Chapter 73 The Collapse
I fell.
Milo caught me. Or at least I think he did.
The flame flickered. Shadows and light fought all around me.
The shard cracked.
Everyone stared.
“Did it work?” Thessa asked.
I opened my eyes.
And whispered, “Who are you?”
Silence.
The kind that doesn’t just fill a room—it presses against it. Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if I’d scream, combust, or start reciting ancient prophecy in reverse.
I opened my eyes.
Everyone stared.
Thessa looked like she’d just watched someone drop a cake. Lira’s mouth was slightly open, like she was halfway through a comforting sentence and forgot how words worked. Kael had gone full statue mode. Yuel’s chant had stopped mid-verse. Zeke was still scribbling, because of course he was.
And Milo—
Milo looked like someone had taken his heart, wrapped it in parchment, and set it on fire.
I blinked. “Who are you?”
Thessa dropped her chalk.
Lira gasped.
Kael muttered, “Well, that’s not ideal.”
Yuel whispered, “The flame didn’t hold.”
Zeke wrote, “Chapter 38: The Ritual Worked. Technically. Emotionally? Debatable.”
Ellira checked the veil. “Something’s wrong.”
No kidding.
I stood slowly, my legs shaky, my flame flickering like it wasn’t sure if it belonged to me anymore. It felt... distant like it was watching me from across a crowded room, sipping tea and judging my choices.
Milo stepped forward. “Mo, it’s me. Milo. You know me.”
I tilted my head. “You look familiar. Like a dream I forgot on purpose.”
He flinched.
Thessa stepped in. “Okay, let’s not panic. Maybe it’s temporary. Like magical amnesia. Or a dramatic plot device.”
Kael raised a brow. “You mean like every decision Mo’s ever made?”
Lira elbowed him. “Not helping.”
Yuel approached cautiously. “Mo, do you remember anything? Your name? Your flame?”
I looked down at my hands.
Golden fire danced across my skin.
“I remember the flame,” I said. “But it doesn’t feel like mine.”
Gerald bleated.
Quacknor threw a spoon.
Classic.
The shard, which we all definitely thought had been shattered, floated into the air.
It pulsed once.
Twice.
Then it spoke.
In my voice.
But not mine.
“You tried to unwrite me. But I am the choice you made. And I am not done.”
Everyone froze.
Thessa whispered, “Okay, that’s creepy.”
Kael summoned a wind. “Do we stab it?”
Yuel shook his head. “It’s not physical. It’s... residual.”
Zeke scribbled, “Chapter 39: The Shard Has Opinions.”
Milo stepped in front of me. “You’re not her.”
The shard pulsed again.
“I am every version she could have been. Every crown she could have worn. Every flame she could have burned with. You tried to erase me. But I am the echo. And echoes do not die.”
I felt it then.
A pull.
Not from the shard.
From inside me.
Like something was trying to rewrite me again.
I staggered back.
Memories flickered—half-formed, broken, stitched together with emotion and static.
A silver tree.
Narrin’s smile.
A prophecy rewritten.
A crown.
A cold flame.
I gasped.
Thessa caught me. “Mo?”
“I saw her,” I whispered. “The other me. The one who didn’t break the crown. The one who ruled.”
Lira’s eyes widened. “You mean the shard didn’t just survive—it preserved a version of you?”
Ellira nodded grimly. “It’s not just a memory. It’s a mirror.”
Kael frowned. “So what, we’re dealing with an alternate Mo? A flame ghost?”
Yuel looked at me. “No. We’re dealing with a fracture. The shard didn’t just take your memories. It split your soul.”
Zeke scribbled, “Chapter 40: Mo vs. Mo. The Flame-Off.”
Milo turned to the group. “We need to go back into the Veil.”
Thessa groaned. “We just got out of the Veil. It’s like suggesting a second date with a volcano.”
Lira nodded. “Also, last time we went in, Gerald tried to marry a cloud.”
Gerald bleated defensively.
The shard laughed.
In my voice.
“You cannot unmake me. I am the price of choice.”
I stepped forward.
“I made that choice. I shattered the crown.”
“No, you shattered part of it, so in turn, I shattered you.”
Milo grabbed my hand. “We’ll fix this. We’ll find the real you.”
I looked at him.
And for a moment—
Just a moment—
I remembered.
His laugh.
His eyes.
The way he said my name like it mattered.
Then it was gone.
The shard pulsed.
The veil cracked.
A storm surged outside the Watchtower.
Ellira shouted, “It’s destabilizing!”
Yuel began chanting again.
Kael summoned winds.
Thessa drew new runes.
Lira threw a muffin at the shard. (It didn’t help.)
Zeke wrote, “Chapter 41: The Storm Returns.”
And me?
I stepped into the storm.
Because if the shard was a version of me—
Then I needed to find out which one of us was real.
The Veil didn’t welcome me.
It remembered me.
And it was bitter.
The moment I stepped through, the air thickened, like walking into a room where someone had just been arguing with fate. Colors bled sideways. Time hiccupped. My flame flickered, uncertain—like it wasn’t sure if it was mine anymore.
Milo followed close behind, silent, steady. Gerald trotted in after us, wearing a helmet made of spoons. Quacknor rode his back, armed with a fork and vengeance.
Classic.
The deeper we went, the louder the echoes became. Not voices—versions. Fragments of me. Laughing. Crying. Ruling. Burning.
And then I saw her.
The shadow.
She wore my face, but colder. Sharper. Crowned in flame that didn’t flicker—it commanded. Her eyes glowed like dying stars, and her smile was the kind you give before pushing someone off a metaphorical cliff.
“Well,” she said, “look who came crawling back.”
I stepped forward. “You’re not me.”
She tilted her head. “Aren’t I? I’m the Mo who didn’t hesitate. Who didn’t break the crown. Who ruled.”
Milo drew his blade. “She’s not you.”
She laughed. “He still follows you. Even when you forget him. How quaint.”
My flame surged. “I came to take back what you stole.”
She raised her hand.
The Veil trembled.
And behind her—
A thousand crowns rose from the mist.
Each one pulsing.
Each one waiting.
“Then choose, Mo. Again.”