Olryme's Arc

Chapter 9 of 10

Olryme crossed the red light toward the temple door. Stopping the ritual now would tear the mortal apart with it. They knelt at the edge of the carved circle, where blood-bright lines pulsed around a low pillar, and pressed one hand to the sleeping mortal's brow. A stone formed under their palm — round and rough, swimming with deep blue and gold, a small galaxy held in rock. The dream stone marked the door between waking and sleep. Olryme stepped through it. Inside the dream, they spoke plainly. Die as yourself, or live as a cage for her. They did not soften it. The mortal answered. Olryme listened. Then they pulled back through the stone toward the waking world. They were too late. The blood moon had closed its mouth on the ritual. Nyxi stood inside the circle, hands buried in the mortal's chest, pouring herself in. The binding took. The mortal's eyes opened gold. But Olryme felt the seam. The binding sat wrong, like a key in a lock not its own. It would hold for an hour, a year, an age — and then it would split. Nyxi did not know yet. She was smiling. The ground around the pillar buckled. Green flame licked up through the runes, and broken walls pushed out of the soil in a slow ring. Ruins, already old, already failing. Olryme stood inside them and watched Nyxi cradle a soul she could not keep.