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“Which way?” a Dark guard asks, hand on his sword hilt as he stares at a cloud of crystal dust in the shape of a man.

Kelaros steps forward, assuming the role of guide. “The Great Hall lies that way.” He points toward a crystal formation jutting from the landscape ahead like the teeth of a slumbering giant. “But we’d be fools to take the direct path.”

“Why?” another guard demands, knuckles ashen from the tight grip on his obsidian blade.

“Because the court remembers those who betrayed it,” I answer before Kelaros can speak. “And it holds grudges.”

The guards shift uneasily as shadows lengthen and contract with each pulse of light. One mutters a prayer to forgotten gods, fingers tracing protective sigils in the air. Another grips his companion’s arm, both drawing strength from the contact.

Kelaros moves forward with confidence, his steps sure despite the unstable terrain. “This way follows the old servant passages. The court paid less attention to them, even in its prime.”

Suspicion sharpens Theron’s features. “And you would know?”

Kelaros bares his teeth. “I had time to explore during my extended stay.”

Theron steps closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine in a gesture meant to appear casual, though I recognize the protection behind it. His silver robes catch the light from all angles, outlining him in moonlight before the crystal backdrop.

“Stay near,” he murmurs for my ears alone. “The court will try to separate you from us.”

As if hearing his words, the floor shudders. Cracks race across the crystal surface, not breaking but reshaping.

The Dark guards stumble, cursing in low voices.

“Move,” I order, sensing the court’s intentions as the architecture stirs around us. “It’s changing the pathways.”

We hurry forward, following Kelaros through an archway where crystal grows inward, grasping at us. The passage beyond spirals upward in a gentle curve, walls transparent enough to reveal other corridors running parallel to ours, some upside down, others at impossible angles that defy gravity.

My vision splits, one eye seeing the physical path before us, the other perceiving layers of magic and memory beneath.

Through my connection to the court, I glimpse it as it once was, filled with fae of every ilk in elaborate finery moving through these same passages with purpose. The phantom images overlay the broken present, the temporal displacement dizzying.

“Amalia Wolf?” Theron’s hand catches my elbow, steadying me. “Are you well?”

I blink, forcing my vision to merge again. “I’m fine. The court is showing me what it was before the division weakened it.”

The stone pulses stronger now, tugging me forward. Through our blood bond, Elionn burns in the distance, his essence a Silver beacon within the overwhelming hunger of the court.

“I feel him,” I whisper. “He is no longer in the mirror room.”

Theron remains composed, but desperate hope cracks the facade. “How far?”

I close my eyes, tracing the connection. “Deeper. At the heart.”

“The Great Hall,” Kelaros interjects, having paused to listen. “Where the Opalwell once stood.”

One of the Dark guards steps too close to a wall, his armored shoulder brushing a crystal growth.

It strikes before he can react, wrapping around his pauldron. He cries out, jerking back, but the crystal holds, spreading across his armor.

“Don’t touch anything!” Thalindor barks, drawing his silver sword.

Before he can strike, I move forward, placing my gloved hand over the spreading crystal. “Stop.”

To my surprise, the crystal stills beneath my touch, its advance halting. It begins to recede, slithering back into the wall. The guard staggers away in terror.

“How did you do that?” Kelaros asks, watching me with interest.

I meet his eyes. “The court recognizes me.”