The stair wound upward in silence, each step echoing like a heartbeat. The air felt thicker here, heavy with something that pressed against their chests, as if the void itself was watching more intently.
Kaelen's fire burned faintly, not out of exhaustion but restraint. Even he could sense that loud defiance might draw something worse from the dark.
It was Lyra who first noticed it—a shape cut into the endless black wall. At first it seemed a trick of shadow, but as they drew closer, the outline sharpened.
A door.
Impossible. The stair had been nothing but endless ascent, no walls but void, no doors, no chambers. Yet here it was—tall, ancient, etched with markings that glowed faintly like stars trapped in stone.
The candle-bearer whimpered, clutching their flame. "That shouldn't be here. The stair doesn't… have doors."
Lyra approached cautiously, her molten blade casting a dull glow across the carvings. "Then maybe it's not part of the stair."
Kaelen reached out, his fingers brushing the surface. The stone was cold, but alive, vibrating faintly like the skin of a drum. The markings shifted under his touch, rearranging themselves into patterns that hurt to look at—spirals folding in on themselves, infinity reflected within infinity.
His fire recoiled instinctively, as if warning him.
"Kaelen." Lyra's voice was low, sharp. "Don't."
But the door… it called.
Before he could decide, the door pulsed once—then opened.
Not outward. Not inward. It unfolded, like a page turning in an unseen book.
Beyond lay a chamber carved from the same void-stone as the stair, but filled with light—or something like light. Orbs floated in the air, drifting slowly, each one containing a faint image: cities crumbling, oceans boiling, stars collapsing into silence.
The candle-bearer gasped. "Memories… no. Not memories. Futures."
Kaelen stepped inside despite the warning in his veins. The air hummed, thrumming against his chest, whispering in a thousand voices. One orb drifted toward him, its surface rippling like liquid. Inside he saw himself—kneeling in shadow, fire extinguished, Lyra's blade shattered beside him.
He recoiled.
Lyra entered after him, her jaw tightening as another orb drifted near. Within, she saw herself—standing alone at the stair's peak, the candle-bearer gone, Kaelen nowhere. Her molten sword blazed, but her face was broken, hollow.
She shoved the orb away, its image dissolving into mist.
The candle-bearer's flame sputtered wildly. "This is wrong. These are traps. The watchers… they want us to believe in endings that aren't written yet."
But even as they said it, their eyes locked on an orb that floated near them. They didn't speak of what they saw inside.
The chamber pulsed once more, and the orbs swirled faster, crowding around them, each whispering in distorted voices.
"Every bond ends."
"Every flame dies."
"This is your truth."
The door slammed shut behind them.
They were trapped inside a room of futures that weren't theirs—yet.