Death came quietly this time.
Not with the roar of collapsing worlds, not with the searing agony of fire boiling her blood or the crushing emptiness of the abyss. It came like a sigh. A gentle dimming.
Hine had been fighting for what felt like hours in the warped arena Ronova had cast her into, her body bruised and cut, lungs burning as if they had forgotten how to draw breath. She had fallen, blades scattered in the strange red dust, as the final blow struck her across the ribs. Pain flared, then dimmed, and then there was nothing.
She waited for the cold to take her like it always did.
She waited for the familiar drift into the endless void.
But instead, there was… silence.
And then, softly, like the smallest ripple across still water, a voice.
"Hine."
Her eyes fluttered open, though there was no light here, no shape, only that voice threading itself around her, warm and steady.
"Who… who's there?" Her voice cracked. She had spoken so little in these loops, speaking only when Ronova demanded answers, when Naberius whispered her reassurances, when her own muttered promises filled the quiet between battles.
The silence stretched, but the voice returned, closer now, like a breath against her ear.
"You do not know me," it said, quiet but rich, layered with something ancient, as if a thousand memories rested in each syllable. "Not yet. But you will."
Hine turned, though there was no body to turn. Her soul floated, weightless, searching in the darkness.
"Why are you here?" she asked, her chest tight with confusion and something like hope that she did not dare name.
"To remind you," the voice replied. "That you are more than this. More than the endless dying. More than the child they believe they can shape."
Her brows knitted, though no face, no body existed here to wear her expression. "Who are you?" she whispered again.
A pause, then a smile she could almost hear.
"Mavuika," the voice said, and the name itself felt heavy, like the air around her shifted when it was spoken. "I am the spark that moves through the cracks of this place. The one they will never see coming. And I have chosen you."
Hine's pulse quickened, though she had no body, no heart beating in her chest.
"Chosen me for what?"
"For survival," Mavuika said simply. "For rebellion. For freedom."
The words sent a shiver down her spine. No one had spoken to her like this before. Ronova's words were sharp and cold, shaped like blades. Naberius soothed her but spoke of balance, of inevitability, of cycles that must be honored. Even Istaroth, distant as the stars, only watched, her voice an echo that never quite touched the present moment.
But this voice… this voice was alive. Fierce.
"Why me?" Hine asked.
A low hum, thoughtful, like Mavuika was turning the question in her hands. "Because you do not break. They have burned you, frozen you, drowned you in void, but still you return. Even now, when fear claws at you, you fight. You do not yet understand what you are capable of, but I do."
The weight of those words pressed against her, and for a moment, Hine forgot the numbness of death. She forgot the loops, the endless pain, the crushing repetition. She was just… listening.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Keep moving," Mavuika said. "Learn. Watch. Every loop, every breath, every step matters. The others will not tell you this, but your path does not have to end where they expect it to. There are cracks forming in the patterns of this place. Through them, I will guide you."
Hine clenched her hands, though she had no hands here, only the phantom feeling of what they used to be.
"Will you stay with me?" The question left her before she could stop it, raw and small.
There was a pause, and then the voice softened. "Not always. Not yet. But I will find you when you need me. Remember this, Hine. You are not alone."
The silence returned, but it was not empty this time. It hummed, alive, like an ember glowing in the dark.
And then she was falling again, drawn back to the world of the living, the taste of red dust sharp in her throat as she gasped for breath.
Her body ached, every bone and muscle screaming, but her mind was clearer than it had been in what felt like months.
She sat up slowly, pressing her hand against her ribs, blinking away the blur of the battlefield around her. Ronova was gone. Naberius had not come to soothe her this time. The realm was quiet.
Only the echo of that voice lingered.
Mavuika.
The name whispered against her ribs like a second heartbeat.
For the first time in so long, Hine did not feel like prey. She felt like something sharp. Something waking up.
When she stood, the dust shifted beneath her feet, and she realized that even the world seemed to sense it, this subtle change in the girl who had died a thousand deaths but still refused to break.
And far above, in the spaces between moments, Istaroth stirred, her gaze sharpening as she tilted her head, watching the stubborn child with new interest.