REY_REGINO

Beneath a sky that remembers forgotten names, a rift opens—and the world will never be the same.

Lynchie is no chosen one. Orphaned by fate and burdened by dreams she can't explain, she enters the gates of Vatra Arx, a floating academy suspended between stars and ruin. Within its spell-forged halls, celestial politics, ancient beast trials, and haunting whispers of the First Tongue converge.

But power comes at a cost, and destiny isn't always a gift.

As rival students clash under hidden banners and forbidden factions awaken, Lynchie must survive more than exams—she must survive truths no one dares speak aloud. Truths that twist the stars, silence gods, and splinter the meaning of life itself.

At the edge of prophecy and rebellion, a misfit may wear the crown—if she can remember who she is.

CROWN OF MISFITS

The wind had turned. Lynchie could feel it, not just in the rustling of the black-laced trees outside the council keep, but deep within her marrow, in the Spiral thrum that had taken up residence beneath her skin. The glyphs along her forearms—once fading etchings—now pulsed faintly with a silver-blue glow, responding to something that had shifted in the world beyond the warded walls.

"The tension is rising," Zev muttered, standing at the window with his back to her. His silhouette was haloed by the stormy light, all sharp lines and shadows. "They've made their move."

Lynchie swallowed, her hands trembling slightly. The parchment she held—the intercepted enemy missive—crackled like fire in her grip. The message had been scrawled in a variation of the Spiral script, ancient and fractured, but unmistakable in intent. The Mirror-Spoken were coming. And they were not alone.

She approached Zev, each footstep echoing like a countdown.

"They know I'm the Conduit," she said quietly. "Or they suspect."

Zev turned to her then, and in his gaze was that maddening blend of protectiveness and distrust, as if he still couldn't decide which mattered more. "They don't just suspect. That glyph they used? The Sha-Ur-Vael. It only reacts to Spiral-bonded blood. They're hunting you."

A silence stretched between them, taut and charged. Outside, thunder cracked like an omen.

Lynchie stepped closer until there was barely space between them. "Then train me harder. Let me be what I need to be."

His jaw tightened. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I lived it in the Veil. I saw what I could become. What I have to become."

Zev's hand rose, hesitated, then fell to his side. "Then tonight, we begin the true rites."

The Spiral chambers beneath the keep had not been used in over two centuries. Sealed behind layers of protective wards, their glyphs had once whispered secrets to the first Wardbearers who forged peace in the First Spiral War. Now, they would whisper again.

Torches flared as they descended. The stone grew warmer, not colder, and the glyphs carved into the walls shimmered with anticipation. Lynchie felt it more than saw it—the hum of dormant power, the pull of knowledge long buried.

Vyen waited at the threshold of the central chamber, his face drawn and eyes shadowed by something more than age. "You understand what you risk? This rite is older than the Spiral's record. If you fail, it won't just be your body that burns."

"Then it's a good thing I don't intend to fail," Lynchie said, stepping into the light.

Every wall blazed to life with glyphs that twisted and unfolded in real time, reacting to her presence. The Spiral recognized its own.

As Lynchie stepped into the center of the glyph-circle, her breath caught. Her heart no longer beat in simple rhythms. It thrummed like a Spiral Ward igniting, syncing to an ancient pulse.

Zev moved to join her, their hands brushing as he placed a ceremonial shard in her palm. "This will cut deeper than flesh."

"Then bleed with me," she whispered.

Blood met glyph. Light met darkness. And the chamber shook.

Outside, across the valley, the first war horn of the Mirror-Spoken howled into the night.

Ashes in the Spiral (2)