All Chapters of THE ALPHA'S LAST CHOICE : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

The flame did not consume. It folded into her palm like silk drenched in memory, each thread humming with a voice she'd forgotten was hers. Heat radiated through her body, not burning—but revealing. Every bone, every shadow, every ache that once whispered not enough was now lit by something ancient and patient. The Spiral did not roar. It breathed with her.The crowned self vanished—not crumbled, not defeated—but joined, like two notes finally forming a chord. Elthara staggered back, her hand still glowing faintly, the echo of the touch imprinted deep in her skin. She had not lost anything. But she had changed. The weight in her chest was no longer pain—it was promise.Around her, the Spiral quieted. The echoes—the versions of her past selves—did not retreat. They simply watched, unmoving, as if waiting for something else to rise. The Kairos-shaped memory remained, still outside the circle, unchanged. His eyes shimmered now with something unreadable—love or warning, or both. She step

The name struck her like a thunderclap in a still room. It had no syllables she could speak aloud, yet it echoed in her spine. It wasn’t Elthara. It was the shape of a self she’d abandoned before the Spiral was even born. The figure did not move, nor smile, nor blink. Their voice was still lingering in the air like smoke clinging to broken stone. “You wore it once,” they said. “When your will was still your own.” Elthara took a step back, though the air itself resisted her. Her throat was tight, her pulse galloping against bone. This wasn’t the Spiral's voice, nor the girl’s memories, nor even flame-born divinity. This was older. “You think the Spiral began you,” the figure said. “You’re wrong.” Around them, the world pulsed, not with heat but attention. The trees quivered though there was no wind. The ground shifted without sound. She felt unseen limbs brushing her mind like threads testing their weight. “You gave it up,” the figure whispered, “long before flame. Long before any

The stranger stood amid the fraying tapestry, the name pulsing between their fingers like a living ember. It wasn’t a man or a woman, nor shadow or light. They wore no face Elthara recognized, and yet her soul recoiled with familiarity. Their smile was not cruel—it was ancient, and that was worse. They cradled the syllables of her first name like a vow whispered at the dawn of time.She couldn’t speak. The threads around them shivered, rearranging in patterns she had never seen. Whole constellations blinked into alignment, and in their wake, memories that weren’t hers crashed like waves into her chest. She saw cities made of song, oceans of breath, towers that bled starlight from their stones. She saw herself in all of them—and none of them were this world.“I am not one of your reflections,” the stranger said, turning the name slowly in their palm. “I am the one who remembered when you chose to forget.” Their voice was layered, too many tones for one throat. A chorus stitched togethe

The moment the stars began bleeding backward, reality shifted—not shattered, but softened, like a fabric suddenly aware of its seams. Elthara felt it first in her breath, the way it lingered too long in her chest before releasing. The threadlight man beside her froze, not from fear, but reverence, his gaze fixed on the silent self now speaking into the broken heavens.“The Knot was never meant to hold,” the other Elthara said, her voice layered with echoes from before voice itself was born. “It was meant to teach. To make us remember what we promised never to forget.”Aelrian staggered as the threads curled tighter around his timeblade, crawling up his arm like sentient veins. His golden cloak smoldered. “Lies,” he growled, though uncertainty fractured his tone. “You sealed it to end yourselves—don’t pretend it was mercy.”The threadlight figure turned to him slowly, like a memory made flesh. “You speak as if you were not part of it,” he said. “But you were there, Aelrian. You held th

The name passed from the child’s lips like a blade too old to rust, too soft to cut. It moved not through air but through thread, echoing along the weave of the world itself. Elthara’s knees buckled, but the ground was no longer beneath her—it had unraveled into memory. Around her, the Spiral shrieked in silence, its order trembling with a soundless rupture. That name had not been spoken since before the First Gate, before even she had known herself.Elthara clutched her chest, fingers curling over nothing, yet feeling everything—heat, snow, blood, sand. The knot of identity she had tied so tightly frayed beneath her ribs, each strand peeling back into a former self. Her breath came in fragments, not gasps, but threads torn loose from the tapestry of her soul. Around her, the landscape flickered—shifting between the First Temple, the field where her sister bled, and a room made of firelight and lullabies. “No one knew that name,” she whispered, voice breaking like porcelain under pres