"When she returns," I said, testing the chains that had held me for a millennium and finding them just slightly weaker than before, "we begin her education. She thinks she knows what we are. What she is. What the Gate is."
I focused on the crack in the seal, feeding it my will, my rage, my burning need for freedom. It widened, just a fraction, but enough to let more of my consciousness through.
"Little Keeper," I whispered into the space between worlds, knowing she'd hear it in her dreams, in the moments betweensleep and waking. "You're going to learn that everything they taught you is a lie. And when you do, you're going to choose."
The chains burned against my wrists, but for the first time in a thousand years, I smiled. Not the bitter expression of a prisoner, but the anticipation of a predator who'd just scented prey.
"Us or them. Freedom or chains. Truth or lies."
Through the Gate, I felt her unconscious mind shiver at my words, golden light pulsing in response.
"Choose wisely, little Keeper. The fate of two worlds depends on it."
And in the depths of her unconscious mind, buried beneath years of training and doctrine, something whispered back.
What if I choose neither?
The thought wasn't truly conscious, probably wouldn't even remember it when she woke. But I heard it, clear as temple bells.
Interesting.
Perhaps this little Keeper would surprise us all.
FIVE
Aria
I woke to Natalia's face carved from winter stone, her grey eyes dissecting me like I was a corpse on Master Theron's examination table. The infirmary ceiling swam into focus behind her, those familiar cracks I'd memorized during childhood illnesses forming a map of nothing.
"You've been unconscious for six hours." No concern in her voice. Just data. "The Gate's instability has worsened in your absence."
My throat felt scraped raw, and when I tried to speak, only a croak emerged. She didn't offer water.
"You will enter the Threshold." The command fell between us like a executioner's axe. "You will assess the damage. You will report your findings. Nothing more."
"High Keeper, I?—"
"You are the only one who can." Each word precise, clipped. "The other Keepers who attempted to approach the Sanctorum are still catatonic. Whatever you did, whatever connection you formed, has made you necessary."
Necessary. Not valuable. Not important. Necessary. Like a tool one despises but cannot discard.
"The ritual requires preparation?—"
"No." She stood, robes flowing around her like liquid shadow. "You'll enter now. As you are. The Gate won't wait for our convenience."
She left without another word, but two guards remained. Their faces hidden behind ceremonial helms, but I felt their readiness. If I refused, they'd drag me.
I sat up, the world tilting dangerously before settling. My hand throbbed beneath fresh bandages, and when I looked, faint golden light pulsed through the linen. Still there. Still spreading.
The walk to the Sanctorum felt like approaching my own execution. Other Keepers pressed themselves against walls as I passed, some whispering prayers, others simply staring with a mixture of awe and horror. News of my collapse, of what I'd experienced, had already spread.
The Sanctorum doors stood closed now, but I could hear it, the Gate, humming with wrongness, its song discordant and sharp. The guards who'd cowered here before were gone, replaced by others who stood at a careful distance, hands white-knuckled on their weapons.
"Open them," Natalia commanded from behind me.
The doors groaned inward, and light spilled out, not the chaos from before, but something worse. Controlled instability. Power barely leashed.
The Gate dominated the chamber, its crack now spider-webbed with smaller fractures, each one weeping golden light that pooled on the floor like blood. The air tasted of copper and ozone, of endings and beginnings tangled together.
