Nymera’s POV
Falling wasn’t the right word.
I wasn’t falling—I was peeling.
Layer by layer, stripped of skin and bone, memory and name.
Until I was nothing but breath and fire and ice and something else—something too vast to fit inside a girl’s body.
The spiral wasn’t a place.
It was a mind.
And I had stepped directly into it.
When I stopped falling, I stood on glass.
Beneath it, a hundred reflections stared back at me.
All of them me.
But twisted.
One wore the crown of bone and flame, eyes glowing gold.
Another stood in snow, crowned in frost, face blank and perfect.
A third sat on a throne of roots and stars, marked not by gods—but by void.
Each reflection looked up in unison.
And spoke in my voice:
“You are the convergence. The thread. The cost.”
I backed up, breath ca
