The sky cracked.
Above the battlefield, the fractured moon pulsed with a violent rhythm, veins of silver light crawling across its surface like fissures about to split open. Each pulse sent a tremor through the mirror world, shaking the ground, rattling the broken coffins of memory, and bending the cyclone of shards into jagged, spiraling patterns.
The Shard-Keeper tilted its cracked mask upward, voice trembling with both fury and awe.
"It awakens…"
Ren barely heard it. He was still clutching the girl in his arms, her shard-wings now little more than splinters of dim light. She was cold, too cold, her breaths shallow against his chest.
"Stay with me," Ren whispered, his vow-thread dimming but still pulsing faintly, the last ember of his defiance. "You're not leaving me in this place."
Her lips parted weakly, forming a soundless word. He didn't need to hear it—he knew. Promise.
