Chapter 5

The Realm, or the otherworld, was something ancient pretending to sleep. It wasn't a place, not really. More like a living pause between everything else. A layer of truth that wrapped around all things, stories, systems, and gods. The space between breaths.

And within that, a citadel hung over the Mirror Vaults like a splinter of glass caught in starlight. It wasn't made. It happened. The Fracture Choir, they called it.

One by one, they came.

Phyrrha, the right hand of the Vampire Lord, was first, as usual. She just appeared as a figure in a long coat, a violin case floating at her side like it was listening to her heartbeat. She took her seat quietly, hands in her lap.

Not long after, Selyra, the right hand of the dragon matriarch, walked in with a breeze of ash and heat. Barefoot, casual. Sparks floated off her shoulders, her hair still carrying the scent of a battlefield.

"Always early, aren't you?" she muttered.

"I like the stillness," Phyrrha replied.

Selyra raised an eyebrow. "Ew. Stillness creeps me out."

Then Morrakai, the right hand of the Titan Lord, laughed before he even landed, flipping mid-air and snapping into a seat upside down before rotating slowly into place. Scrolls spilled out of his sleeves and coiled on the floor.

"Are we having tea or starting another disaster meeting?"

"Depends," Selyra said. "Did you bring the snacks?"

"I brought questions."

"Then it's a disaster meeting."

Azarel, the right hand of the Saint Lord, didn't arrive so much as solidify. One moment, empty air. The next, a tall figure clad in silver-edged robes, wings folded so tightly they looked sculpted from law. The smell of judgment entered with him.

He said nothing. Just nodded as he sat.

Then Cindrel, the right hand of the Demon Lord. Shirtless, grinning, draped in a coat stitched from languages no one had spoken in millennia. He rode in on something skeletal and wheezing. Probably once a prophet. Maybe still was.

"Missed me?" he said, eyes scanning the room. "No? Good. You're smarter than last time."

"Nice entrance," Morrakai quipped. "Trying for dramatic irony or just bad taste?"

"Why not both?"

And finally, Lornyx.

He didn't walk. He didn't fly. He simply stepped forward, like he'd been standing behind the air this whole time. Solid, rooted, impossibly quiet. The table shifted slightly to make room for him. It always did.

Now they were six.

The Right Hands. The ones who spoke for the ones who didn't need to speak.

Cindrel kicked his boots up. "So. Who panicked first?"

Azarel didn't even blink. "You haven't changed."

"You say that like it's a flaw."

"Because it is."

Phyrrha waved a hand lightly. "Let's not start there. We all felt it. Something's moving in the Vein. Not just ripples, whole fractures. Stories bending around an anchor that shouldn't be there."

"Kusho," Selyra said, just the name made the atmosphere different. 

Cindrel whistled. "Straight to the deep end, huh?"

"He didn't go to sleep," Morrakai added, voice less playful now. "Not really. And now... something's changed. A breach formed near his last imprint. The kind of breach that law."

Phyrrha's eyes softened. "The Noble Angel Seren's heart changed. It's... quieter. Unsure. She was one of the few who were close to Kusho."

Azarel's tone sharpened. "She's compromised."

"She's grieving," Phyrrha corrected. "Don't turn your own sister's grieving into a flaw."

"She hasn't answered the summons. She hasn't spoken to anyone."

"She doesn't need to. We all lost something when he left."

Cindrel leaned back. "I remember saying he shouldn't have been the one. Too much soul. Too much hope. And look what that got us, an empty space and a broken melody. And tension"

"He chose it," Azarel said flatly.

"No," Lornyx finally rumbled. "He answered. There's a difference."

Selyra placed her hand on her chin. "The Lords are fracturing. Arvenhal refuses to meet with Vey'Zhaal. Azhura locked the Fracture Gardens. The Vault flickered twice last week. That hasn't happened since the Entropic Era."

Morrakai muttered, "Something stirred there. One of the Twelve Constellations. It wasn't Kusho, though."

"He's still awake," Phyrrha said. "But not like before. He's somewhere else."

Azarel frowned. "Then the question remains. Why hasn't he come back?"

"Maybe he finally wants something that doesn't burn on his hand." Morrakai offered

"Maybe he understands that power doesn't fix things. It just adds another burden to his heart." Lornyx added.

They sat in that thought for a moment.

Then Azarel stood. "The Circle of Thorns has been activated. The cards have begun scattering. That alone is reason enough for concern."

"It's not a war council," Phyrrha said. "It's a network of trust. Built differently. Without hierarchies. Without manipulation."

"Which makes it dangerous," Azarel snapped.

"Which makes it outside your control," Cindrel said with a grin.

"It's the same thing," Azarel muttered.

Selyra shrugged. "I think it's interesting. Chaos with roots. A story with no guaranteed ending."

"Those are the best kind," Morrakai agreed.

"So what now?" Selyra asked. "Do we hunt him down?"

"No," Lornyx said. "We observe. Let the cards land. Let the choices be made. If Kusho is building something new, we don't smash it until we know what it does."

Azarel looked away. "I won't wait forever."

"You won't have to," Phyrrha said softly. "He'll come when he's needed. Not before."

One by one, they stood and left. Except Lornyx, who stayed a moment longer.

He looked at the sky, starless, endless.

"Grow well, Kusho," he murmured. "You don't have to come back."

Somewhere in the Mortal Vein.

A boy, maybe thirteen, crouched by a stream, tossing rocks across the water just to hear them plunk.

A card fell through the air, slow like a leaf, and landed beside him.

He stared. Picked it up.

The card Peony.

He turned it over. The edges glowed like a memory he hadn't had yet.

And then, he whispered:

"…Weird. It feels warm."