We crash into the black hollow beneath the Ash Spire and land in twisting dust. The walls here pulse with faint, violet light—an echo of every secret ever hidden beneath Stonefold. There's no time to breathe.
The rival stands at the far edge, bone-ring held low. His every step draws the pulsing glow toward him, as if the chamber itself obeys his will. He raises one arm, and tendrils of shadow thread lash out in all directions.
"Your seals are gone," he calls, voice like dry bones scraping. "And with them, your hope."
Lira launches herself forward. Her blade arcs through the first wave of shadows, cleaving them to ash, but the next wave is already there—twisting, reforming, sentient. They wrap her ankle, unmake her armor, and drag her to the ground. She slams an elbow into the nearest shadow, scattering it, but another seizes her wrist and shatters her sword. She screams—silent, desperate.
Behind me, Branvel's firestorm rips through a dozen shadow-forms, but a claw of thread wraps his throat. His flame sputters and dies as he collapses, eyes wide in disbelief.
Sov and Kett fight back-to-back against a cluster of bone-bound hunters, their ragged weapons flashing. A hunter slams Sov with the haft of a spear, sending him reeling into the wall. Kett hurls her last thread-snare—only to see it torn away and used to bind her own hands.
I charge the rival, stormlight coiling around my fist, but a pulse of his ivory ring slams into me. My armor cracks like glass, and I'm hurled backward into a pillar, teeth rattling. I spit blood, rise on trembling legs, and hurl every ounce of ring-power forward—only to watch it dissolve in midair.
Narth's roar shakes the chamber as he tackles a hunter twice his size—his bare fists glowing with residual seal-energy. But the hunter's blade twists around him, impaling him through the side. He falls, clutching his wound, eyes locked on me in a final plea.
The seal-holders—Voul, Nera, Fenn, Jeral—stagger forward, gathering around me. Each raises an arm, channeling the last spark of binding magic. Their runes flare brightly—then flicker and die one by one as the rival strides through them, unmaking their wards with a gesture.
I stand alone at the center, ring's light reduced to a heartbeat. The rival steps forward, every inch of that vortex-lit chamber bending to his will. He raises his ring high.
"No more lies," he whispers.
A dark thread snaps free from his ring, whips toward me. I close my eyes, brace for the end—and the chamber goes utterly silent.
Then—
A pulse of white light.
The ring in my hand flares. Not stormlight. *Memory.*
And time shatters.