The gates of the Vault groaned open—not with metal or magic, but with the sound of reality being rewritten. Every syllable of existence unspooled and re-wove itself to accommodate their entrance. This was not a place built by hands or time. This was where stories began.
Orion stepped through first, flame steady, though shadows curled beneath his feet like curious serpents. Lyra followed, her violet fire trailing luminous runes in the air. Kael remained still for a breath, then entered with his blade unsheathed—not out of fear, but readiness.
The interior was… silence made form.
A vast chamber stretched before them, shaped like a blooming star. The walls pulsed with living script, sentences from every timeline that had ever been written—and those yet to be.
In the center of the Vault stood a sphere, suspended in an anti-gravitic web of crystalline thought.
"The Seed," Lyra whispered.
But not their seed.
This one was vast—older, blacker than void, and breathing with its own will.
A voice echoed, fragmented and ancient:
"To alter what is, you must confront what was."
A ripple spread through the Vault.
Suddenly, they were not alone.
From the far ends of the chamber, three forms emerged—shadows stitched from their own regrets.
—A version of Orion, crowned and cold, whose world burned for order.
—A Kael who had embraced the Hollow, blade dripping with the screams of empires.
—A Lyra who had never found hope, whose fire had collapsed into nothingness.
"They are us," Kael growled.
"No," Orion said. "They're what we could have been."
The shadows struck.
Blades sang.
Fire clashed with void.
Kael met his other self mid-lunge, steel meeting steel. "I know why you fell," he snarled, "and I know why I won't."
Shadow-Kael laughed, bitter and bloodied. "Then die with your hope."
Lyra fought her counterpart in a whirlwind of collapsing stars, flame devouring flame. "You gave up!" she cried. "But I remember what love costs. I choose it anyway!"
Orion stood before his sovereign self, who offered him the throne in silence.
"You already won," Shadow-Orion said. "Why turn away?"
"Because the seed was never meant to rule," Orion whispered. "It was meant to grow."
He stepped past his reflection—and the shadow vanished like smoke.
Kael's blade found its mark. Lyra's flame consumed her other self.
Silence returned.
And the Vault… accepted them.
The sphere at the center cracked open. From within rose not a weapon, nor a crown—but a childlike entity made of light and potential. Eyes like twin galaxies blinked at them.
"I am the First Sprout," it said. "You have chosen possibility over control. Growth over victory. Begin the new weave."
Orion reached out.
And the child of the Seed took his hand.