were seeing her as she'd been when she first discovered the prison - whole and alive, but already marked by what she'd learned. The dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights, the ink stains on her fingers of frantic research. A fresh cut marred her cheek, still weeping sluggishly, though she seemed not to notice.
She gestured to the sphere with her broken quill. "They told us it was a tool. A weapon forged by the first gods to maintain order." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It was never either of those things."
As they watched, the prison shuddered violently. A single thread snapped with a sound like a breaking bone, the severed end whipping through the void before dissolving into silver mist. The thing inside pressed against the newly created gap, its form flattening against the interior of its cage like a hand against glass.
"It's waking up," she said, her fingers tightening around the quill until her knuckles bleached white. "And it remembers who put it there."
The heir followed her gaze to the shifting thing inside the sphere - and realized with dawning horror that it was looking back. Not at the sister. At them.
The recognition in that impossible gaze sent ice through the heir's veins. This wasn't merely some beast or forgotten god. This was something older, something that knew them in ways they couldn't yet comprehend. The heir's mouth went dry as the thing's form stabilized momentarily - not into anything recognizable, but into a shape that made their bones ache with ancestral memory.
The sister grabbed their wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Listen carefully," she hissed, pulling them closer. "The threads are breaking faster now. When the last one snaps-"
The prison convulsed again. Three more threads parted with wet, tearing sounds. The Hollow Crown pulsed brighter, its light now tinged with red at the edges. The heir's quill-hand spasmed in response, the silver threads beneath their skin writhing like living things.
"-it will come for you first. Because you're-"
The rest of her words were lost as the vision began to unravel, the silver plain fracturing like broken glass. The heir reached for her, but their fingers passed through her arm as if she were made of smoke. The last thing they saw before the void reclaimed them was her mouth forming one final word, her eyes wide with warning.
Then darkness.