Episode 5. The Truth Between Them

Later, as they camped by a cold stream outside the ruins, Seris broke the silence.

"If it ever comes to it between me and all your power I hope you'll remember the nights we shared more than the thrones you dream of."

Eryndor took her hands, pressing them to his heart where the Astra Mourn throbbed.

"Without you, this is just a curse. It's your voice that keeps it from consuming me."

But the crystal pulsed harder then, as if mocking his vow. They ventured next into Satharien, a city said to be governed by wraiths of fallen kings. Indeed, its halls were lit by lanterns that glowed with trapped souls.

An audience was demanded. Pale figures in crumbling finery gathered on blackened thrones, whispering in dead tongues.

A wraith queen extended a skeletal hand.

"Kneel, Astra Bearer. Accept our coronation, rule over our silent dominions." Eryndor shook his head.

"I'll kneel only when I build my own throne not inherit your graves." The wraiths shrieked, lanterns shattering. The pair fled through courtyards where shadows clawed at them, trying to drag them down to join the court forever.

Escaping Satharien, they camped on high cliffs. Above, the night was alien constellations twisted into patterns neither recognized. "What if by stepping deeper into these mysteries, we're already crossing into realms not our own?" Seris whispered.

Eryndor lay beside her, arms under his head, the Astra Mourn glowing like a third heart between them. "Then we carve our place there too." Yet far inside, he feared they were mere moths, circling a light that would burn them to ash.

Wandering traders warned of the Sundering, an event whispered on every continent now a time when all known realms might shatter, boundaries erased by some rising force.

"You," one old woman accused, eyes milky. "It's your coming that cracks the sky."

Eryndor offered her a gold coin. "Keep your fear. Buy bread instead."

But her words echoed longer than he admitted. That night, he dreamed of Seris weeping as worlds tore apart around them, his own hands aflame. At dawn, they stood atop a ridge that overlooked a valley of endless spires. Wind tore at their cloaks.

Seris took his hands, voice shaking.

"Promise me again. That when it comes to choosing power or us you'll choose us."

His eyes softened. He kissed her forehead.

"Always. Even if the thrones of all worlds beg otherwise." And far within, the Astra Mourn was strangely silent as if brooding on promises it intended to break.

They pressed on into the Karthian Rift, a canyon so deep that night seemed trapped at its bottom even at midday. Each shout echoed back distorted whispering phrases they never spoke.

Seris shivered. "Do you hear that? It's repeating our fears, Eryndor." Eryndor felt the Astra Mourn vibrating, almost purring. As if feeding on their dread.

"Ignore it. Keep moving."

But as they descended, the echoes grew louder. "He will choose power…"

"She will betray him first…"

Until finally, they raced out of the gorge breathless, unable to bear hearing their own darkest doubts twisted by that haunted place.

They found shelter in a ruin of obsidian arches. Inside, the walls were covered in countless moving glyphs glowing agreements from ages past, promises still binding even if those who swore them lay centuries dead.

A single touch made the scripts crawl up Eryndor's arm, whispering oaths of allegiance, love, treachery.

Seris pulled him back sharply. "Don't. This place would have you swear something without even knowing it."

Eryndor nodded, but part of him still felt the allure the easy power of simply promising the world to kneel.

That night they slept under cracked domes open to unfamiliar stars. Eryndor dreamed of walking a bridge of glass over a void, the Astra Mourn pulsing at each step. On the far side waited a throne that seemed woven from galaxies. A figure sat there wearing his face, but eyes black as the abyss.

"Give in," it called, voice a choir of ruined worlds. "Be done with frail hearts. Become what realms fear."

He recoiled and awoke gasping, Seris's hands on his face. Her eyes wide, lips trembling. "Eryndor… your chest. It was glowing so bright I thought it would burn through you."

In the next village, they encountered a peddler with skin marked in constellation scars, wheeling a cart laden with hourglasses.

"Each glass a fate," he rasped. "Buy a moment that never was. Or sell me your future." Eryndor scowled. "Not interested in cheating destiny."

But the merchant only smiled, revealing needle-thin teeth. "Who said I sell cheats? Sometimes I offer the purest truths, too costly for most to endure." As they left, Seris whispered, "Why did I feel he knew us already?"

That night by their fire, Seris finally confessed what Eryndor's dreams and the Astra Mourn had already half-feared.

"There was a letter, back in Oras-Thel. My mother offered me the throne of Erastai if I delivered you alive, but stripped of your power."

Eryndor didn't flinch, didn't draw back. Only let out a slow breath. "And why didn't you?"

"Because I loved you more than crowns. More than being a daughter who could ever go home again."

He pulled her close, but part of him had already splintered a sliver of doubt forever embedded in his heart.

Deeper inland, they discovered a temple overrun by vines that flowered with tiny mouths singing faint hymns. Inside, shattered idols lay in heaps, their eyes gouged out by ancient rebels.

Yet one shrine still pulsed with a low, hungry power. The Astra Mourn vibrated violently, like it longed to merge with whatever force slumbered there.

Seris gripped Eryndor's hand so tight he winced. "Promise me we leave this place untouched." He hesitated felt the temptation surge then nodded. "Not every power is meant for us."

As they left, the earth trembled. From beneath the ground rose soldiers in cracked armor, skin turned to drifting dust held together by curses.

Eryndor and Seris fought back to back, blades flashing, violet arcs slicing through brittle bodies.

When the last fell, the ground was littered with shattered helms and drifting gray motes the taste of old death thick in the air. Seris leaned against him, breathless.

"One day it won't be enough, you know. Our love. Your power. It'll demand more." He kissed her brow, whispering. "Then let it come. I'd burn all realms before letting them take you."

But by the next evening, tension finally broke. As they walked under twisted trees heavy with dusk-moths, Seris snapped,

"Every day you grow stronger, Eryndor and more reckless. The Astra Mourn doesn't just protect you, it hunts through you."

"It gives me the strength to keep us alive!" he shot back. "It's changing you. And one day you'll look at me and only see a weakness to be cut away."

He flinched. Words he couldn't unspeak hovered. So instead, he turned and walked ahead alone, their silence trailing behind like a wounded animal.

That night, alone on watch, the Astra Mourn showed him a future: realms cracking like glass under an immense throne's weight. Seris lay at his feet, a ghost with hollow eyes whispering, "Was your love worth all this ruin?"

He woke with a strangled cry. Seris was beside him instantly, eyes wet. "I don't want to fight, Eryndor. I'm just terrified of losing the man I gave everything for."

He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. "I swear, whatever else changes

my heart doesn't. It never will."

Come dawn, beneath a blood-hued sky, they cut their palms and pressed them together.

"This is our promise," Seris whispered, tears mixing with their blood. "No throne, no prophecy, no power will break this bond."

The Astra Mourn flared so brightly it cast twin shadows of them across the field shadows that momentarily took on crowns and wings, before dissolving into wind.

And somewhere far beyond sight, in halls of dark crystal, ancient watchers stirred, murmuring, "The Bearer chooses love again. Let us see how long that lasts."

They joined a caravan winding through the Garrith Plains, a line of black-wagons adorned with skeletal pennants. Drivers wore veils soaked in night-oil, hiding tears it was a funeral convoy for nobles slain in wars far away.

Eryndor and Seris paid gold for a place among them. Safer to hide among the dead than face living hunters.

At night, songs drifted from the wagons, haunting melodies sung in low, grief-thick voices. Seris clung to Eryndor under heavy furs.

"Promise me when I die, you won't let them cart me across strange lands like this."

"You're not dying," he growled, arms tightening. But far inside, the Astra Mourn pulsed uneasily, as if amused by such fragile mortal vows.

The caravan stopped at Veysha, a city built in concentric rings around a pit of writhing black vines. Each ring belonged to a different caste, from paupers near the rim to gem-laden aristocrats close to the heart.

They were invited demanded to attend the Feast of Black Roses, hosted by the city's high families.

Tables sagged under platters of gleaming obsidian fruit. A massive rose sculpted of onyx rotated slowly above them, dripping dark nectar into goblets.

A matron in robes of cascading jet studied Eryndor with eyes blind yet knowing. "The Astra Mourn burns bright in you, stranger. Tell me would you give up your heart's love to rule entire worlds?"

Seris stiffened. Eryndor only smiled coldly.

I'd rather build a kingdom with her than rule a thousand alone.

That night, after the feast, they stood on a balcony of black marble, watching the moon hang huge and hollow, crisscrossed by impossible cracks. Sometimes I dream it's all already shattered," Seris whispered.

"And we're only living echoes, bound to break again.

Eryndor pulled her close, resting his chin atop her head. Then I'd find you in every echo. Even if the worlds burned a thousand times.