The howl echoed long after it ended.
It wasn't just a sound. It was a presence—like some great veil being pulled back, if only for a breath, revealing something monstrous stirring beneath the world.
Lira pressed herself close to my side. Her hand hovered near the dagger I'd given her. Not that it would help much against what was out there.
"That… wasn't from any beast," she murmured, voice brittle.
"No," I said. "That was a message."
"To us?"
I didn't answer. But we both knew the truth.
They'd heard it.
The Spiral Cult.
Not the madmen we'd fought before—the real ones. The ones who whispered through roots and bone and branded the moon with their symbols. The ones who followed something older than memory.
They knew.
Knew that Seluriel's spark had not died.
Knew that it had chosen me.
We left the clearing behind without looking back. The trees grew denser the farther we went, their trunks warped into unnatural shapes. Branches reached toward us like arms frozen mid-grasp. The path we took wasn't a road—it was instinct. A tug beneath my ribs. The Flame guiding me.
Not just away from danger.
But toward something.
A place. A memory. Maybe even a reckoning.
By nightfall, we found shelter: a crumbling watchtower nestled against a cliff face, its upper floor half-exposed to the stars. The roof had long since collapsed, but the walls still stood strong—enough for a night's reprieve.
Lira lit a fire, carefully feeding it dry bark and cloth scraps while I sealed the entrance with loose stone.
When I finally sat down, exhaustion hit like a wave. Not just physical, but something deeper. Like a weight in my soul.
I closed my eyes—
—and the Flame opened one of its own.
A memory not mine.
Seluriel, in moonlight. Her cloak silver, her sword white fire. She stood at the center of a grove I did not know, surrounded by children with scarred faces and wide eyes. She sang to them—not with words, but with her presence.
She had loved them.
Protected them.
Until the Spiral Cult turned those same children against her.
They said she had defied the true flame. That she had stolen what was meant to burn. So they brought her low with chains of ash and salt.
And buried her memory beneath the trees.
I awoke with a gasp.
The fire had burned low. Lira was sleeping lightly, her head resting on a bundle of cloth.
I stood and looked through the shattered wall.
The woods were no longer silent.
They were alive.
Figures moved between the trees. Not walking. Not running. Flowing.
Shapes of men and women—but elongated, distorted. Masked. Some had spiral brands glowing faintly on their foreheads. Others wore cloaks that seemed woven from shadow.
They did not speak.
They simply watched.
"They're surrounding us," Lira said behind me. Her eyes were wide. "Why aren't they attacking?"
"They're waiting for something," I said.
And then the spiral moon rose.
Red and cold.
Its light washed over the trees like a spotlight revealing a stage.
[System Notice: Spiral Influence Active – Night Phase Initiated]
[WARNING: Hostile Entities Encroaching – Spiral Ascendant Presence Detected]
A tall figure stepped from the shadows.
Unmasked. Pale as bone. Its face smooth, expressionless, like stone worn smooth by centuries.
Only a single spiral gleamed where its forehead should have been.
It raised one hand.
And every figure around it knelt.
Lira took a step back. "Isaac… they're bowing."
"No," I whispered.
"They're worshiping."
[System Alert: Soulkindled Authority Recognized – Spiral-Bound Entities View Host as Flame-Bearer]
The Spiral Ascendant tilted its head.
And then it bowed—to me.
I couldn't move.
This was no longer a hunt.
It was a coronation.
And I didn't know if I was the king, or the pyre.