The spiral platform pulsed faintly under Aric's boots, like a great slow heartbeat. The carvings were deeper here—concentric grooves radiating from the centre toward the mist. The glow of the water reflected upward, painting their faces blue.
Lyra's threads snapped tight around her hands. "It's coming up."
"Stay in the spiral," Aric said, voice low. "It's a ward."
"I'm trusting you on that."
"You've been trusting me all day."
"Doesn't mean I like it."
The water at the platform's edge bulged outward. The Collector rose.
It came up like a piece of the Domain itself breaking free: a long, eel-like body thicker than a tree, black as ink with faint blue veins crawling under its skin. Its head was a blunt wedge with no eyes, only a vertical slit that opened and closed like a gill. From its sides trailed dozens of tendrils, each ending in a hooked point. As it climbed higher the glow of the water dimmed, like a lantern starved of air.
Lyra whispered, "It's blind."
"It doesn't need eyes." Aric thought, 'It smells Names.'
The slit along its head opened wider, emitting a low moan that vibrated their bones. The fragment-child in the cage hissed, filaments curling tight.
Aric raised the Mirror. "Stay behind me."
"You can't fight that thing with a mirror."
"I don't plan to fight it."
"Oh good," she said. "We're going to die creatively."
He didn't answer. The Collector's foremost tendril lashed out, striking the platform's edge. Sparks hissed where it touched the spiral, as though it had been burned. It recoiled slightly, then hissed louder.
Aric crouched and pressed the Mirror to the spiral. Symbols unspooled in his mind: anchor, toll, passage. He thought, 'It can't cross the spiral. It wants a toll.'
He whispered to Lyra, "Keep your Name steady."
"Doing my best."
The Collector circled the platform, tendrils slapping against the mist, testing for a weak spot. With each impact the spiral flickered.
Lyra glanced at him. "Vale…spiral's fading."
"I see it."
"What do we give it?"
He looked at the fragment-child. Its filaments glowed faintly, eyes fixed on the Collector. "Not this," he muttered. 'Think. Toll doesn't have to be real. Just valuable enough to smell like a Name.'
The Collector lunged again. This time a tendril whipped over the spiral's edge, curling toward Lyra. She flicked her threads up instinctively, catching it mid-air. The tendril hissed, blue sparks flying where thread met flesh.
Aric snapped, "Don't let it pull you off!"
"I'm trying!"
She planted her feet, anchoring herself with another thread. "Vale—anytime now—"
Aric's mind raced. 'Illusions work both ways. The Domain offers visions to pull us off. Can I feed it a false one?'He pressed the Mirror to his forehead. "Show me a Name," he whispered.
The Mirror pulsed. Symbols shifted. In his hand coalesced a small sphere of blue light—a compressed echo of his own Name, a sliver only. His skin crawled as he felt it leave him, like pulling out a tooth. 'Just a taste.'
He held it up. "Toll," he called to the Collector.
The tendril holding Lyra froze, quivering. The slit on the Collector's head widened, a sucking hiss filling the mist.
Aric extended the sphere just past the spiral's edge. The Collector's foremost tendril shot out, delicately plucking the light from his hand. It drew the sphere to its slit, where it dissolved with a faint chime.
The tendril around Lyra went slack and slid back into the water. The glow brightened again. The Collector hissed, circling once more—but slower now, like a predator that has fed.
Lyra stumbled back into the spiral, breathing hard. "What did you give it?"
"A crumb," Aric said, still feeling the hollow space inside him. "Enough to taste. Not enough to eat me."
She stared. "You can do that?"
"Once. Maybe twice. Not more." He thought, 'Not without losing my Name entirely.'
The Collector dipped under the water, only the faint line of its back showing as it circled. It let out a low moan, then began to sink, its tendrils trailing like kelp. The glow returned fully. The spiral under their feet brightened, as though relit.
Lyra wiped sweat from her forehead. "So that's it? We paid?"
"For now," Aric said. "It may come back."
"I hate this place."
"You've said."
"I'll keep saying it until we're out."
He looked across the mist. The faint outline of the far arch was clearer now, a black wedge with a blue light beyond. Only a dozen stones left between them and the exit.
Lyra followed his gaze. "Almost there?"
"Almost." He thought, 'If the Domain doesn't change the rules again.'
She nudged him. "Next time, Vale, you're carrying the monster cage."
"I am carrying it."
"Oh. Then next time you're also carrying me."
He snorted, a small sound of real amusement. "You're heavier than you look."
Her mouth curved. "You're weaker than you look."
The fragment-child chimed softly, a note that almost sounded like laughter.
Aric adjusted the cage on his shoulder and stepped to the edge of the spiral. The first stone beyond glimmered faintly, waiting. Behind them the mist closed over the Collector's last ripple.
He said, "Let's move before it changes its mind."
Lyra flexed her fingers, threads flickering like silver snakes. "Lead on, Captain."
They jumped.
The stone held. The mist ahead stirred, revealing another line of stones—and something else. Farther along the path, silhouetted against the glow, stood a figure. Not a mirage this time: a real shape, tall and still, waiting on one of the stones.
Lyra inhaled sharply. "There's someone out there."
Aric's eyes narrowed. 'Another traveller? Or something worse?'
The figure raised a hand slowly, palm outward—a gesture of greeting or warning, impossible to tell in the starlit mist.
Aric whispered, "Looks like we're not alone after all."