The words struck like ice water.
The Goddess of Death turned away, and Alora followed her through the forest, the temperature growing cold.
“When the Primordials were sealed, it was only ever a temporary solution.” As Sunnëva spoke, frost crept outward from her bare feet, delicate as lace, feathering across the grass. “They could not be destroyed without tearing the cosmos itself, and Vorak would always find a path back. So Elyon allowed him to scheme and made his own design in answer.”
Her fingers brushed over a spider lily tangled among the thorns. It crystallized beneath her touch, petals freezing mid-bloom.
“Then came a daughter born from a flower, whose existence defied the laws of creation. And a son born of a fallen star, cast down to wander in fury and solitude until he found the one thing he would surrender himself for.”
Alora’s breath misted softly, her throat tightening.
“Light and shadow entwined. Two souls meant only for sacrifice. No divine pairing. No promised mate. No thread woven for them by the Fates.” Sunnëva stepped through the briars, and they came out on the edge of the forest. “And so, in the absence of destiny… they became it for each other. That imbalance drew them together. And only together could they restore the balance the Realms had lost.”
Alora followed her gaze to the Karag Dûr in the distance, coated in fog.
So they had chosen each other. And in choosing, they became what fate refused to give them.
A mated pair… who were still torn apart.
Alora’s vision blurred with tears. “That’s cruel.”
“Yes…” Sunnëva’s gaze glistened with sorrow. “But it had to be his choice… as it was yours.”
Alora’s breath faltered as the last of her lost memory returned.
The day the Shadow Keep fell, the Heavens had flashed with lightning, Alora called out to Elyon.
She had stayed his hand with a promise. He allowed them a second chance because Vorak’s return was inevitable. “Spare him, and I will do what you cannot. I will slay Vorak.”
Time had been rewound. The past reset.
Everything started over again, but not quite the same.
She had offered herself to the will of the Heavens, to trap them both in this dream-loop because she loved Rune enough to give him one last chance to get it right.
And he did.
Now the Heavens must honor the vow.
As Alora glanced down at the spindle in her hand, she at last, understood. The source of the curse had always been her. The thing that was wrong with world. The curse began on the day of her birth, and it would only end with her death.
Her hands trembled, but her heart did not pound with dread. It quickened with something far more fragile. Hope.
Alora turned to Sunnëva, her voice little more than a whisper. “You are here for my soul, aren’t you?”
The Goddess of Death smiled.
Together they returned to the mountain. The shadows guarding the entrance bowed low, granting her entry. Inside, the vast cavern echoed with their steps. Karag Dûr did not rise to greet her, the spirit of the mountain long gone.
The deeper Alora walked, the colder it became. Sunnëva’s pale light guided her like a ghost lantern.
At last, the darkness faded as they entered the cavern Rune had carved for her garden. Though the flowers and fruit bushes had withered, the Elder Tree still bloomed.
The vivid leaves stretched toward what little light slipped through the stone above. It endured, even in darkness. As she had.
She laid her palm to its bark, a broken laugh escaping. “Well,” she murmured, “how shall we do this? Dagger to the heart? Slicing of the veins? A quick beheading?”
Sunnëva chuckled softly, silver frost trailing from her hair. “Your death need not be as painful as mine.”
