The Dreamwraith descended in a spiral of moonlit mist, its translucent wings barely stirring the void as it landed at the edge of the Maw. They had reached the place spoken of only in divine nightmares—a place not on any map, but etched into the memories of fallen gods.
Ren Zian stepped off first, the ghost of a forgotten memory still aching behind his eyes. The others followed, more cautious now, as if the ground itself might swallow them.
The Maw of Harael was a wound in the earth—an endless abyss lined with jagged teeth of black crystal. Whispers rose from it, not in language, but in feeling—a sense of betrayal, hunger, and fate waiting to pounce.
Nyelle shuddered. "This is not a place built by the Gods."
"It's older," Eira whispered, eyes glowing faintly. "And it's watching us."
They approached the descent platform—a stone ring etched with runes that pulsed to the beat of their hearts. As Ren stepped onto it, the runes flickered, reading his blood.
"It recognizes the Fifth Pact," Arin said. "You've earned the right to descend."
"But only you," Lyra warned. "We can't follow unless called."
Ren looked at them. "Stay here. If I don't return in a day—"
"We're coming in after you," Arin said flatly.
"Exactly," Lyra added. "So don't think about dying."
Nyelle raised her hand. "Wait. Something's wrong."
Too late.
The platform lit up in blinding white, and the world fell away.
Ren's eyes opened to darkness—and to water. He was submerged, yet breathing. Lightless currents pulled at him. And then—he rose, gasping, onto a floor made of polished onyx.
The sky above was upside-down. Stars flickered beneath him. The Maw was a realm flipped inside out.
"You have entered fate," a voice echoed.
He turned.
A figure stood before him—neither man nor woman, wrapped in wings made of golden chains and eyes full of time.
"I am the Herald of the Sixth Pact," it said. "You have forgotten her name. And now, you must remember what you never lived."
Ren's lips parted. "What does that mean?"
"It means you'll live her life. The sister you lost. For the Sixth Pact, you must walk in the soul of another and survive it."
Pain lanced through him.
Suddenly, he was smaller. Softer. A child again—but not himself.
He saw a village burning. A girl screaming.
He was the girl.
He was the one who had stood between her brother and the gods' soldiers. He had shielded him. Died for him.
He was her.
Back above the Maw, Arin and Lyra flinched as the abyss shivered.
"What's happening?" Arin whispered.
Nyelle's lips turned pale. "He's being made to relive a life not his own… as a girl who died for him."
Eira clenched her jaw. "Will he remember her now?"
"No," Nyelle said. "He will become her."
Ren's trial blurred between past and present.
He saw himself through her eyes—Ren, the orphan boy who smiled too easily and trusted too quickly. He remembered giving her a carved wooden ring. Saying it would protect her.
She had worn it until the fire took her.
Now, he held it again. The memory had returned.
"I remember her name," he whispered to the Herald.
"Then say it," the creature said.
"Maelin."
The Maw exploded in light.
He awoke on the temple platform—drenched in sweat, the ring clutched in his hand.
The others rushed to him.
Ren looked up, eyes shining. "She… Maelin. She gave up everything for me."
Lyra knelt beside him. "And now you've brought her back."
"No," Ren said quietly. "I've buried her again. But now… I can carry her name."
The Sixth Pact burned into his skin.