Westros exhaled sharply, his face etched with the weight of confession. Resignation and regret danced in his eyes. "No use hiding it now. The shift began a century ago. That's why I started experimenting on humans—to stop it."
The room fell into stunned silence, each word sinking in like a blade.
"But instead," he continued, his voice bitter, "I failed. Worse—I accelerated the shift. I created HER. A being capable of dismantling Stellar Devourers entirely."
Moya's voice cracked as panic seeped in. "Then what do we do? How do we destroy her?"
"We don't," Westros said, his voice hollow. The air in the room seemed to tighten, the gravity of his statement suffocating. "Even if we kill Lyra, someone else like her will rise. The change is unstoppable."
He pressed a hand against his chest, where green, glowing fractures pulsed with excruciating pain. "The only option left is to convince her to join us."
