How long would it take before Ryder and River came looking for me?
If they even saw through the Peak’s deception.
If they even made it across the canyon’s gaping mouth.
Or would I just be another monument left to gather dust—one more forgotten pilgrim swallowed by the mountain, waiting to be drained by Nyxos in the end?
The door behind me shudders, then seals itself with a final, echoing click. The passage I came through dissolves, smoothing back into a seamless wall.
No return.
No retreat.
This is the path I chose—
And the only way out now is forward.
Ripples of water whisper against the mountain’s inner wall, their echoes stifled by the dark stone. I step toward the slab, its sudden brilliance searing my eyes. After days entombed in darkness, the light still cuts like a blade.
Here goes.
I steady my breathing and repeat my intentions in the quiet of my mind, willing myself to become as clear and as honest as the gem before me. No malice. No falsehood. Only purpose.
Save the Gods. Save the world. Save Ryder.
Destroy Nyxos.
If Lunaris feared him as deeply as I do, then she will hear me. She will lend me the strength to end him.
My hand trembles as I reach for it, hovering just above the surface while I pull my thoughts into one final, focused breath. It’s now or never.
I slam my palm down.
The energy hits me instantly—a tidal force awakening every nerve at once. My head snaps back, vision blurring to white. My eyes roll skyward and, for a moment, I feel myself slip free of my own body, watching from somewhere just outside the flesh that can’t contain the power flooding through it.
‘Who claims my stone for their own?’
The voice reverberates through my mind, vast and echoing, as though spoken from inside my skull and from a great distance all at once.
I blink my eyes open. I’m still in the pool—yet nothing around me is the same. It’s as if I’ve slipped to the other side of it.
No petrified bodies.
No jagged rocks closing me in.
Only endless, depthless white stretching in every direction.
As my vision adjusts, a shape emerges: a throne, shimmering as if carved from condensed moonlight. Upon it reclines a dark-skinned woman, draped over the seat like a silken cloth, her posture lazy and regal all at once. One leg dangles casually over the armrest, as if this ethereal chamber is nothing more than her living room. Her hair is silver—not metallic, but a soft, luminous white that catches and echoes the glow of the pool. Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp enough to make my breath hitch. Slowly, she lifts herself from her languid sprawl, drawing her legs forward and perching upright on the throne. Her head tilts, studying me with a curiosity that feels both divine and dangerous.
She crooks a single finger, and my body lurches toward her at once—dragged through the whiteness as if yanked by an invisible thread. I’m weightless, helpless, a puppet hauled to its master with no more resistance than a leaf in a storm.
‘Who are you?’She asks.
“Asha… Asha Calloway.”
I swallow hard. She takes my hand, cold and impossibly soft, and her eyes flare white for a heartbeat—luminous and unsettling.
‘Ah… a Star.’Her smile spreads, slow and sickly sweet.‘I haven’t had one of those in a while.’
