The sky over Prague turned violet at midnight.
Not from the stars.From magic.
The Spiral had pulsed across Europe — ancient ley lines flaring back to life, rituals forgotten by history reawakening. The Circle may have fractured, but something older had slipped into its place.
And Nereza — the Hollow Crown — was stirring.
"She's not just returning," Madalena said as she unrolled a silver-threaded map across the safehouse table. "She's already reaching through."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "How?"
Madalena tapped the center of the map — where no city was marked.
"Between Realms," she said.
Amara stared. "That's a location?"
"It's a fold," Madalena replied. "A rift between planes. Somewhere time doesn't hold. It appears only when someone with Flame in their blood calls for judgment."
Lucien tensed. "And Nereza answers."
"Always," Madalena said. "But never kindly."
Amara took a long breath. Her fingers brushed the obsidian pendant still hanging from her neck — warm again.
"How do we reach it?"
"You don't travel to Between Realms," Madalena said. "You give something up. And then it finds you."
Lucien stood. "Absolutely not."
Amara met his eyes. "It's not your call."
He stepped forward, jaw tight. "She's older than death, Amara. She doesn't give answers. She takes."
"Then let her take something," Amara said. "Because if I don't know what's coming — I can't lead anyone through it."
Lucien didn't answer. But his silence said everything.
Amara turned to Madalena. "What do I have to give?"
Madalena looked her dead in the eyes. "A memory. A real one. Something that defines you. Once it's gone, it's gone. No getting it back."
Amara didn't hesitate.
She stepped toward the center of the map and placed her hand flat on the weave.
"I give her my first kiss," she said quietly.
Lucien flinched.
"Not yours," she said, barely smiling. "The one before you."
The map shimmered.
And then ripped open.
Light flooded the room — gold and silver and violet, pouring into Amara's eyes like fire. The world fell away.
And she was no longer in Prague.
She stood in a field of black water, stars reflecting beneath her feet.
No sound. No wind. No time.
And at the far end, a figure stood waiting.
Cloaked in silver. Barefoot. Crownless — and yet, crowned.
Nereza.
Her voice was layered. Young and old. Soft and steel.
"You have called."
"I need to understand what's coming," Amara said.
"You do not ask for understanding," Nereza said. "You demand it. That is your curse."
Amara stepped closer. "The Spiral is changing. The Circle is reborn. And you're behind it."
"I am above it," Nereza replied. "I wear no allegiance. I balance what the world breaks. And you, Amara Hart — you have broken much."
"Because I survived?"
"Because you rewrote fate," Nereza said. "And now fate is writing back."
Amara's heart pounded.
Nereza raised one hand.
And from the dark water behind her, another figure rose.
Lucien.
But not the one Amara knew.
Younger. Sharper. Eyes more ruthless than gentle. Wrapped in dark robes and flame-colored armor.
Nereza's voice echoed:
"He was mine before he was yours."
Amara staggered back. "What?"
Lucien — or this past version — stepped forward.
"He died in the first war," Nereza said. "And I saved his soul. But he defied me. Chose you. And now you wear the cost of that love."
Amara stared at the past-Lucien. He didn't speak. He only watched her. Waiting.
Nereza stepped between them.
"You want to know what's coming?" she said.
Amara nodded.
"Then remember this," Nereza whispered.
She touched Amara's forehead.
And the stars above screamed.
Amara jolted awake in the safehouse, gasping.
Lucien was beside her, shaking her shoulders. "You were gone for hours."
She clutched his arms. "I saw you."
"You see me all the time."
"No," she whispered. "Before all of it. You were hers. Nereza's. She saved you first."
Lucien froze.
"I think," Amara said slowly, "the Spiral isn't the only thing reborn."
Lucien's voice was hoarse. "You think I am?"
"I think," she whispered, "you've been running longer than me."