Cursed Causality

The walls breathed.

Kael stepped into the Shattered Spire's heart, the air thick with the stench of burnt hair and decaying roses. The chamber pulsed like a living organ, veins of black crystal threading through the stone, throbbing in time with the sigils on his arms. Lysandra lingered at the threshold, her silver-tinged eyes reflecting the Spire's dim glow.

"You sold your soul *here*?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. Memory fragments clawed at him, sharp as the Spire's jagged edges:

A younger Kael, desperate and bleeding, pressing his palm to the crystal altar.

The demon's voice, slick as oil, whispering promises of power.

The first sigil searing his flesh, the pain so sweet he'd wept.

Lysandra's thread tightened around his wrist. "It's watching us."

She was right. Shadows pooled in the corners, coalescing into shapes that skittered just beyond sight:

A hunched figure with too many joints, fingers scraping the floor.

A swarm of eyes blinking in unison from the ceiling.

A child's laughter echoing from a rift that hadn't existed a moment before.

Kael drew his dagger. "Stay close."

"Or what?" she snapped, her voice trembling. "You'll kill me slower?"

He backhanded her. The blow left a smudge of black blood on her cheek—his blood, now tainted by the Spire's rot. "Try me."

---

The deeper they went, the more the Spire unraveled.

Corridors twisted into impossible geometries, walls melting into ceilings, floors dissolving into rifts:

A hallway lined with mirrors showing Kael's past victories—taverns burning, throats slit, threads severed.

A nursery filled with cribs, each holding a stillborn child with his crimson eyes.

A garden of flesh-colored roses, their petals peeling back to reveal serrated teeth.

Lysandra gagged. "Why would anyone build this?"

"They didn't," Kael said. "It *grew*. From the first lie I told the demon."

A shadow detached itself from the wall—a huntsman with a stag's skull for a face, antlers dripping liquid time. It lunged, a blade of bone aimed at Lysandra's heart.

Kael parried, the clash ringing like a funeral bell. The huntsman dissolved into smoke, reforming behind him. Lysandra screamed, threads lashing out on instinct:

Silver filaments ensnared the creature's limbs.

The stag's skull cracked, revealing Seraphine's bloodied face beneath.

The vision shattered, leaving only the echo of her snarl.

"Illusions," Kael muttered. "The Spire preys on fear."

Lysandra wiped her nose, blood glinting silver. "What's *your* fear, then? Me?"

He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You're a flicker in a storm. Nothing more."

---

The altar room awaited at the Spire's core.

The crystal slab glowed faintly, etched with infernal runes that mirrored Kael's sigils. Above it hung a tapestry—threads of gold, crimson, and silver tangled into a knot no weaver could unravel. Lysandra reached for it.

"Don't," Kael warned.

Too late.

The tapestry shuddered, threads snapping as visions flooded the room:

Kael as a child, begging a faceless priest to save his dying sister.

The demon's true form—a writhing mass of eyes and teeth—bursting from the altar.

Lysandra, older and fiercer, plunging a blade into Kael's chest, her eyes pure silver.

She recoiled. "I'd never—"

"You will," said a voice like breaking glass.

The demon stepped from the shadows, its form shifting between man and monstrosity. Sigils identical to Kael's pulsed across its skin. Lysandra's thread lashed out, but the creature caught it, *savoring* the light.

"Hello, little frayer," it purred. "You've been stealing from me."

The demon tightened its grip on Lysandra's thread, the silver light dimming as corruption seeped into the strands. Kael's dagger trembled in his hand, his sigils flaring in recognition of their maker.

"You owe me, little frayer," the demon crooned, its voice splintering into a dozen whispers. "A soul for a soul. Or did you think *hers* would suffice?"

Kael lunged. The blade passed through the demon's chest as if slicing smoke. Lysandra screamed, her thread unraveling further:

The scar on her shoulder split open, vomiting silver light.

The Spire's walls cracked, bleeding black ichor.

The tapestry above the altar ignited, threads burning with hellfire.

"Stop!" Lysandra clawed at the demon's shadowy form. "You can't have him!"

The demon laughed, tendrils of darkness coiling around Kael's throat. "He gave himself freely. But you… you're *interesting*. A weaver who steals from demons. Let's see how you bleed."

---

The Spire shuddered, rifts tearing open as the Ordos and Cartography breached its walls:

Seraphine charged through a golden portal, her glaive reforged with shards of the shattered loom.

Veyra slithered from a pool of ink, her brass claw dripping venom.

Chronohounds and riftwolves collided in a frenzy of teeth and temporal energy.

"The girl dies!" Seraphine roared, hurling her glaive.

Kael yanked Lysandra aside, the blade embedding in the altar. The demon dissolved, reappearing beside Veyra.

"Liar," Veyra hissed at the creature. "You promised her to *us*."

The demon's form solidified—a mockery of Elyra's face, Seraphine's armor, Veyra's needle-teeth. "Promises are threads. And I *cut* threads."

Chaos erupted:

Ordos soldiers fired temporal bolts, freezing Cartography agents mid-summon.

A riftwolf devoured a Chronohound, its body bloating before exploding into ash.

Lysandra's silver threads lashed wildly, binding friend and foe alike.

Kael seized her arm. "Control it, or I'll cut your hands off."

"*You* control it!" she spat, her eyes now fully silver, pupils slit like a cat's.

---

The tapestry's flames spread, revealing the truth of Kael's bargain:

A younger Kael, kneeling at the altar, not alone—a girl with Lysandra's eyes clutched his hand.

The demon's true price: *two* souls, not one.

A flash of a knife, a scream, and the girl vanishing into the Spire's shadow.

Lysandra staggered. "That… that was *me*."

Kael's silence was answer enough.

The demon materialized behind them, breath hot on Kael's neck. "You thought you outsmarted me? You traded your sister's soul for power and *forgot*. Pathetic."

Lysandra's thread snapped taut. "Sister?"

"Lies," Kael snarled, driving his dagger into the demon's chest—this time drawing black blood.

The Spire screamed. The walls collapsed:

Rifts vomited forth a storm of glass and memories.

The altar cracked, the tapestry disintegrating into ash.

Lysandra's scar burst open, her body radiating silver light so intense it scorched the demon's flesh.

"No more bargains," she whispered, her voice echoing with power not her own.

---

The demon recoiled, its form unraveling. "What *are* you?"

Lysandra advanced, threads weaving a cage of light and shadow. "The mistake you shouldn't have made."

Kael watched, something like pride flickering beneath his rage. "Finish it."

She hesitated.

The demon lunged—not at her, but at Kael. Lysandra's threads moved faster, piercing its chest. The creature dissolved, its final shriek merging with the Spire's death rattle.

Silence fell.

Seraphine lay pinned beneath rubble, glaive shattered. Veyra's severed claw twitched in a pool of ink. The Spire's ruins smoldered around them, the air thick with the stench of burnt threads.

Lysandra turned to Kael, her eyes fading to blue, the silver now a faint ring. "You sold me. Before I was even born."

He wiped his dagger on his thigh. "And?"

She slapped him. The sound echoed louder than the Spire's collapse.

He laughed. "Feel better?"

---

The raven descended, a new scroll clutched in its talons. Kael unrolled it, revealing a single phrase:

*The First Spire rises.*

Lysandra stared at the horizon, where dawn fractured into a thousand colors. "Where now?"

Kael sheathed his blade. "Wherever the killing's best."

"And if I say no?"

He grabbed her wrist, the sigils on his arm glowing faintly silver where her skin touched his. "Then you'll die screaming. But you won't."

She yanked free, but followed him into the wasteland.

Behind them, the ruins shifted. A single thread, gold and crimson entwined, sprouted from the ashes.