Night had settled like ash over the temple ruins. Silent. Soft. Waiting.
The relic pulsed faintly where it rested in Samantha's palm, a dim silver glow threading through the cracks. Everyone else had gone quiet hours ago—J curled in her bedroll, Ron dozing like a rock with one sock missing, and Alaric sitting against the far wall with his eyes half-open, as if daring sleep to catch him.
But Samantha couldn't rest.
The magic inside her buzzed, low and constant, like a storm still gathering over the horizon.
She turned the relic over again in her hands.
A fragment of glass. A single strand of hair preserved inside. Something from her—Saryel—before she died.
And yet it pulsed now, alive in a way that no object should be.
Why now? she wondered.
The glow intensified.
She barely had time to breathe before the light wrapped around her fingers and pulled.
---
She didn't fall. She shifted—like slipping between two mirrors.
The relic glowed hot in her palm. Her breath stilled.
Then—
The world tilted.
---
Samantha opened her eyes into another life.
Red light bathed the sky. The Blood Moon was full and swollen, bleeding over the horizon. Air burned with the smell of salt and iron. And she stood—Saryel stood—at the base of the Olden Days Tree, arms raised, weaving sigils in trembling light.
The ritual.
This was the moment.
The one she'd felt, but never remembered—until now.
Saryel had kept it locked. Hidden in the deepest parts of her memory.
Whether it was on purpose or not, Samantha didn't know.
Perhaps it was the shock of dying that repressed it, but now, it had finally come to light.
---
Magic swirled around her fingers like threads of fire. She could feel the strain. The pull of the breach. The way it screamed to be let in.
She was buying them time. Holding the world together with the last of her soul.
And then—
"Saryel."
That voice.
She turned.
Ramiel stood at the edge of the clearing. Red light streaked across his face. His robes were torn. His eyes wild. His hands were shaking.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice raw.
"What I must," Saryel said. "You know that."
"No. No, stop. Stop it—don't finish the seal. You'll kill yourself."
"It's the only way."
"Then don't!" he shouted. "There has to be another way—there always is, you always find one—"
"Ramiel—"
"RUN!"
The word cracked like thunder in his throat. His shoulders heaved.
"I won't let it take you," he said. "Please... please, just go. Before they get here."
"They?"
But she already knew.
---
A figure stepped into the grove. Robes dark, eyes cold. One of Ramiel's followers. The ones twisted by the breach's promises. A knife gleamed in their hand.
Ramiel didn't move.
"No," Saryel whispered. "Not like this."
"I tried to stop it," Ramiel said. "I swear, I did. But they've chosen me. I can't—"
"Yes, you can."
"I'm not strong enough."
His voice cracked. His eyes filled.
"Please. Just run."
"I'm not leaving them."
"You're choosing them over me."
"No. I'm choosing what's right."
---
She turned back to the ritual. Light flared. Her arms lifted.
Behind her, the acolyte stepped forward. Ramiel said nothing.
His lips trembled. His fists clenched. He didn't say no. He didn't stop them.
He cried.
And then the blade sank into her back.
---
Time shattered. Samantha felt it this time—the pain, the light, the final exhale.
Her knees hit the ground.
Ramiel knelt too—but didn't touch her. Just stared. Eyes empty. Grief warring with numbness. Until the numbness won.
---
Then—footsteps.
Fast. Cracking twigs. Gasping breath.
"Saryel—!"
Alaric burst into the clearing, wild with panic. He dropped to her side.
"No—" he whispered. "No no no..."
His hands searched for a pulse that wasn't there.
"What have you done?!"
Ramiel didn't answer.
Just watched.
"SAY SOMETHING!"
Quiet. Empty.
Alaric's rage boiled. The light in his fist flared.
"LEAVE."
Ramiel looked at him once.
And walked into the trembling woods.
---
The memory blurred. The light faded.
---
Samantha gasped awake.
The relic in her hand was dark. Her breath was ragged. She sat up slowly, staring into the quiet temple shadows.
"You told me to run..." she whispered. "And then you let me die."
---
Alaric was already by her side, silent. He didn't need to ask. He knew.
"He didn't do it himself," she murmured. "But he didn't stop it either."
Alaric swallowed. "I'm sorry. For all of it."
"It wasn't your fault," she said. "Or his. Not completely."
Her fists tightened.
"But that doesn't mean he gets to win."