Ashen Thresholds

The horns had not stopped.

They echoed across the jagged cliffs like a wound being reopened—low and mournful, then rising into a frenzy. War was no longer a distant storm on the horizon. It was here, tangible and seething, summoned by truths no longer hidden.

Lynchie stood at the edge of the Spiral Bastion, cloaked in twilight and dread. Beneath her boots, the foundation stones pulsed with wards that she herself had etched days before—glyphs drawn in a trance, not taught, not remembered. Just felt.

The wind was sharp with smoke. Somewhere beyond the ridges, the first lines of the Mirror-Spoken vanguard were moving. Not just soldiers—conduits. Entities marked by reverse glyphs that shimmered with fragmented light, distorting reality around them.

"Six formations sighted," Vyen reported, dropping beside her, voice taut. "Not even trying to disguise their approach."

"They want to be seen," Lynchie murmured. "They want us to know they're not afraid."

Zev emerged from the upper platform, his armor half-fastened, a Spiral-blade strapped across his back. He looked like he hadn't slept—because he hadn't.

"What happened after the Gate sealed?" he asked. "You passed out."

"I didn't pass out," she corrected. "I was listening."

"To what?"

"To myself. Or… who I might become."

Zev frowned. "That's not cryptic at all."

"I saw myself leading them," Lynchie said, her voice quiet. "Not forced. Chosen."

Vyen glanced between them. "Chosen by whom?"

"The Spiral," she replied. "Or a version of it that fractured."

Zev stepped closer. "You don't believe them, do you?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she touched the edge of her cloak, fingers brushing over the inked glyphs hidden beneath—ones that now moved when she breathed.

"I believe I was never told the full truth," she said. "And that whatever I am, both sides fear it."

A crackling gust swept through the battlements. Sparks trailed from the defensive wards as they strained under the pressure of incoming magic.

Then came the first blast.

The world lit up.

Not fire. Not stone. A lashing wave of inverted Spiral magic that carved a trench through the air, unraveling a section of the ward net with a scream like flayed metal.

"Impact!" Vyen barked. "They're testing our resonance defenses!"

"Let them," Zev growled. "They haven't seen what Lynchie can do."

Lynchie didn't move.

She stared at the scorched sky, heart beating not with fear—but resonance.

Inside her, the Spiral throbbed like a second heartbeat.

She raised her right hand, opened her palm, and for a brief moment, her pupils glowed silver.

Glyphs spiraled from her skin—not drawn, not spoken, just known.

A storm of light burst from her fingers, catching the next Mirror-Spoken incursion in midair. They shimmered, paused—as if frozen between dimensions—and shattered in a cascade of reversed time.

Vyen swore.

Zev turned to her, stunned. "That wasn't even Spiral protocol. That was raw essence."

"I didn't plan it," she whispered. "I just… listened."

To what?

The Spiral itself. The thing that sang in her blood like an ancient hymn.

But there was no time for answers.

From the eastern slope came a shriek—not human. A pack of mirrorbeasts spilled over the ridge, eyes gleaming, flesh phasing through matter. They charged toward the lower barracks.

"Go!" Lynchie shouted. "I'll hold the north!"

Vyen took the command without question, but Zev hesitated.

"You shouldn't be alone."

She met his gaze. "I was born alone. But if you stay here, we both die."

Reluctantly, he nodded and disappeared down the ramparts.

Then she turned to face the northern ridge.

And there, in the approaching haze, stood the emissary again.

Not cloaked now—but armored. Spiral-forged glass and dusksteel wrapped around their form. Their face solidified this time: female, cold, and disturbingly familiar.

"You felt it," the emissary called across the distance. "Didn't you? The pull. The song."

Lynchie stepped forward.

"I also felt the screams of every Spiral city you burned."

The emissary raised a hand. "You could end this. Come with me. Take your place. Rewrite this world."

"I'd rather burn it than let you script it."

A pause. Then the emissary smiled.

"Good. You're almost ready."

Then she vanished.

And the entire northern ridge exploded.

Lynchie was thrown backward into the stone, breath knocked from her lungs. Blood trickled from her temple. But she stood, slowly, trembling.

The Spiral was no longer just inside her.

It was waking up around her.

And war had only begun.