The sky shattered like glass, raining shards of dead timelines. Each fragment reflected a different horror: Lyra burning alive, Gideon dissecting his mother, Older Kael's golden veins devouring worlds. At the center loomed the Primal Seed—a colossal, pulsing orb of fused figures. A thousand Lyras screamed. A thousand Gideons laughed.
"You're late," they chorused.
Kael stood on the meadow's last patch of untainted soil, Young Lira's body cold in his arms. Her shadow had vanished, but its final whisper lingered: "Break the heart. Even if it breaks you."
Mara's ghost flickered beside him, her form barely more than smoke and static. "The dagger's gone. But the Seed's core is there." She pointed to the orb's center, where a single rose bloomed—crimson petals threaded with Young Lira's amber gaze. "Cut it out."
"And then?"
"Then we end."
The Primal Seed attacked with memories.
A Lyra with Nyx's scars hurled a dagger. A Gideon with Older Kael's golden veins summoned thorns. Kael dodged, but the meadow crumbled beneath him, dropping him into a void where time pooled like tar.
"You've always been ours," the Seed crooned. "From your first breath to your last scream."
Young Lira's voice cut through the static: "Kael! The rose—it's her! Me.*"
Her shadow surged from the orb, tendrils lashing. "I'm the anchor! Destroy me!"
Mara's ghost shoved Kael forward. "Do it! Before it rebuilds her!"
He climbed, hands bloodied by shards of the past. The Seed's Lyras clawed at him, their faces melting into Young Lira's. "You'll kill us both!" they wept.
"No," Kael growled. "Just you."
He seized the rose.