Both Nyxara’s dire situation with the “false mother” and the events surrounding Coin and Oliver were broadcast live through the third, the black, gate. The person sitting on the stone throne before it laughed uncontrollably as Nyxara’s order and her worldview of “there is always meaning” were shattered… Yet every time Oliver and Coin appeared on screen, the throned figure practically begged the screen, pleading that at least Coin would remain unharmed.
Valeria, the older sister of Nyxara and Coincedence, tried to rise to help her siblings, but the dead vines kept pulling her back onto the throne. But at a certain moment—when Coin nearly lost her finger in the hole—it went too far. Valeria screamed “No!” as tears ran down her face, and she began to tear the vines apart against the sharp, angular throne by forcing herself up again and again. She kept going, even though the thorns caused her immense pain.
With her last strength, she finally broke free, and as she stumbled and fell, the vines lay shredded on the ground. “Finally… I’m free!...” Valeria whispered to herself in disbelief as she stared at the destroyed vines.
Slowly and silently, Valeria crept forward, out of the hall. When she finally emerged from the decaying building, she saw the rest of the world. Everything was destroyed—only black ash remained in the shapes of the buildings they once were. The moon and the sun shone simultaneously in full splendor, but the moon appeared partly destroyed… as if something had exploded there...
She could hear only unfamiliar voices echoing in her head, blaming her for the city’s condition. Even though Valeria didn’t recognize the voices, nor knew what they meant, she suspected they belonged to the ghosts of former residents...
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Valeria stood for a moment in the doorway, caught between darkness and twilight. The mixture of sunlight and moonlight felt like a silent mockery—a reminder that time held no meaning here anymore. Everything that once was had become a shadow of itself. The ground beneath her bare feet was warm—not from the sun, but from ash. She took a deep breath. The scent of a burned world was everywhere.
“I… didn’t do this,” she murmured. But even her voice seemed to turn against her—sounding like an echo spoken by someone else.
Ash rose with every step she took. She walked on. With each movement, she felt how weak she had become—imprisoned for so many years by vines, pain, and silence. She could hardly remember how much time had passed. A year? A century?
Suddenly, she stopped. Something crunched under her foot—not dust, not stone, but a shard of broken mirror. Its edges were blackened, but a tiny fragment still reflected her face. Valeria saw herself—pale, with eyes that had seen far more than they ever should have. The thorns had left their marks. Blood still lightly dripped from her forearm, where the vines had pierced deepest. But it didn’t matter.
“Coin… Nyxie…,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I’m coming.”
As she moved again, the world around her began to whisper. Words drifted like wind through shattered windows, memories of laughter, of life. Houses that once glowed with warmth now stood charred like skeletons. Valeria recognized some of them—the old greenhouse with the blue door, where Coin once grew an exploding cactus. The well that Nyxara observed every day at exactly 7:12 AM, convinced it “sounded different” at that time. Now, only ruins. Her memories carried her through this ghost city.
Then she stopped.
A rift—right in the ground. Black. Deeper than anything she had ever seen. And from that rift came a feeling that was fear, guilt, and temptation all at once. Like a promise that was never meant to be fulfilled.
“A black hole…,” Valeria whispered. And in that moment, she remembered. What she had forced herself to forget.
It had been her. Her outburst. Her powers—uncontrolled, when Coin and Nyxara had stood against her, back when she had crossed the line. The moon had burned first, as her power was unleashed. Then the city. The vines on the throne… they weren’t a prison imposed on her. They had come from within. A punishment. A protection. A repentance that she had created herself.
“I couldn’t protect you…” she murmured. A single tear dropped onto the ash and evaporated.
