The Shadow Groove breathed.
It always did—slow, hollow, wrong. A wound in the world where light bent away and sound died mid-breath. Trees twisted toward it but never crossed its threshold. Even the bravest animals skirted its edges, as if instinct itself knew better.
Lena did not stop.
She walked straight through the palace grounds, past the sleeping barns, past the whispering hedges and the guards who never saw her. The night clung to her like a second skin, cold but familiar. Her fists were clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.
Every step echoed with one thought.
It all started here.
She stopped at the edge of the Groove.
The darkness ahead was complete—no stars, no moonlight, no depth. Just an absence. A void that swallowed intention.
Lena lifted her chin.
"It all started from here," she said aloud, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "From you."
The Shadow Groove did not answer.
Her lips curled.
"Fate," she called, louder now. "I know you can hear me."
The air thickened.
Leaves froze mid-fall.
The wind stilled.
Even her breath stopped fogging.
She laughed sharply, bitterness cracking through. "Yeah. That got your attention."
She took one more step forward and shouted, voice tearing through the silence like a blade:
"SHOW YOURSELF."
Then, raw and furious—
"SHOW YOURSELF, BITCH."
The world shattered into stillness.
Not silence—stillness.
Time itself locked in place.
A bird hung frozen in the air above her, wings outstretched, feathers trembling without movement. A drop of dew hovered at the tip of a blade of grass. Her own heartbeat slowed until she could count the seconds between thuds.
Then—
The bird moved.
It did not fall.
It descended.
Its wings folded inward as it drifted down, landing on a twisted branch at the edge of the Groove. As its feet touched the wood, the bird changed.
Feathers melted into starlight.
Wings unraveled into threads of silver and dusk.
What perched before her was no longer a bird—but it was not quite anything else either.
Its eyes were galaxies.
Its voice, when it spoke, was wind passing through bells.
> "You call with anger, child of crossroads,"
"Yet wonder why the dark replies."
Lena did not bow.
She did not flinch.
She crossed her arms and glared.
"So that's it?" she snapped. "You drag me into a world of demons, kings, marks, and monsters—ruin my life, hurt the one thing I care about—and you answer in poems?"
The thing that was Fate tilted its head.
> "Words are threads," it replied softly,
"And threads are all I am."
She stepped closer, the frozen world creaking around her like strained glass.
"You said you brought me here," Lena said. "You said everything happens for a reason. So talk. Why me?"
Fate's wings—half-formed, half-imagined—rustled.
> "Because the crown was cracking,"
"And the world required a hand that would not kneel."
Lena scoffed. "That's not an answer."
> "It is the only one."
She laughed, sharp and humorless. "I'm not special. I don't have magic. I don't have a mark. I scoop animal shit for a living."
Fate hopped from the branch, landing lightly on the air itself.
> "Do you know what breaks cycles, Lena-who-resists?"
"Not power."
"Not prophecy."
"But refusal."
Her breath caught.
"What cycle?"
Fate's eyes dimmed, then brightened again like stars rearranging.
> "Kings who rule by fear."
"Queens who devour futures."
"Gods who mistake control for order."
Lena's jaw tightened as images flashed unbidden in her mind—Kairos' cold smirk, Esmeralda's delighted cruelty, Ashikai writhing in pain.
"You're saying I'm here to fix them?" she demanded.
> "No," Fate replied gently.
"You are here to end them."
The words settled heavy and dangerous between them.
Lena shook her head. "Then why hide the mark? Why make me weak?"
Fate leaned closer, its voice dropping to a near whisper.
> "Because power revealed too soon becomes a target,"
"And you were never meant to be a weapon."
"You are meant to be a choice."
Her hands trembled.
"Then why let Ashikai suffer?" she snapped. "Why let Esmeralda touch him?"
For the first time, Fate did not answer immediately.
When it spoke again, there was something like regret woven into the sound.
> "Even I cannot pull every thread,"
"Only place the scissors."
Lena's eyes burned. "You're cruel."
> "I am necessary."
Silence stretched.
Then Fate straightened, feathers re-forming along its edges, already beginning to fade.
> "Listen well, Lena of no-banners," it said, voice rising and falling like a chant.
"For I will not answer twice."
The air shimmered.
> "When the fox bleeds light and the king bleeds doubt,"
"When roses grow where shadows breathe,"
"Seek not the mark upon the skin—"
"But the one that wakes when you choose to stand."
Lena frowned. "That's it? That's your clue?"
Fate's beak curved—not quite a smile.
> "Riddles are doors," it said.
"Understanding is the handle."
The world began to move again—slowly, dangerously.
Time strained against its bonds.
Lena stepped forward. "Wait. One more thing."
Fate paused.
"Am I going to lose him?" she asked quietly.
The bird looked at her with ancient eyes.
> "Love is never lost," it said softly.
"It is only changed."
Then—
With a rush of wind and light, Fate scattered into feathers that dissolved before touching the ground.
Time slammed back into motion.
The bird overhead flew away.
The dew fell.
The night breathed again.
Lena stood alone before the Shadow Groove, heart pounding, the riddle echoing in her mind.
She exhaled slowly.
"Fine," she muttered. "Your move made. Now it's mine."
And for the first time since she arrived in this broken kingdom—
She turned her back on the darkness.
Unafraid.