The staircase opened onto eternity.
The eighth floor was a sunrise frozen at the exact moment before the world caught fire.
A vast plain of white salt stretched to infinity, reflecting a sky of molten gold and rose.
The sun—half-risen, bleeding—hung forever on the edge of becoming.
Its light was gentle, warm, and utterly merciless.
In the center floated the Crown of Dawn.
The original.
Not the melted ruin the Terror had worn.
Not a memory.
The real thing.
Seven rays of divine metal.
Cracked.
Weeping liquid sunlight.
The cracks bled slow golden tears that never reached the ground.
SFX: DRIP… DRIP…—each tear striking the salt with a soft sizzle.
The crown turned slowly, patient, waiting for a head worthy of its weight.
Around it knelt seven figures.
The real Saints.
Not echoes.
Not corpses.
The originals—preserved, perfected, broken.
Jet, winter coat frozen stiff, eyes closed, breath misting in the warm air.
Song of Broken Swords, seven blades driven into the salt like grave markers.
Kai, wings folded, starlight dimmed to embers.
Mordret, mirrors for eyes, reflecting nothing.
Effie, iron skin rusted through, hands resting on her knees.
Cassie, blindfold gone, eyes white and ancient.
And Nephis. No—not Nephis.
The real Changing Star knelt at the crown's far side.
White armor pristine.
Silver hair untouched by fire.
Exactly as she had been the day she died.
Before the Spire.
Before the corruption.
Before four hundred years of waiting.
They all knelt in perfect silence.
Heads bowed. Waiting for judgment that had never come.
Nephis—the living one, the Queen—stood beside Sunny at the top of the staircase.
Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
Her voice was soft.
"They've been waiting," she said.
"Since the day I took the crown and refused to let it end."
She stepped forward.
The kneeling Saints did not move.
She walked to the crown and lifted it with both hands.
**SFX: WHOOM—light spilling outward, stretching across the salt plain **
The light brightened—warm, welcoming, absolute.
She turned to Sunny.
Eyes gold. Endless.
"Wear it with me," she said.
"We'll burn the world gentle this time.
No one will scream.
They'll just… sleep.
In light.
In warmth.
Forever."
She held the crown out.
It floated toward him, slow, inevitable.
Sunny felt the pull.
Not force.
Longing.
He saw it.
The world bathed in white fire.
Not destruction.
Purification.
Every pain erased.
Every lie burned away.
Every soul finally, perfectly still.
No more cages.
No more caravans.
No more children screaming in cracked bells.
Only dawn.
He raised his one remaining hand.
The crown lowered.
Rays brushed his hair.
He felt the warmth.
The peace.
The forgiveness.
He almost put it on.
At the last second, the polished surface caught a reflection.
Not his own.
The young man from the throne.
Silver threading his black hair.
Eyes clear.
Standing behind Sunny in the reflection.
Hand raised. Shaking his head.
No.
Sunny froze.
The crown hovered a finger's breadth from his brow.
Nephis watched him. Calm. Patient. Waiting.
Sunny looked at the kneeling Saints.
At the real Nephis.
Head bowed, waiting for a judgment that would never come—
Because he had refused to give it.
At the crown.
At the sunrise that would never finish rising.
He lowered his hand.
"No," he said.
The word was small.
SFX: CRACK—the frozen sunrise trembled.
The crown wavered.
Nephis's smile finally cracked.
Not rage.
Grief.
Raw. Ancient. Human.
"You still choose them," she whispered.
Sunny looked at her.
Really looked.
At the bone beneath the skin.
At the fire that had eaten everything else.
At the woman who had waited four hundred years
for him to say yes.
"I choose them," he said.
"And I choose me."
**SFX: SHATTER—seven rays of the crown splitting, light scattering across the salt plain **
The kneeling Saints stirred.
The real Nephis opened her eyes—gold, clear, alive.
She looked at Sunny.
Smiled—small, tired, free.
Then she dissolved into white flame, rising into the frozen sunrise.
One by one, the other Saints followed:
Jet's winter coat became snow.
Song's blades became wind.
Kai's wings became stars.
Mordret's mirrors became sky.
Effie's iron became earth.
Cassie's sight became dawn.
They left.
Not destroyed.
Released.
The eighth floor began to crumble—salt cracking, sunrise bleeding, light fading into true morning.
Nephis—the Queen, the corruption, the wait—stood alone.
Wings of living flame folded.
Her smile gone.
Only sorrow remained.
"You could have had peace," she said.
Sunny looked at the place where the crown had been.
"I'm done with peace," he said.
Then he walked past her.
Toward the final staircase, opened in the breaking light.
Nephis watched.
She did not follow.
Not yet.
The Gate of Dawn was passed.
But the fire was not finished with him.