Sommer reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed the rim of the basin,
everything stopped.
A vibration filled her chest like a second heartbeat—and then the light surged upward in a column, striking the ceiling above them. The entire room flickered… and became something else.
They were no longer in the cradle chamber.
The walls were gone.
In their place, stars bled across a
sky torn in half—a vision of a battlefield above an alien world, with
crimson banners,
silver-masked warriors, and a
golden-cloaked woman standing atop a dais. Her face was obscured, but her
stance was unmistakable.
It was Sommer. Or someone who wore her face.
"You will not chain what is born from fire," the vision-Sommer said, voice echoing like thunder. "You will not silence the Queen of embers."
Behind her,
another woman stood. Graceful. Fierce. Her eyes piercing.
It was
Alyssa, or… an ancestor? A twin from myth?
Together, they raised their hands—and from them surged a storm of
gold and violet energy, cracking through the armies gathered below.
The vision shimmered—fast-forwarding—until the golden queen fell to her knees, her voice breaking:
"Seal the cradle… until the bloodlines meet again."
"Until the prophecy can breathe once more."
The world exploded in
light.
Sommer staggered back.