Sunspike Tower loomed in the distance as Mira and the Halflings set up camp just beyond the collapsed rift site. The scorched grass and jagged rocks still crackled faintly with residual energy. It had only been hours since Mira had closed the rift—and banished the cloaked figure that had stepped through it—but time in this world had a funny way of bending and shifting, as if the land itself weren't convinced the danger had passed.
"I miss potatoes," Pipla muttered as she chewed on a suspiciously orange root.
"I miss rationality," Mira replied, poking the campfire with a stick. "And public transport. And toothpaste."
"Wouldn't know what any of those are," Reeko said cheerfully, balancing his lute on his knee and tuning it to a scale only birds could appreciate. "But I do miss my cousin Trolliver. He owes me twelve copper and a ferret."
Jory sat a little ways off, sharpening his daggers while muttering under his breath. He had barely spoken since the battle. Mira gave him space—whatever had spooked him, it wasn't something a cup of tea and a chat would fix.
As darkness settled, Mira pulled the Die from her satchel. The silver glint had dulled ever so slightly, but their weight felt unchanged. Heavy. Full of answers, if she could only figure out the right questions.
"You ever wonder where these came from?" she asked aloud, rolling the Die back and forth in her palm. "I mean really came from."
"Some say the Die were carved from the bones of fate itself," Reeko offered.
"Others say they were just lost game pieces from a god's board game," Pipla said, half-asleep.
Mira smirked. "Both sound about right."
As sleep claimed her companions, Mira stayed awake. She kept her eyes on the horizon and her fingers around the Die, half-expecting something—or someone—to burst from the shadows again. But nothing did, Not that night.
By morning, they were moving again, following a faded path toward the nearby Deadmere Caverns. According to Therian's scroll, the shard of the Fatebinder's soul that had once been bound to the Trickstep Tree had been displaced—either by the rift or by something worse. Their new goal lay beneath the surface.
They passed through Hollowpine Grove—a forest of bent trees that creaked even without wind—and into the cracked mouth of a ravine. Mira had expected gloom. Instead, she found the caverns to be eerily beautiful. Bioluminescent moss coated the walls in soft green light, and underground waterfalls cascaded down glowing rockfaces into pools that shimmered like liquid glass.
It was the silence that made it unsettling.
"Feels like we're walking inside a whisper," Reeko said, his lute stashed for once.
"Feels like something's watching us," Pipla replied, gripping her hammer.
Mira stopped and opened the scroll again. The map was vague—typical wizard documentation—but the "Chamber of Echoes" was marked near the bottom. "Shouldn't be far," she said. "And if there's one thing this place has taught me, it's that vague directions always lead to terrifying results."
Jory suddenly pointed ahead. "There."
They turned a corner and entered a wide, circular chamber. The ceiling rose high above them like a cathedral carved by nature, and in the center stood an obsidian pedestal surrounded by concentric rings of ancient glyphs.
"That looks… promising," Mira whispered.
As they approached, the temperature dropped. The air felt thick. The pedestal pulsed faintly, like it was breathing.
Suddenly, a grinding sound echoed through the chamber.
A stone door slid shut behind them.
"I hate when doors do that," Mira muttered.
Then, a voice—soft and spectral—spoke.
"Who seeks the shard of fate?"
The words weren't spoken aloud, but rather curled into their minds like smoke.
Mira stepped forward. "I do. Mira Wrenlow. Die-bearer."
Silence.
Then the pedestal shimmered, and the glyphs lit up.
"Then prove your intent. Face the echo of your doubt."
A shimmer of light surged up from the pedestal and formed into a vaguely human shape—feminine, familiar.
It was her.
Another Mira . But not quite.
This version of her stood taller, dressed in full armor, holding a massive blade and wearing an expression of cold disdain.
"Oh great," the real Mira said. "It's my overachieving evil twin."
"You're not strong enough," the Echo said in a voice identical to hers. "You rely on chance. You hide behind those Die. What happens when they fail you?"
"I get clever," Mira replied. "And probably swear a lot."
The Echo didn't laugh. Instead, it raised the blade and stepped forward.
The Die in Mira 's hand grew warm.
She held them tightly.
"Okay," she whispered. "Let's see what I'm made of. I need to roll."
She closed her eyes, focused, and let the silver Die tumble from her palm onto the stone floor.
17
The number glowed brightly as the Echo lunged.
Mira sidestepped with surprising speed—instinct guiding her. She picked up a fallen shard of crystal and flung it at the Echo. It struck her shoulder, throwing her off-balance.
Pipla charged in next, hammer raised. Reeko unleashed a flurry of disorienting notes, causing the Echo to falter mid-step. Jory was gone from sight—but Mira had learned that was his most dangerous state.
The Echo spun, swinging the blade in a wide arc. Mira ducked, rolled, and came up behind her own shadow, striking her square in the back with a surge of fate-fueled energy that sizzled through her fingertips.
The Echo screamed—an unholy sound that split the air—and burst into shards of light.
The chamber fell silent again.
The glyphs dimmed.
And then, the pedestal cracked open with a slow, echoing groan.
Inside was a crystal. Small, blue, flickering with a faint inner fire.
The shard.
Mira approached slowly, carefully lifting it from its resting place. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a pulse ripple through her bones. A sense of connection. Of clarity. Of evolution.
The Die pulsed in unison, warmer than ever.
Behind her, Pipla whistled. "Well, that was dramatic."
Reeko scratched his chin. "Did… did you just fight yourself?
Mira nodded. "Yeah. And I lost the argument, but won the fight. Pretty standard."
Jory reappeared, holding a spider the size of a teacup.
"Name's Gerald," he said.
Nobody asked further questions.
As they made their way back through the caverns, Mira couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was still watching. She glanced at the shard in her hand. It didn't seem like much, but the power she'd felt from it was unmistakable.
They reached the surface just as the moon rose.
And that's when the sky split open.
Just for a second.
A thin crack—a lightning bolt of violet fire across the stars.
Mira and the Halflings froze.
"It's beginning again," she said.
Pipla grunted. "Whatever it is, we'll smash it."
Reeko unslung his lute. "Or charm it with interpretive dance."
Jory whispered to Gerald.
And Mira stared at the silver Die in her hand, heart pounding, the shard of fate still pulsing in her palm.
The next chapter of their journey had already begun.