Lara inclines her head. “Of course.”
Nyrielle studies her for a brief moment, as if confirming what she already believes to be true. Whatever she looks for, she finds it. There is no hesitation in Lara’s expression, no fracture in her composure. Why would there be? Lara has given her nothing but results.
“Do not keep me waiting,” Nyrielle adds, already turning away.
“Of course,” Lara replies.
Nyrielle leaves the vault without another word, her presence receding from the space as the heavy doors seal behind her. The hum of her power lingers only briefly before it dissipates, leaving the chamber quieter than it has been since Lara first entered it.
She does not move immediately.
Instead, she lets the silence settle.
Then she turns.
The Gateway opensin the training ground on the outskirts of Elarion, where the air thins and stretches beneath the force of Lara’s will.
It takes shape slowly, deliberately, a controlled fracture in the world itself. The edges shimmer as they part, revealing the distant outline of Virellin beyond—a city already breaking, already burning, already lost to the violence Nyrielle intends to finish.
The army gathers below. Swords and shields of Aether from Caeloria in the hands of every soldier. Disciplined. Ready. Protected from Starborn attacks. Trained by Zerynthia’s General of War.Waiting.
It’s all rather poetic, really.
Lara stands at the center of it, her magic steady as she holds the opening in place without effort. It responds to her obediently, without resistance, widening under her control until it becomes stable, usable, wide enough for an army to walk through.
Exactly what Nyrielle expects.
“Go,” Lara says, her voice carrying across the assembled ranks. “I have placed you in the heart of battle.”
They move without hesitation.
Units pass through the Gateway in steady succession, their forms swallowed by the tear in the air and delivered into the heart of the war. More weapons follow. Skyfire. Supplies. Everything Nyrielle has prepared to ensure her victory.
Nyrielle walks through, not bothering to change out of her ice-blue gown, pale-gold hair flowing in cascades down her back. She giggles, smiling broadly as she walks through. Like she’s not leading a campaign to erase an entire kingdom of Starborn. Like she’s not creating a world where people are no more than labor.
Lara maintains the opening until the last strand of Nyrielle’s hair passes the threshold.
Only then does she begin to close it.
The fracture narrows under her command, folding back into itself until the sky returns to stillness, as though nothing had ever disturbed it.
No one questions her. No one lingers. They have their orders. They follow them.
Lara watches the space where the Gateway had been for a moment longer, her expression unchanged, her thoughts her own.
Then she moves. Fast.
By the timeshe returns to the vault, it is empty.
The vast chamber feels different in Nyrielle’s absence. Not diminished, but stripped of the certainty that once filled it. The Memory Orbs continue their slow orbit above the dais, unaware of the shift that has already begun.
Lara steps inside, the doors sealing behind her with a low, final sound.
Send them to the echo-plane.
The instruction echoes through her mind as she walks toward the center of the chamber, her gaze lifting to the Orbs.
She raises her hand, and her magic answers immediately.
