Gray realizes where I’m going before anyone else does. I feel it through the bond—not alarm, just recognition.
No one speaks.
They follow.
The attic looks the same. Window seat where I used to curl up at dawn. Mismatched furniture they brought up piece by piece. Soft gray walls. The space they built for me before I ever knew I needed it.
But my eyes go straight to the door.
The door that shouldn’t exist. The door that called to me even before I understood why.
I stop in front of it.
The sigil has changed.
It’s not the old symbol. Not the one that made the mist stir and whisper when I first touched it.
This is mine.
The same sigil that bloomed in the sanctuary when I took my oath. The same pattern etched into Ether and stone and the scars I chose to give. Silver lines on dark wood.
It’s not burning.
It’s not shifting.
It’s just… there. Waiting.
I smile. Small. Real.
My hand reaches out before I decide to move it. The wood is warm under my fingers. The sigil pulses once, and the door swings open.
Soft light spills out. The room beyond shouldn’t exist—the attic isn’t big enough to hold it. But it’s there, ancient stones and impossible space, just like before.
And at the center—
The crown.
Sitting on a pedestal of pale gold light. Not looming. Not demanding. Not doing anything, really.
Just waiting.
For me.
I stand in the doorway. The crown gleams softly. It doesn’t call to me. Doesn’t pull. It’s just there, and I’m here, and the space between us is mine to cross.
Or not.
I take a breath.
And I close the door.
The click is soft. Not forever—just for now.
I turn around.
They’re all watching me. Not the door. Not the sigil.
Me.
