Chapter 57

The burning message lingered across the heavens for less than a minute.

**SHE CAN STILL BE PULLED BACK.**

Then the letters faded, as if embarrassed by their own defiance, swallowed by the night like a lie no longer willing to be silent.

But in that minute, everything changed.

The seed in Kye's hand pulsed again—one quick thump, like a heartbeat restarting after drowning.

He gasped, stumbling back, clutching it like it might disappear.

Veika rushed to him.

"What happened?"

Kye's eyes didn't leave the sky. "You saw that, right?"

Veika nodded slowly. "I saw it. We all did."

Renna was already pacing.

Kaelion stood motionless, face hard, arms crossed, scanning the stars as if he could demand the truth from them.

"There's no magic that can write across the sky like that," Renna muttered.

Veika snorted. "Then what was that? A particularly motivated firefly?"

Kye didn't join the banter.

His voice was low.

"It was her."

Renna stopped pacing.

Kaelion spoke without looking at him. "You think it was Sena?"

Kye finally turned to face them, the seed still glowing between his fingers.

"I don't just think. I *know.*"

---

Elsewhere, in the upper reaches of the **Chronarch Citadel**, the burning message did not go unnoticed.

The High Chronarch watched from her temporal observatory, her hands clasped behind her back. She said nothing as the fire faded.

But the tension in the room was palpable.

The senior acolyte behind her cleared his throat.

"This wasn't our doing."

"I know," the Chronarch said quietly.

"Then what—"

"It's a recall flare."

The acolyte froze.

"But that's impossible. The Vault core was sealed. Memory protocol activated. There's no—"

"Someone survived the severance," the Chronarch interrupted. "Someone, or… something."

She turned slowly.

"Prepare the sanctum. We'll need the *threads.*"

The acolyte paled. "But the threads are locked."

"Unlock them."

"But the consequences—"

The Chronarch's voice cut like a blade.

"If there's a soul trying to claw its way back from null, we either pull it out… or it *rebuilds itself from what we buried.*"

---

Back at camp, Kaelion had drawn several glyphs into the dirt.

Symbols of containment, focus, tracing.

"I need time," he said. "This wasn't a simple flare. That message rewrote the sky itself. If I can catch the residue, I might find the source."

Renna leaned on her sword, tired but sharp.

"Do you even know where to look?"

Kaelion didn't glance up. "No. But the world remembers what the mind forgets. And the sky—"

"—never lies," Veika finished, nodding. "Old west saying."

Kye sat alone by the fire, the seed cradled in both hands like something fragile and newborn.

"I thought she was gone," he whispered.

No one corrected him.

No one told him he'd been right.

Instead, Kaelion drew a final rune, and the dirt glowed faintly.

"This might sting."

He tapped the circle.

For a second—just one—everyone around the fire saw *her.*

A silhouette in white, standing just beyond the flame's reach. No face. No voice. But the shape was unmistakable.

Hair in a braid.

Hand outstretched.

Kye stood.

"Sena?"

But the image blinked—and vanished.

Kaelion slumped slightly. "She's fragmented. Only pieces remain. I barely reached her."

"Can we get more?" Kye asked.

Kaelion shook his head. "Not without risking what's left."

Veika exhaled. "So what now?"

Kye looked at the sky.

"We follow the thread."

---

That same night, in the Citadel's forbidden sanctum, the Chronarch stood before an ancient device—*The Loom.*

A crystalline pillar wrapped in braided wires of silver and red, humming with unspeakable pressure. The room itself bent subtly around it, warping time like a soft lens.

The three acolytes stood ready at the base.

"Thread sequence?" the Chronarch asked.

"Set to null-fracture. Seeking resonance."

"Then initiate pull."

The Loom shuddered.

A light—thin as a strand of hair—emerged from its core, flickering between dimensions.

It pulsed erratically, as if unsure which direction to follow.

Then it *jerked.*

The Chronarch narrowed her eyes.

"It's moving. The soul is responding."

The acolyte frowned. "But it's not coming to us."

The light shifted directions.

"Where is it going?"

The Chronarch didn't answer right away.

Then she whispered:

"To *him.*"

---

Kye awoke gasping.

His chest burned.

Not pain—*presence.*

The seed had grown warm again.

Hot, even.

He pulled it out.

It wasn't a seed anymore.

It had cracked.

A tiny sprout, no bigger than a nail, curled from its center—glowing with soft, white threads.

Like hair.

Kye stood, heart pounding.

The others stirred behind him.

But before he could speak, *a sound* filled the camp.

Not footsteps.

Not voices.

A *hum.*

Low. Hollow.

Like a choir remembering its first song.

Kaelion stood instantly. "That's not from here."

The trees beyond the fire shook.

Branches bent—*toward* the camp.

The wind reversed.

Reality flexed.

And then—

From the trees—

A girl stepped out.

Not walking.

Floating.

Her eyes were closed.

Hair braided.

Clothes unfamiliar.

But *hers.*

Every detail was unmistakable.

It was Sena.

Kye ran forward, nearly collapsing in disbelief.

But as he reached her—he stopped.

Her eyes opened.

But they weren't hers.

They were *empty.*

No recognition. No warmth.

Just silver.

Cold, perfect silver.

She looked at him.

Tilted her head.

Then whispered in a voice that was Sena's—but wrong:

> "Who are you?"