Kale stepped forward. "We have questions."

"Questions are blades," Ikareia said. "They cut, they carve, but they do not always create. What is it you seek to sever, young bladeweaver?"

Rika crossed her arms. "We're not here for riddles, alright? You gave me this." She tapped her eyepatch with two fingers. "and so far, it's more trouble than it's worth. Every time I use it, I feel like my head's going to split open. So, how do I make it work without losing my mind?"

Ikareia tilted her head, her crystalline gaze unblinking, yet filled with something almost reverent as she regarded Rika. The intensity of her stare made Rika shift uncomfortably. Finally, Ikareia spoke. "The eye does not show what is. It reveals what could be. The fractured possibilities of paths untaken. The echoes of choices yet to be made. It is not a gift of sight, it is a gift of resonance."

"Resonance? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It is the song of the shards," Ikareia said, her tone taking on a melodic cadence. "To wield the eye is not to see, it is to listen. The fragments offer no clarity, they offer echoes. Reflections of what might be, tangled in the threads of what is. Cover it, and you silence their song. Uncover it, and you must embrace the cacophony."

Rika's frustration boiled over. "And how am I supposed to do that? I can't make sense of it—it's just noise."

"The noise is not the shards, child of echoes. It is you. The eye reflects your chaos as much as it reveals the chaos of the world. To wield its gift is to honor the cycles it represents: the paths you have walked and the paths you have yet to choose."

"Cycles?"

"Yes. Cycles. As the goddess Shael governs rebirth and recurrence, so too does the eye you bear. The shards remember you, child of echoes. They see what you are, what you have been, and what you could become. Like Shael, you embody the cycles, a dance of endings and beginnings. To wield the eye is not merely to see, it is to step into the flow of those cycles, to become a part of the melody."

Rika glanced away, her fingers brushing the edge of her eyepatch. "You're saying I'm supposed to… accept all that? Everything I see? Every path, every possibility?"

"Acceptance is not surrender," Ikareia replied. "It is understanding. The eye shows the cycles, but you are its fulcrum. The paths it reveals are not binding, they are yours to walk, or to leave untrodden. The fragments do not command, they offer."

Rika let out a sharp exhale, her shoulders sagging slightly. "So, what? I just listen? That's it?"

Ikareia's lips curved into a faint, cryptic smile. "Listening is the first note, but not the last. Shael's cycles are not stillness—they are motion, a flow that cannot be stopped. The eye reveals, but it is your steps that shape the melody. Quiet the noise within yourself, child of echoes. The harmony will come."

Rika narrowed her eye. "Sounds easy when you say it like that."

"Few paths worth walking are easy, but she chose you for a reason. Like Shael, you are a guardian of what was and what will be. To wield the eye is to honor that purpose. And in doing so, you may find clarity—not in the song, but in yourself."

Rika fell silent, her gaze distant as if already hearing some faint echo in her mind. She finally looked back at Ikareia and muttered, "Great. More responsibility. Just what I needed."

"The cycles flow through you," Ikareia said. "The shards see it. They remember the sacrifices you have made across lifetimes, and they honor them. The question is not if you are ready for their song, but if you are ready to add your own verse."

Rika gave Ikareia a long, measured look, the kind of look that said she wasn't entirely convinced but also wasn't about to argue further. "Alright," she said finally, her tone edged with reluctant acceptance. "I'll figure it out. Somehow."

Kale glanced between Rika and Ikareia. "So that's it? Just… listen? No guide, no instruction manual?"

Ikareia's crystalline gaze turned to him. "The shards do not instruct, young bladeweaver. They resonate. What you hear, what you see, it is yours to interpret. Yours to shape."

Kale sighed. "Great. More cryptic nonsense."

Ikaeria smiled. "Nonsense is only the truth you have not yet understood."

Rika huffed a short laugh, shaking her head. "You're really good at this whole mysterious oracle thing, you know that?"

Ikareia tilted her head slightly, her smile widening just a fraction. "The Cycle weaves its truths in patterns most cannot see. To speak plainly would be to unravel what must remain whole."

"And what about Voss? Why was he here? What is he after?" Kale asked.

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Ikareia's gaze flickered, her crystalline eyes catching and refracting the light into shifting, colorful patterns. When she spoke her tone was soft, lilting. "He seeks a song to call his own. A melody untethered from the chords that bind him. Betrayal carved the first note, a sacrifice made not for his glory but for hers. Yet he did not fall as he was meant to—too strong to break, too strong to bow. His song twists now, discordant, a refrain of fury and defiance."

Kale frowned. "You're saying he wants revenge?"

"Revenge is but a verse in the symphony he composes. He seeks freedom—freedom from the echoes of chains he did not forge, freedom to wield the silence left by those who betrayed him. And in that silence, to sing a new song: one that shatters, one that rends, one that will never bow to gods or mortals."

"Freedom from what? Who betrayed him?"

Ikareia's eyes seemed to gleam with something deeper, her voice dipping into a near whisper. "Unity sang of trust, and Severance answered with a blade. He was left unbound, his threads unwoven, his purpose cut away. In her rise, she severed him. Now he weaves his song from those scattered threads. He sings not for power, but for release. Not for dominion, but for reckoning."

Rika shifted beside Kale. "She severed him? Who are you talking about?"

For a moment, Ikareia didn't answer. Her attention seemed to drift to the shard in the center of the chamber, as though seeing something far away, or long gone. "She rose as all gods do, on the backs of those who carried her. Aeloria. She was his anchor, his purpose. And to rise, she cut him away."

Kale's eyes widened, the revelation sinking in. "Aeloria… sacrificed him."

"To ascend, she struck first. Not out of cruelty, but certainty. He was her shield, the one who followed without question. But she knew he would not follow once he saw her true design. She sought not freedom, but power, divinity. To shape the world as only a goddess could, she tried to sacrifice him, tried to take what he carried. In the end, she failed to kill him, but succeeded in something worse. She cut the one bond he thought unbreakable. He fell, and she rose—two halves of a broken chord, their harmony shattered."

Kale exchanged a glance with Rika. The words felt uncomfortably close to something familiar.

Ikareia's gaze settled on him, and her tone shifted, deeper now, resonant. "The song of Severance is sharp, young bladeweaver. It cuts deep, leaving echoes of pain and fragments of what was. But Unity… Unity lingers. She binds, even when she is betrayed, even when she is broken. That is its truth. And he—he still sings of healing."

Kale's frown deepened, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Healing? How is any of this supposed to be healing? All he's done is kill. Everyone who stands in his way—gone. How is that unity?"

"Healing is not without pain. He believes the world is broken, as she is broken. To heal her, to heal the wound left by her betrayal, he tears at the fabric of what he sees as corruption. To him, each severance, each death, is a step toward restoration. The song he sings is not of destruction, it is one of reckoning. To mend what is broken, he unravels what should not have been woven."

Her gaze sharpened. "But Unity, when marred by fury and grief, can choke as much as it binds. Tell me, young bladeweaver—when the bonds of Unity are strained to their breaking point, will they hold… or will they shatter?"

She turned slightly, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "Severance and Unity. Two forces, two paths, two fates, intertwined yet opposed. Always drawn together, always destined to clash. Tell me, young bladeweaver, will your unity hold… or will your severance prevail?"

Ikareia inclined her head, though her expression gave nothing away. "She rose, and he fell. But in the shards, there are no endings—only echoes. And his echo sings still, a discord that cannot be silenced."

"And what happens if we stop him?" Kale asked.

Ikareia's smile widened, though it was far from comforting. "Stop him? You cannot silence a song that has already been sung. His echoes ripple through the shards, through the world itself. To stop him is not to end him—it is to let those echoes linger, to let their dissonance shape what comes after. The question, young bladeweaver, is not whether you can stop him. The question is… will you sing a song of your own?"

Kale didn't press further. "Alright. Let's go. We've got more than enough to think about."

Rika turned to follow, but Ikareia's voice called her back. "One more thing, child of echoes."

She paused, looking over her shoulder. "What now?"

Ikareia stepped closer and reached out, her fingers brushing the air near Rika's eyepatch as though tracing its outline. "The gem you carry… it is not merely a gift. It is a debt repaid. Across lifetimes, you have given yourself to the Cycle. You have fallen and risen, sacrificed and endured. The shards honor that. They honor you."

Rika's expression softened, though uncertainty lingered in her eye. "A debt repaid? What does that even mean?"

Ikareia's smile was gentle, almost wistful. "You have walked many paths, and on each, you have left pieces of yourself behind. The shards remember those pieces. They sing of your courage, your sacrifice, your strength. The eye is not a burden, it is a recognition. A reminder of what you have always been."

Rika's throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, her hand briefly brushing the edge of her eyepatch. "I… I don't know what to say to that."

"Say nothing," Ikareia said softly. "Walk your path. Let the Cycle guide you."

For a moment, Rika seemed almost lost in thought, her gaze distant. Then she straightened, squaring her shoulders. "Alright. Let's go, Kale."

He nodded, and they turned to leave the chamber. Ikareia's voice followed them. "Remember, the shards sing not of endings, but of echoes. And the song continues."

***

They stepped out into the open air, the strange hum of the temple fading as the bustling streets of Xandria came back into focus. The shards loomed above them, their fractured surfaces catching the fading light.

Kale glanced at Rika as they walked. "You okay?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just… processing."

He gave her a faint smile. "You're not alone in this. We'll figure it out."

Rika grinned. "I know. Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble, right?"

Kale chuckled. "I thought that was my job."

"Please," Rika said, her tone teasing. "You're the trouble."

As they approached the edge of the temple square, the others came into view, gathered near an enormous shard that stretched skyward, its elongated shadow draping across the vibrant streets.

"Everything sorted?" Liliana asked.

Kale nodded. "For now. You?"

Liliana's eyes lingered on him for a moment before she shrugged. "I handled it."

Namara tilted her head, her grin playful. "Handled what, exactly?"

"None of your business," Liliana replied. "Let's get to the inn. I could use a drink."

Rika raised an eyebrow. "You didn't already have one?"

"Surprisingly, no," Liliana said, her tone dry. "But the night is young."

Kale shook his head, smiling as they fell into step together.

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