Chapter 17

The slab tilts beneath me, a precarious raft adrift in the void's endless churn, and I grip the shard tighter, its dulled edges biting into my palm like a fading memory. The white light pulses above, a beacon slicing through the dark, and Kaelen's voice lingers—*"You're enough…"*—soft but insistent, tugging at the frayed edges of my will. My lungs burn, each breath a ragged scrape against ribs bruised from the fall, and the blood dripping from my hand leaves smears on the stone, dark against its pale sheen. The void below is quieter now, the entity's tide of tendrils receding, but its presence coils in the silence—a predator licking wounds, waiting for me to falter.

I force myself upright, legs trembling, the tattered remnants of my robe clinging to my sweat-soaked skin. The slab steadies, its surface smooth but scarred, etched with faint lines that twist like veins under scrutiny. The light intensifies, revealing a jagged staircase spiraling upward from the slab's edge—narrow, uneven, carved from the same pale stone, vanishing into the brilliance above. No walls, no rails, just steps suspended in the void, daring me to climb. My heart hammers, instincts screaming trap again, but the alternative is sinking back into the dark, into her—into it. I've clawed too far for that.

The shard's glow is gone, its bone-white surface cold and inert, but it's still mine, a piece of me ripped free from her grasp. I tuck it into the remnants of my belt, wincing as its barbs snag fabric and skin, and take a step toward the stairs. The slab shifts, a low groan reverberating through the stone, and I freeze, expecting it to crumble like the ledge. It holds. Barely. The void whispers—*"Climb… fail… fall…"*—a taunt, her voice threaded with the entity's hum, testing me. I grit my teeth and step onto the first stair.

The stone is ice beneath my bare feet, sending a jolt up my spine, but it's solid. I climb, one step, then another, the light growing sharper, searing my eyes until tears blur my vision. The void presses in, its cold tendrils brushing my ankles—not grabbing, not yet, just reminding me it's there. My shadow stretches behind me, warped and twitching on the steps, and I don't look back. I can't. Kaelen's voice flickers again—*"Hold on…"*—and I cling to it, a lifeline against the whispers clawing at my mind.

The stairs twist tighter, the ascent steepening, and my legs burn, muscles screaming with every lift. Blood trickles from my palm, marking my path, and the metallic tang in the air thickens, mingling with a faint, sour rot that clings to my throat. The light shifts, fracturing into prisms—white, then violet, then white again—and the steps narrow, forcing me to balance on my toes. A misstep means falling, and the void's hum swells, eager, as if tasting my exhaustion.

Halfway up—or what I guess is halfway, time and distance meaningless here—the stairs shudder, a violent quake that sends me sprawling. I catch myself, nails scraping stone, and the shard slips free, clattering down two steps before teetering on the edge. My breath catches, and I lunge, snatching it just as the void's tendrils surge, lashing at the stair below. They recoil from the shard's touch, hissing, and I clutch it to my chest, its barbs drawing fresh blood. The entity's not retreating—it's regrouping, and I'm running out of strength.

I push on, the light now a blinding wall, its heat searing my skin. The stairs end abruptly at a platform—small, circular, ringed by a low lip of stone, the void stretching endless on all sides. At its center stands a door—tall, arched, carved from obsidian so polished it reflects the light in oily streaks. No handle, no hinges, just a surface that ripples like liquid when I approach. My reflection stares back, haggard and hollow: matted hair, torn robe, eyes wide and violet-ringed, the shard a white slash against my crimson-streaked hand. Behind me, her shadow flickers—crowned, smiling—then vanishes.

The hum spikes, a growl that shakes the platform, and the void erupts. Tendrils burst upward, thicker now, barbed and glistening, wrapping the platform's edge, cracking stone as they climb. I stagger back, shard raised, and the door pulses, a low thrum syncing with my heartbeat. *"Open… enter… end…"*—her voice, mine, the entity's, all at once. I slash at a tendril snaking toward my leg, violet sparks flaring as it shrieks and retreats, but more come, a writhing wall closing in.

I press my free hand to the door, and it yields, sucking my palm into its glassy surface. Warmth floods me—Kaelen's touch, Rhea's laugh, a breeze I've forgotten—and I yank back, gasping, the shard trembling in my grip. The tendrils lunge, one coiling around my ankle, yanking me down. I stab it, ichor spraying, and scramble up, slamming both hands against the door. It shivers, parting like a curtain, and I dive through, the tendrils snapping at my heels as it seals shut.

I hit the ground—soft, damp, alive—rolling to a stop in a chamber of moss and roots, the air thick with earth and decay. The light's gone, replaced by a dim green glow seeping from the walls, twisted vines pulsing like arteries. The shard flares briefly, then dims, and I stagger to my feet, every muscle aching. The door's gone, the void silenced, but the hum lingers, faint, buried in the roots. I'm not free—just somewhere else.

A figure steps from the shadows—tall, cloaked, face obscured by a hood of woven bark. "You brought it," they say, voice low, genderless, gesturing to the shard. I tense, raising it, but they don't move, only tilt their head. "The crown's fragment. The key." The vines shift, parting to reveal a basin at the chamber's center, filled with liquid that shimmers gold, then violet, then gold again. "Place it there, and choose."

"Choose what?" I rasp, throat raw, stepping closer. The basin's surface ripples, showing me—her—us—crowned and whole, then dissolving into Kaelen's face, then nothing. The figure doesn't answer, only watches, and the hum grows, the roots trembling. Tendrils peek from the soil, testing, and I realize it's followed me, weaker but alive.

"End it, or become it," the figure says finally, stepping back into shadow. The basin glows brighter, the shard heating in my hand, whispering again—*"Yours… ours… take…"*—and the chamber shakes, roots cracking the walls. I approach the basin, legs leaden, and the liquid shifts, reflecting my face—violet-eyed, crowned, smiling—then Kaelen's, pleading. The tendrils rise, slow but relentless, and I hover the shard over the basin, its glow bathing me in white.

One drop, one plunge, one choice. The entity's hum crescendos, the figure vanishes, and the chamber begins to collapse, roots snapping, earth raining down. I tighten my grip, blood dripping into the basin, and the liquid flares—gold, violet, white—blinding me as I decide.

The shard falls.