The light from the relic burst like a silent scream.
Time unraveled.
Lyra and Raven didn't feel themselves move—but suddenly they were elsewhere. Not standing, not floating. Just being. The world was white, but not empty. Every glimmer, every pulse in the air carried memory. And emotion.
Here, shadows whispered like living things.
Here, the past wasn't buried. It watched.
Lyra's first breath burned her lungs. "Where are we?"
Raven's voice came from beside her, shaken. "Not the vampire realm. Not the witch lands either. This… this is between."
The Veil.
But not as it once was.
This was its heart. The origin of all boundaries—where the first spell was cast to keep the realms apart.
A memory stirred in the distance.
They turned.
A woman of ash and gold stood beneath a bleeding moon. Her face was not human, not vampire, not witch—but something ancient. Something god-touched. She raised her hands, and between her palms, the realms shimmered like glass about to break.
"This was how the Divide began," Lyra whispered.
The woman cast her spell—and screamed as her form began to fracture.
"I can't hold it," she said in a voice that echoed across the plane. "Not alone."
But no one came.
Raven reached forward, instinctively trying to help her.
His hand passed through the memory like smoke.
"It's not real," Lyra reminded him. "It's what the relic wants us to see."
"But why?" he asked. "Why show us this?"
Then, behind the woman, they saw themselves.
Or rather, versions of themselves.
Lyra, dressed in black feathers, a crown of bones on her brow. Raven, with blood running down his arms like ink, his wings—yes, wings—broken and still fighting.
A prophecy within a prophecy.
The vision of who they could become if love turned to ruin.
Raven stepped back. "This isn't fate. This is a warning."
"No," Lyra said, eyes narrowing. "It's a choice."
She took his hand. This time, her fingers were ice. Her magic no longer buzzed; it roared.
Suddenly, the memory shattered—and they were thrust into another.
A castle made of stone and salt, its walls smeared with the symbols of every tribe.
Inside, three figures argued around a table: one with fangs, one with glowing witch-marks, and one with a mortal face.
"They once tried to bring peace," Lyra murmured. "They joined the realms before."
"And failed," Raven added, staring at the dead soldiers behind the door. "Because love was not enough."
The scene cracked.
Another appeared.
And another.
They were shown betrayal, sacrifice, devotion, despair.
They were shown the cost of connection.
And the danger of pretending they were not tethered.
By the time the visions faded, Lyra and Raven stood alone again—this time, back in the ruined vampire realm. But something had changed.
The relic was gone.
Instead, a mark now glowed faintly on their chests—a sigil, shaped like a half-moon curled inside a bleeding heart.
It pulsed in time with their breath.
"What does it mean?" Raven asked, voice hoarse.
Lyra looked toward the horizon. "That the gods are no longer watching us. They're waiting."
The bond had awakened something sacred—and terrible.
And now, the realms would begin to react.
Already, thunder cracked in a sky that had not seen storms in decades.
Magic rippled beneath their feet.
And in the distance, a council was being summoned. One that did not want the bond to survive. One that would burn them both before letting the prophecy take form.
But Raven only stepped closer. "No matter what they try… I won't lose you."
She smiled faintly, bitter-sweet. "Then hold on tight. Because this love? It's not just forbidden anymore."
"It's a weapon."