Page 190 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

The Witherborn carried her toward the vessel. With each step closer, Wren’s heart pumped harder in her chest. Her forearm throbbed. Her Spirit mark flared so bright and hot, it stole her breath. Reaching for her magic again was dangerous, but she tried anyway, screaming as the pain ripped through her. The effort was wasted. She was empty and there was nothing left to grasp.

Suddenly, the Witherborn faltered.

One stumbled beside her. Another froze mid-step. The one holding her lost its grip, and she plunged. The world tilted as she dropped hard against the flagstones. The shock rattled her bones. She staggered to her hooves, breath catching.

The battlefield was frozen. Witherborn crowded her like forsaken guards. Every beast, every monster stood rigid. Their heads tilted, eyes locking on the avatar glowing like a star above them.

A deep, bone-chilling silence filled the shattered temple—so complete Wren could even hear her own heartbeat. Orzen appeared at the edge of the chasm, eyes darting, searching desperately for any way across. It was too wide to jump. He shouted but his words never formed.

The hair on her arms rose.

No death without life. No rot without growth.

The words came from the vessel’s mouth, but it was Voryx who spoke now. Above her, the avatar moved independent of the vessel, extending its clawed hand until the green light of its form hummed against her skin.

Spirit weaving sank into her.

The world shifted as Voryx made her see what he feared would come to pass. Fields of rot fading to dust. The whole of Naldoreth, gray and empty. Desolation so complete even Elaren’s influence could not reach it. A world controlled by a god’s stolen power—a vessel unworthy of the strength now flooding through it, straining to become a better version of what it once honored.

A god, but a cruel one.

A god incapable of sating its hunger for power.

The Cycle destroyed.

She was shoved back into her body so violently that she stumbled forward, hooves slipping from beneath her. She landed on her knees at the feet of the avatar.

I have chosen poorly. I am inevitable. He is annihilation.

I cannot take another by force. But if you were to offer yourself…

Wren shuddered. The avatar flickered above her.

Silas couldn’t be allowed to ascend to godhood. He couldn’t be allowed to control this much power—not with his whole being bent toward vengeance, not with the hunger hollowing him out. But Voryx needed another willing vessel to contain him for the power to transfer. If not, he was trapped. They all were.

The mark burned on her wrist, searing hot like a warning. She moved closer, lifting her hand toward the avatar.

Orzen’s shouts echoed among the voices behind her, but they sounded distant, like she’d already stepped over a boundary to a place he couldn’t follow. The words reached her like sounds through thick glass.

“Wren! Please don’t do this!”

For one breath, she looked back. The despair in his eyes almost changed her mind. She hated that she’d caused it. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. So many things she’d wished they’d had time for. No future where any of it was possible now.

He’d made a brave choice. It was her turn.

She turned back. Velhya stood between her and the vessel. Golden blood dripped from cracks in her bark skin. Her delicately woven dress was torn and stained from battle, but she’d never looked more regal. Her eyes met Wren’s, deep and full of sorrow.

“Yours is not the sacrifice the Cycle demands, my child.”

Before Wren could react, Velhya clutched a feather token at her belt. Golden light flooded from her eyes. A blast of Air crashed into Wren, sending her tumbling backward where she landed hard on her tail. She watched helplessly as Velhya approached the Avatar with impossible grace.

Wren scrambled to her hooves, racing toward Velhya. A wall of Air—invisible but as solid as stone—slammed into her before she could reach them. “No! Velhya, stop!”

The light of the avatar parted, as if Voryx accepted this new choice. It let her through, enveloping both Velhya and the vessel together within it. Velhya’s gaze never lifted to the avatar. It remained fixed on the twisted creature at its heart.

She clasped her fingers around the avatar’s arm. Clutching the moon pendant—her symbol of Nalduun—with her other hand, her lips moved as if in prayer.

Wren beat her hands against the barrier until they ached. One of the forest guardians—arms made of whirling storm—gripped Wren from behind, dragging her away from the barrier. She kicked and fought, but her muscles wouldn’t obey. Hot tears streamed down her face. She wouldn’t look away. Not now.