## CHAPTER 90: _"When the Sky Forgot Its Name"_
The stars had vanished.
Not dimmed.
Not hidden.
Gone.
And with them, the old maps of destiny burned into the minds of seers and gods.
Lysia stood at the edge of the Hollow Rift, where the sky bled into the sea. Her cloak was damp from a mist that whispered. Each droplet murmured a name long buried—her true name. One she could never speak aloud. One that would end the world if spoken.
Behind her, Arien approached quietly. Not as a prince. Not as a warrior. But as a boy afraid of losing the last thing that made him human.
"I dreamed you burned," he said.
She didn't turn. "I did."
"I saw you scream."
"I didn't."
He stepped closer, the silence between them colder than the winds of the Rift.
"Then who screamed?"
Lysia finally turned. "The part of me that still loved."
---
In the Tower of Seraphine, Echo walked barefoot through forgotten halls. Her breath turned to light. Her heart beat only when someone lied. And everyone lied.
A council of shadows met in the upper chamber. Ghosts of kings, queens, and those who chose neither.
"She is too much," one said.
"She is too little," said another.
"She is the last," Echo whispered, stepping through their debate.
They turned. But they could not see her. Not truly.
She had stepped out of fate. She now watched it collapse.
---
In the Hollow Rift, Lysia lifted her hands. The stars returned—but only above her palms. They flickered, forming constellations shaped like the things she feared:
- A crown of teeth.
- A sword shaped like a child's spine.
- A door that opens into nothing.
"I will not run," she said.
Arien nodded. "Then we walk into ruin together."
---
They walked.
And the earth answered.
With every step, memories came alive. Trees sang songs of wars they'd rooted through. Stones whispered of lovers buried beneath them.
Lysia touched a petal and saw her mother's face.
Arien blinked and saw his brother—long dead—smiling from the shadows.
"This place is alive," Arien said.
"No," Lysia corrected, "it's remembering."
---
They reached the Temple of the Vanished Sky. A cathedral of glass, built for a god no one believed in anymore. Inside, Echo waited.
She wore chains that sang.
Her eyes held storms.
Her voice was an hourglass turning.
"You came," she said.
"We never stopped," Lysia answered.
Echo raised a hand.
The temple shattered.
Not collapsed—shattered.
Into butterflies made of grief.
The trio stood on the ruins.
Three broken heirs of a story no longer written.
"We rewrite it now," Echo said.
And the sky, long forgotten, wept stars.