## CHAPTER 89: _"The Dagger and the Dreamer"_
The dagger whispered lies to anyone who touched it—except one.
Beneath the crumbling catacombs of Elira's forgotten capital, Lysia descended alone. Her hands trembled not from fear, but from certainty. The dagger—called *Solthorn*—was speaking again.
*"He will betray you,"* it hissed.
*"She will leave you."*
*"You will destroy them all."*
And Lysia, for the first time in days, felt peace. Because lies no longer scared her. Truth did.
Meanwhile, Arien stood before the Council of Thorns. The last rulers of Elira's outer regions had gathered, frightened by the return of divine magic and a girl named Echo who could shake time with a thought.
"Peace is dying," one said.
"No," Arien replied, "peace was murdered. And the killer wears a crown none of us dared touch."
He drew his sword and placed it on the map.
"We go to the First Flame. We awaken what the gods sealed."
The hall fell silent.
Then a voice from the shadows:
"You would burn what's left to find her?"
"I would burn what's false to find what's real."
Echo wandered through the dreams of dying trees. Each leaf she touched aged into dust, but each whisper she heard built her soul anew.
She saw visions:
- Lysia holding Solthorn and bleeding memories instead of blood.
- Arien drowning in the ashes of Elira's future.
- A faceless child watching them all.
Echo spoke aloud: "I am not the curse. I am the key."
And the wind, old and knowing, answered: "Then unlock what they buried."
Lysia reached the altar. Solthorn pulsed in her grip.
Before her stood the mirror of Wyrmsight—the one that showed not what you are, but what you're hiding.
She looked into it.
She saw herself—
But crowned.
Alone.
Drenched in Arien's blood.
She dropped the dagger.
It didn't fall.
It *floated*. And began to sing.
The song was the same that Echo had tried to birth.
But this one was darker. It mourned something older than gods.
Above ground, the sky broke into symbols.
Arien saw them and whispered: "She found it."
The Council fled.
Only Arien remained, and he stepped into the burning wind. Toward the Flame.
Toward her.
Echo, Lysia, and Arien—all three—dreamed the same dream that night.
In it, the throne of Elira shattered.
And something climbed out.
Not a god.
Not a curse.
But **a story rewritten**.