That night, sleep did not come.
When Myrren finally closed her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she dreamed at all or if the spiral had dragged her into another memory. Shadows pooled beneath the chamber door, candlelight flared too bright, and the heat of the onyx token pulsed against her thigh like a second heartbeat.

One moment she was still in her chamber, the word bound echoing in her skull. The next, she stood in the corridor outside, though she had no memory of rising, no memory of opening the door.

Ahead, gold light flickered where no torch burned.

Thane.
He stood a few paces ahead, palm lifted, golden radiance spilling from his hand. Not flame, but his Lightbinding, filling the corridor with honeyed warmth. She remembered this, his firelight vow whispered in another loop, another night, when he promised no shadow would ever touch her while he lived. That glow had felt like salvation once.

But now, her breath stuttered.

The light faltered. Fractured. Cracks spidered through it, veins of darkness threading the gold until it looked less like a promise and more like a cage. For a heartbeat, she swore the shadows writhed inside his light, shackling it. Shackling her.

Her stomach tightened. Which version was true?

“Myrren?” Thane’s voice was warm, golden, aching with devotion. “You don’t need to fear. I won’t let you fall.”

The exact words he had spoken before. Or after. Or both.

Her lips parted, but only a scent rose in her throat, sharp, resinous, like bitter myrrh burning on stone. Not torch smoke, not fire. Wrong. Poison threaded through memory, warning her that even this light carried venom.

Chains shimmered at the edge of her vision, radiant links curling from Thane’s hands. They clinked softly, then vanished as soon as she blinked.

Her knees weakened. The spiral was tightening again.

And just as she reached toward him, another voice cut through the gold. Low. Certain.

“Even light leaves chains.”

Corven.

He stepped from the shadows as though they had opened for him, storm-gray eyes fixing on her. Darkness clung to his shoulders, a living counterpoint to Thane’s fire.

Myrren froze, her pulse a tangled snare. She had lived this moment before, once in Thane’s arms, once at Corven’s warning. Which memory had been real?

The corridor tilted around her, her hand trembling in the space between fire and shadow.

Thane’s light wavered as Corven’s voice settled into the stones, quiet but undeniable. The corridor thickened with tension, as if the palace itself strained between flame and shadow.

“Myrren,” Thane said, his jaw tight. He lowered his hand, dimming the radiance, but his eyes never left hers. “Don’t listen to him. Shadows thrive on fear. He’d have you believe even truth is a chain if it meant binding you to his silence.”

Corven tilted his head slightly, unreadable. Shadows curled more thickly at his feet, pulling like a tide. “And light doesn’t bind? Every vow he makes tightens around your throat. You just can’t feel the rope until it burns.”

Heat rippled between them, one blazing, the other suffocating, and Myrren felt caught in the middle, as if her body itself were the tether that pulled them toward each other. Her palm still tingled where Thane’s fire had brushed her skin in another loop, another promise. Her wrist still remembered the ghost-weight of Corven’s grip, the phantom chain that had lingered even after he released her.

“You said..” The words slipped from her before she could stop them. Both men turned toward her. Her throat closed. “You both said the same words. I won’t let you fall.”

A silence fell heavier than Ori’s warning.

Because it’s true. Because you matter more than crown or court or any damn chain they try to wrap around us. That vow isn’t just words, Myrren, it’s the only truth I have left

His voice cracked on the last word, and for a heartbeat she saw not a prince but a boy fraying at the edges, drowning beneath duty. It was devastating. Dangerous.

But Corven only shook his head. “Truth?” His voice was low, steady, but each syllable pressed against her ribs like iron. “The truth is that he’s sworn to the crown first. You’ll hear the same vow again, and again, until you bleed believing it. Even light repeats itself, Myrren. Even love becomes a cage when it cannot break free of its loop.”

Her breath caught. Even love becomes a cage. The spiral token in her pocket throbbed in answer, searing hot, as if the Silent Veil themselves whispered approval through its onyx grooves.

The prophecy’s fragments rushed back unbidden:

In the spiral of light and shadow,
One shall break,
One shall bind,
And one shall wear the crown of ash.

Her gaze darted between them. Thane’s fire? would it break her, burn her hollow in his devotion? Corven’s shadow? would it bind her, chain her to the tether until she drowned? And the crown… saints, would she wear it only as ash?

“Enough,” Thane snapped suddenly, voice flaring as his light did. Heat rushed outward, scorching the chill back from the stones. “You twist her with riddles, Corven. She is not your tether. She is free. She belongs to no chain, light or shadow.”

But the words, meant to defend her, struck deeper than he knew. Free? Belongs to no chain? Yet she could feel both of them pulling, each promise and warning snagging threads inside her that would not unravel.

Her knees weakened. This moment had split in two before, she was sure of it, one path golden, one black. Which had been real?

Corven’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, she thought she saw fear flicker there. Not for himself. For her.

The corridor blurred. Firelight and shadow twisted together, gold and black bleeding into one another until Myrren could not tell where one ended or the other began.

She staggered back against the wall, clutching her skirts as though fabric alone could anchor her. The spiral token seared through her pocket, its heat matching the frantic throb of her pulse.

“Stay with me,” Thane urged, his hand reaching for hers, sunlight radiance flickering unsteady. “I’ll keep you safe. I swore it. I swore it.”

The words rang like bells, too clear, too exact. She had heard them before.

And then Corven’s voice overlapped, not louder but heavier, settling into her bones: “Even light leaves chains. You’ve seen it, Myrren. You’ve felt it.”

The two voices layered, echoing, doubling until her skull ached. Her vision split in two corridors, two versions of herself. In one, she stepped forward and Thane’s light wrapped her, golden warmth shielding her from every shadow. In the other, she turned toward Corven, and his tether caught her wrist like a chain, pulling her into the dark where nothing could touch her but him.

Her breath hitched. Both memories pressed against her, demanding belief.

She gripped her temples. “Stop.. stop, I can’t..”

But the spiral did not stop. It pulsed harder, an iron heartbeat. The floor itself seemed to lurch, throwing her into the overlap. She saw Thane’s hand closing around hers, she saw Corven’s chain binding her wrist. She saw herself safe. She saw herself trapped. She saw herself broken.

“Myrren!” Both voices at once.

She gasped. She had lived this. Twice. Once as safety, once as warning. Once with Thane’s vow, once with Corven’s chain.

Which one was real?

The stone in her pocket burned so hot it nearly scorched through her dress. For a heartbeat she thought it was her own heart, split down the middle.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed to the cold floor, the spiral’s heat blazing up her thigh. The world fractured. Gold light shattered into black shards; shadow split with veins of fire.

And as she fell into darkness, the last thought that seared through her mind was not a prayer, but a terror:

What if both were true?