The sacrifice

**Kelly Thompson's POV**

The shore isn’t a shore—it’s a *threshold*.

Black sand shifts like living static beneath our boots, each grain humming with the residue of dead timelines. The army of echoes crawls from the depths, their bodies skeletal amalgamations of every version of us that ever fell: wolves with Eden’s face, storms with my hands, fragments of Kael and Lila stitched together in mockery. They don’t attack. They *watch*, hollow eyes tracking our every breath.

Eden’s hand trembles in mine. He’s colder now, his pulse sluggish where the Song once roared. “They’re waiting for something,” he murmurs.

The sky answers.