The world beyond the light-gate was neither treasure vault nor sacred hall—only an endless white void. At its center hung a crown woven from strands of pure light: the Crown of Light. Yet it resembled less a regal diadem than a gilded birdcage, its bars trapping a flickering golden flame within.
Lion staggered to his feet as the fire-chains dissolved. A few paces away, Selene—no, not Selene—knelt on the featureless ground, the crystallization now creeping past her collarbone toward her heart.
"This is the Crown's core," she—it—gasped. "And the prison... where my mother's soul is kept."
As she spoke, a translucent figure materialized beside the Crown. A woman with Selene's sharp cheekbones and flame-red hair, but with hollow eyes and seven silver nails driven through her spectral chest.
"Three centuries ago," the false Selene whispered, reaching for the apparition (her fingers passing uselessly through it), "the Conclave learned the Crown could trap souls. They took my mother... made her its gatekeeper." A shuddering breath. "Only a Shadowheart can open this cage."
Lion's stolen heart pounded violently. The Shadow Prince howled within him:
"SHE'LL TRADE YOU FOR THAT GHOST!"
Tears fell from the imposter's eyes, sizzling like acid where they struck the void-floor. "I stole the Phoenix Ember. Hunted the Shadowborn. All for this." She raised the silver needle. "This 'Soul Anchor' can transfer her into the Ember... but requires a living vessel to bridge the gap."
Her gaze locked onto Lion's chest.
A sound like shattering glass echoed through the void—the Dragon Queen's scepter piercing the crumbling light-gate. Time was running out.
"Choose, Lion." The needle gleamed in her grip. "Help me save her... or let the Shadow Prince eat your mind whole."
The Shadowheart's pulse threatened to crack his ribs. Lion studied the spectral mother—and froze.
The missing fingertip.
The apparition's left pinky lacked its top joint... exactly like Selene's. A hereditary flaw.
But three days ago aboard the Blackfin, when Selene had bandaged his wounds, her hands had been unmarked.
"You're not her." Lion recoiled. "Who are you?"
The thing wearing Selene's face melted.
Flesh flowed like wax, reforming into a stranger's features—no scar bisecting the nose, eyes the color of quicksilver.
"High Archon Marlena Embermark," the woman smiled. "Selene's twin sister... and the true master of the Phoenix Ember."
The Crown contracted.
Golden flames lashed out like living threads, wrapping around Lion's limbs. And in his mind, the Shadow Prince roared with triumphant fury:
"NOW YOU SEE! WE ARE THE HUNTED!"
The third chain shattered.