The lull after the Conclave's retreat was worse than the siege.
The hum in Arielle's chest didn't quiet. It grew restless. The streets whispered under her feet, threads flickering in the shadows like restless spirits. Windows rattled without wind. Whole buildings shuddered as if impatient.
Selene sat on the edge of a fractured fountain, their stitches dim, their face drawn. "It's not just awake anymore. The city's… agitated. Like it's waiting for something."
Draven stood nearby, his constructs orbiting him like slow moons. His eyes didn't leave Arielle. "It's waiting for her. The tether isn't satisfied being alive. It wants to grow. To bind deeper. To feed."
Arielle's fingers twitched involuntarily, threads sparking from her fingertips without her willing it. Each spark was pulled instantly into the nearest surface — walls, lampposts, even the cracked stones of the street — sinking into the city as though it were drinking her.
She recoiled, clenching her fists, severing the sparks. "It's not supposed to feed. It's supposed to… hold."
Selene's gaze was sharp despite their exhaustion. "You took the core's pulse into yourself. You didn't just save the tether — you rewrote it. Now it doesn't just stabilize the city. It wants your resonance. Without it, it doesn't know how to stay whole."
The hum deepened, not loud, but heavy. Arielle felt her chest tighten with each pulse, a strange ache like something was pulling her ribs inward, knitting her deeper into the streets beneath her feet.
Draven's voice was calm, too calm. "This is the cost. You wanted to keep yourself separate, to not merge with the tether fully. But the city's alive now. And it's hungry. If you don't give it what it wants, it will take it anyway — and you'll lose yourself a piece at a time."
Arielle shook her head, backing away from the trembling pavement. "No. There has to be a balance. I'm not going to vanish into this thing. I won't."
Selene stood, their stitches sparking weakly as they steadied themselves. "Then we need to teach the city restraint. Or teach you how to feed it without… breaking."
Before Arielle could respond, the horizon lit up again — but not with Spirefire.
A Spire itself was descending. A mobile Conclave Spire, its white-thread lattice uncoiling in massive tendrils, drilling into the streets like a parasitic root. It wasn't just attacking. It was trying to replace her tether with its own, overwriting the living city one district at a time.
The hum in her chest spasmed, and the city screamed.
Selene grabbed her wrist, their stitches flaring bright enough to sting. "Arielle. If we don't give the city what it wants, it won't survive the Spire. You have to choose, now. Let it feed. Let it bind. Or we all watch it die."
The hum rose into a near-deafening roar inside her. Not words, but need.
Bind or break.