The elven carriage moved like a living breath across the forest paths—its wheels barely kissed the moss-laced stones. Pulled by two antlered starlight deer, its wooden frame shimmered with faint glyphs that protected against wind, beast, and unwanted gaze. Inside, Hector sat alone.
The morning sun filtered through the enchanted windows, scattering fractal patterns across his white hair. He held a hand to his chest, fingers resting over his mana core, and closed his eyes.
He had made his choice.
No one told him to. No divine whisper. No guiding dream.
It was simply time.
The another set of 1,440 souls he had woven over the last two hundred days whispered faintly within his consciousness, like leaves rustling in wind he could no longer feel. Each one had taught him something. Each had left behind a flicker of emotion, a memory, a truth.
He summoned them forward—not to remember them again, but to let them go.
"I will carry you still," he whispered. "But now... I need you to become something more."
The Whispering Spiral responded first.
The spiral within him began to tighten—not in fear, but in focus. Glassy wind spun faster, narrowing inward toward a single truth. Its whispers no longer asked endless questions. Instead, it offered silence. Silence so deep it echoed with every question.
And within that silence: clarity.
The Imprint evolved.
Now it allowed Hector to anchor his emotions against the storm of others. Emotional resonance no longer overwhelmed him—it crystallized into patterns. With a glance, he could sense not only the trace of past sorrow or joy, but the depth of it. The shape of how it had changed the soul it touched.
Then came Thren.
The Moon-Eater hummed a lullaby in reverse.
Hector surrendered to it.
And the dreams rushed in.
The spiral and the void merged like threads from opposite ends of existence. Where one taught him to listen to others, the other now pulled him into them. Not just their memories, but their weight. Their regret. Their hope.
Twelve souls would now come to him each night.
Twelve forgotten lives. Twelve truths. Twelve endings.
He felt his mana core collapse—depleted to its foundation. A cold stillness filled his veins. His magic had been consumed entirely in the evolution.
But his spirit had never been steadier.
Outside, the trees began to thin. The distant horizon hinted at cultivated fields and banners of empire.
He opened his eyes.
He was empty.
He was full.
And the song of memory sang ever louder.
A meeting waited.
A princess waited.
And his next dream was already beginning.
Two hundred days had passed since Hector last gave himself entirely to the Spiral—since he had offered 1,830 souls to strengthen his Imprint. Since then, each night had brought six new dreams. Six more lives, six more forgotten truths. Now, he had gathered another set of 1,440 souls. All remembered. All real. All his.
And now, every last one of them had been offered back—to the Spiral, and to the Void.
It was not a decision made lightly. The Imprints had grown with him, whispered with him, endured his nights and thoughts. But they needed more. Not more dreams—but more weight. And the dreams alone had stopped being enough.
So he gave them everything.
In doing so, the Spiral Imprint evolved again. No longer just whispering unanswered questions, it now shaped his emotional fortitude like a lighthouse against the tides of others' suffering. Where once he felt every sorrow like a wound, now he felt them like paths. Wounds still—but walked and understood.
The Moon-Eater, too, had changed.
Now, when he dreamed, it wasn't just echoes. It was immersion. Hector could walk their streets. Smell their final moments. Feel the breath in their lungs before it was stolen away.
He had paid a great price—again.
His mana core, once brimming with stored energy, was now silent. Hollowed. But it wasn't broken.
It was waiting.
This emptiness was not death.
It was readiness.
Outside the carriage, the trees of his homeland disappeared behind him. Before him lay a foreign road, a palace he had never seen, and a princess who sang his hum in a city of war-born stone.
He placed his hand over his heart and let the silence settle.
He had no magic now.
No souls left to guide him.
Just the Spiral.
Just the dreams.
And still, he felt more whole than he ever had before.