The air was still — unnaturally still.
Aren and Lyra stood before an expanse of endless crimson light, broken only by a single path of black threads leading into the heart of the Web. The air shimmered with whispers, thousands of overlapping voices — not screaming, not speaking, but remembering.
Every word was a vow once made.
Lyra gripped her flute tightly. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "And terrifying."
Aren's gaze hardened. "That's how lies survive. They make beauty their disguise."
They walked forward. The ground beneath them pulsed softly, alive, humming with every step. Each beat echoed a memory — sometimes his, sometimes not.The closer they got to the center, the more unstable reality became. Fragments of other worlds flickered around them: a child's laughter, a battlefield drenched in ash, a wedding under a blood-red sun.
It was as if the Web was showing them every vow it had ever absorbed.
After what felt like hours, they reached it — the Heart of the Web.A massive structure of intertwined threads, twisting and pulsing like a living organism. It towered over them, its core glowing gold and red. Floating within it were the silhouettes of the Witnesses — colossal, motionless figures, each representing a concept older than time itself.
Lyra whispered, "Are they sleeping?"
"No," Aren said softly. "They're listening."
The air grew heavy. Threads began to fall from the ceiling, gently wrapping around them like silk chains.Each thread whispered a vow.
"I will never lie.""I will protect the innocent.""I will not fail."
Lyra flinched as one thread brushed her skin — it burned cold, leaving behind faint red marks. "It's reading our vows."
Aren stepped forward. "Then let it hear mine."
The ground shook violently. The Heart responded — not in welcome, but in anger. From within the glowing core, a figure began to emerge.It wasn't the Priestess this time.It was himself.
The crimson double stepped out, identical in every way — same face, same eyes, same voice. But when it spoke, its tone carried the weight of a thousand lies.
"You say you'll free them. But you crave their faith.""You fight the Web. But you need it to define you.""You don't want the truth. You want control."
Aren froze. His clone's words hit like blades. "You're not real."
"Neither are you," the doppelgänger said simply. "Not anymore."
Before he could respond, the clone lunged. Their blades collided in a flash of red light. Sparks scattered like stars.Every clash echoed across the void, rippling through the Web's fibers. The Witnesses stirred slightly, their eyes flickering open one by one.
Lyra raised her flute, trying to disrupt the resonance, but threads shot toward her, binding her arms midair.She struggled, but they tightened, cutting into her skin. Her blood shimmered gold.
"Aren!" she cried. "The Web — it's feeding on your conflict!"
He gritted his teeth, blocking another blow. "Then I'll starve it!"
But his clone was faster, stronger — every move he made was predicted. Every feint countered. It was as if the Web was fighting through him.
"You can't kill me," the double hissed. "Because I am the part of you that made the vow."
The blade pierced Aren's side. Pain exploded through him, and for an instant, he saw flashes — the burning village, Eira's smile, the moment he swore to save her.He'd believed that vow would make him stronger. Instead, it had chained him forever.
The double raised its sword for the final strike — but Lyra screamed, breaking free from her bindings in a surge of golden light.Her eyes blazed crimson and gold, her voice trembling as she played a single, haunting note on her broken flute.
The sound rippled through the Web like a shockwave. Threads unraveled, the Witnesses froze mid-motion.The doppelgänger faltered, its form flickering.
Aren seized the moment. He grabbed the crimson thread in his wound, yanked it free — and with a roar, impaled his clone through the chest.
"Then die with your lies!"
The clone's face twisted, not in pain, but in pity. "And what will you be without me?"
Aren hesitated — but it was too late.The double exploded into light, disintegrating into countless red threads that wrapped around Aren, fusing into his body.The Web screamed.
Lyra fell to her knees as the ground split apart. The Witnesses stirred fully now — enormous forms descending from the heart, their eyes burning with divine fire.Their voices merged into one.
"The Oathbreaker has become the Lie itself.""Balance collapses.""The Crimson Cycle begins anew."
Aren stood amidst the storm, every thread in the Web now connected to him. His body glowed faintly, veins of red running beneath his skin.He could feel everything — every lie, every vow, every soul ever bound by promise.
He turned toward Lyra, but his voice was no longer entirely his. It echoed — part mortal, part god.
"I can stop them," he said. "I can reshape the Web. Make a world where no vow ever chains another again."
Lyra shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "You'll erase free will! Don't you see? Without choice, truth means nothing!"
For a moment, his eyes flickered — red to gold, gold to red.He took a step toward her. The ground beneath him cracked, revealing the Web's core pulsing like a beating heart.
"Then tell me," he whispered. "If you could stop all lies — forever — wouldn't you?"
Lyra's hand trembled. "No… because the truth we choose is what makes us real."
The words cut through him deeper than any blade.Aren froze — then, slowly, his expression softened. The crimson glow around him dimmed slightly.
But the Witnesses roared in unison.
"The Lie hesitates. The world unravels."
The entire chamber began to collapse. Threads snapped, space distorted, and time fractured. The Web's reality started folding in on itself, pulling everything into the Threadvoid.
Lyra reached for him through the chaos. "Aren! Fight it! Don't let them turn you into another god!"
He caught her hand. For a heartbeat, crimson and gold intertwined — their threads merging, burning against the darkness.
Aren smiled faintly.
"Then let's lie to the gods."
The explosion that followed tore through the Heart of the Web, scattering fragments of reality across time itself.
When the light faded, the Heart was gone.
And so were they.