The outpost began to hum.
It started low—so deep it pressed against bone more than ear. The war room walls shimmered, the spiral on the floor pulsing faintly beneath a thin veil of dust.
Then the floor cracked.
Not loudly—just a thin, soft split through the center of the room.
"Did anyone hear that?" Jace said.
Kael nodded. "It came from below."
"No," Raka murmured, "it came from inside."
Then the spiral lit up—first faint, then blinding.
"Back!" Sylva snapped, throwing an arm in front of Jace as the ground beneath the spiral ruptured.
From the symbol, something rose.
Not from beneath the stone—but through it, like memory forced into shape. It stood taller than a man, its limbs stretched too long, spine curved inwards like it had been folded for centuries. Its body was dark and glistening—oil, bone, and shadow, all woven into a silhouette that refused to be still.
Chains dragged behind it, clinking softly.
Its face was smooth, blank. Then a spiral burned itself into where its eye should be.
It raised one clawed hand toward the group.
"Bridge," it said.
Kael drew both blades. "What in the seven skies—?"
"That's not a creature," Jace said. "That's a memory made wrong."
Coren backed up slowly, blade drawn, but trembling. "We should go."
"We can't fight that," Sylva hissed.
But Raka stepped forward.
"Raka—don't—!" Kael moved to stop him, but Sylva grabbed his shoulder.
Raka walked toward the spiral-born as if he'd always known it was coming. No fear. No surprise.
The Spiral-born tilted its head. "You remember us."
"I never stopped," Raka said softly.
"You carried us across centuries," it whispered, voice like paper tearing underwater. "Let me return what was given."
It reached for him.
Raka's palm burned.
The mark split open—again, like a mouth. Light poured from it, golden-black. Ki surged through his limbs, hot and painful. His soul didn't feel like it fit anymore.
He turned back toward his team.
Kael looked stricken. "You're not doing this."
"I am."
Sylva's voice was tight. "There's another way. You don't have to—"
Raka's voice cut through the hum. "Yes, I do."
Coren took a step forward, eyes wide with something between horror and understanding. "You're going to hold the breach."
"I've done it before," Raka said.
Kael moved again, angry now. "You're not making this choice for us!"
"I'm making it for you."
The Spiral-born shrieked, the chains snapping as it lunged.
Raka spun, drawing his weapon.
And the fight began.
The chamber distorted. Walls bent inward. The spiral flared like a wound.
Raka moved like water on fire.
Every strike of the Spiral-born came with distortion—claws that tore through air, voice-echoes that burned at the ears, laughter that made the world glitch.
Raka dodged close, slashing at the core—but it bent around his strike.
He countered with Ki bursts, three-point flow techniques, anchor stances. His movements weren't beautiful. They were brutal. Practiced. Precise.
Not of this life.
Kael watched, stunned. "That's not academy form."
"No," Jace whispered, "that's war."
The Spiral-born screamed again. The ceiling cracked. The spiral on the floor began to spin, not visually—but in the mind. Raka faltered—just a half-step—and the creature struck his ribs, claws slicing through armor.
He stumbled. Blood dripped. His vision flared.
The Spiral-born approached, reverent.
"You've worn many bodies. Let me give you peace."
Raka stood again.
Spat blood.
"No."
He roared, flame surging from every pore, and launched back in.
"GO!" Sylva screamed. "NOW!"
Kael hesitated.
"KAEL!"
Coren grabbed him. Jace opened a portal glyph—the kind that only holds for seconds.
They ran.
Raka's body was failing.
His bones cracked. His Ki overloaded. His soul flared so brightly, it began to distort the air.
The Spiral-born laughed through a dozen voices.
But Raka struck the final blow. Not with a blade. But by stepping into the spiral, arms open.
"Then take me."
The seal closed.
The breach collapsed inward. The entity vanished—dragged with him.
Outside, the outpost tower collapsed. The earth roared. Sky peeled in red arcs.
Kael hit the ground outside the valley. He rolled, turned, looked back.
Ash rained where the tower had stood. Nothing else remained. Only a scorched spiral, cracked clean down the center.
And silence.