The next morning, the woods thinned into stone.
Ridges of dark rock jutted from the ground like broken ribs. The wind howled through the cracks, carrying whispers that didn't belong to the present.
Qin, Lyra, and Cazriel walked in silence. The fire of last night's truths still simmered between them. Neither ally nor enemy—each one of them wore a mask of calm stretched over nerves.
Cazriel was the first to stop.
He pressed his hand against a jagged ridge, letting his long fingers trail the runes carved into the black stone.
"This wasn't carved by humans," he said.
Lyra sniffed the air. "Doesn't smell alive."
"It's not," Qin murmured. "But it's still listening."
They followed the curve of the ridge until it opened like a mouth into a cavern—massive, ancient, its entrance shaped like a jagged crescent moon.
No torchlight could reach the bottom. The shadows swallowed sound.
A broken sign, half-erased by time, was carved in dead glyphs: Sanctum of the First Breath.
Inside, the silence was suffocating.
The cave walls pulsed faintly with blue magic veins, ancient and slow. Carvings lined the stone—murals more like memories than art.
They walked deeper, their footsteps muffled. Cazriel's eyes glowed faintly red. Lyra's hand hovered near her dagger. Qin traced the carvings with cautious reverence.
A faded mural emerged, dust clinging to time itself.
Three figures stood side by side:
A woman cloaked in flames, her hands raised in invocation.
A man with silver fur and golden eyes, his claws extended in peace.
A pale king, robed in shadow, his crown of blood hovering over an expressionless face.
They stood together—united by a single symbol between them: a circle pierced by three blades.
"What is this?" Lyra whispered.
Cazriel spoke without inflection. "Before the split. Before the betrayal."
Qin turned to him. "You know this?"
"I've heard rumors. My sire called them fairy tales. A time when the bloodlines were one."
"Not three species," Lyra added, "but one tribe."
Qin's heart thundered in his chest.
They moved farther into the sanctum.
A new chamber opened, round and echoing. In the center stood a platform of silver stone—smooth and humming faintly. On the walls were moving glyphs, swirling slowly around an ancient tree made of light and shadow.
Beneath the tree, words appeared—not spoken, but embedded into their minds.
From one blood, three rose. By one betrayal, all fell.
Only in unity will the last heir awaken.
The pact was broken by trust undone.
The child born of none shall mend what blood alone cannot.
Qin swayed slightly.
"Wait," he breathed. "These words…"
Lyra steadied him. "You okay?"
He nodded, but his eyes never left the glyphs. They spun faster now, reacting to his presence. The air in the chamber thickened like mist.
Cazriel narrowed his eyes. "This place knows you."
"I've never been here," Qin said.
"But you carry something that has," Cazriel replied.
The glyphs slowed.
And then the walls shifted.
A beam of soft violet light illuminated a deep alcove—and within it, a large crystal mirror embedded into the stone. This one didn't reflect light—it reflected memory.
And it activated on its own.
The three of them watched as a scene played out within the mirror like a projection of the past:
A meeting—hidden beneath a moonless sky.
The woman of flame. The wolf of gold. The pale king.
They argued, fiercely.
"You cannot chain the blood to one fate," said the woman.
"But we must protect the child," said the wolf.
"Then bind it," said the pale king. "Bury the truth until time forgets."
The flame-woman wept. "You've already done it, haven't you?"
"He is hidden," the king said. "His power sealed. The prophecy forgotten."
The scene ended in a blaze of white.
Qin stepped forward, breath caught in his throat.
"They were talking about someone," he said. "A child with power from all three lines."
Lyra looked at him sideways. "You think it's you?"
"I don't know," he whispered. "But… why else would this place react?"
Cazriel walked toward the crystal.
He stared at his own reflection, unreadable.
"I knew something like this existed," he said, quietly. "A sanctum lost to time. But I never thought I'd stand inside it."
Lyra folded her arms. "So what does this mean? That if we somehow reunite the bloodlines, this ancient magic comes back? That Umbhrax falls?"
"No," Qin said. "I think it means if we don't, we all fall with him."
Silence filled the chamber.
Then, the mirror flickered one last time.
Another vision, unexpected.
A boy. A staff. A ring of silver fire. His body crackling with unstable magic.
"He won't survive the merge," someone said. "He'll burn."
"Then he wasn't the one," replied another.
The vision ended.
And the mirror cracked straight down the middle.
They camped that night just outside the sanctum, under a sky full of haunted stars.
Lyra stayed quiet, gazing into the fire with a furrowed brow. Cazriel paced slowly along the tree line, murmuring to himself in an old tongue.
Qin sat alone, knees drawn up to his chest.
"Do you think it's true?" he asked, finally.
Lyra turned. "Which part?"
"That I'm… whatever they buried. That my power is some kind of sleeping prophecy."
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, "I think the people who hid that truth did it for a reason. But I also think it's rising now for a reason, too."
Qin stared into the fire.
"I used to think I just wanted to survive. But now… I want to know."
Lyra nodded. "Good. Because if that bloodline really was split by betrayal—then somewhere out there is the traitor's legacy, too. And they won't let you fix what they broke without a fight."
Cazriel finally spoke, his voice low and certain.
"There's a reason Umbhrax hasn't killed you yet."
Qin looked up. "Because I'm weak?"
"No." His red eyes glinted. "Because he remembers this prophecy. And he's afraid."
The fire crackled.
"I'll ask this once," Lyra said. "Are we still a team?"
Qin met her eyes. "We're more than that. We're the only shot the world has left."
Cazriel smirked. "How wonderfully dramatic. I almost like you now."
"Don't get used to it," Lyra muttered.
They sat together as night deepened.
In the distance, the Sanctum of Echoes faded into the mist.
But its truths had already taken root.