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A section of ceiling collapses without warning, crystal shards larger than my head plummeting toward us. Thalindor leaps forward, mirror-shield angled to deflect the deadly rain. Impacts echo through the corridor, each blow leaving fresh cracks across the shield’s silver surface.

“Your Majesty,” he calls to Theron, tight with strain. “We cannot maintain this pace.”

Crystal dust fills the air with each impact, particles so fine they catch in my lungs and sting my nose. My throat burns with each breath, moisture leaching from my skin as the court drinks it. The taste of blood and metal coats my tongue.

“We’re close.” I wipe dust from my eyes with the back of my hand. “I can feel him.”

The court responds to my determination with increased resistance. The floor beneath our feet tilts suddenly, sending us sliding toward a wall transformed into crystal spikes.

Theron reacts, Silver fire erupting from his palms to melt a path through the barrier.

Heat washes over us in waves as his magic burns through crystal, and the smell of burnt mineral and ozone fills the narrow space. When the fire dies, it leaves an opening just big enough for us to squeeze through.

“Go,” Theron urges. “I’ll hold it open.”

I squeeze through the gap first, wincing as the jagged edges catch my clothing and tear skin. Thalindor follows, then Theron, his magic fading as he passes through the doorway he created.

The corridor beyond stretches before us, distance becoming meaningless as walls compress and expand with each step. What should take minutes stretches as time itself distorts in this broken realm.

But despite the court’s interference, my connection to Elionn grows stronger.

“Can you sense him?” Theron asks, his breathing labored from maintaining constant magical defenses.

I nod, too winded for speech.

We round a corner and confront a solid crystal wall blocking our path forward.

I shove at the barrier, seeking any weakness. “He’s beyond this. I know it.”

Theron steps forward, Silver gathering around his hands. “Stand back.”

His magic strikes the wall with concentrated force, Silver fire carving into crystal. The barrier resists, absorbing the energy for several heartbeats before cracks spread across its surface.

The wall shatters, revealing the mirror chamber beyond. The court had not just brought Elionn closer to the hollow stag’s grove. It had brought the entire room with him. Shattered frames litter the floor, glass crunching beneath our boots as we enter.

“Elionn,” Theron breathes, his composure cracking at the sight of such complete devastation. “Where⁠—”

I rush forward, my heart pounding so hard I swear the crystal floor pulses with its rhythm. Elionn floats before me, suspended in a transparent prison of crystal, more ethereal than I remembered.

Silver hair drifts around his face in gentle waves, catching the opalescent light from the court and transforming it into moonlight. His skin bears the translucent quality of someone caught between worlds, neither here nor gone, and crystal formations climb his limbs.

I breathe his name. “Elionn.”

Behind me, Theron sucks in a breath at the sight of his younger brother. His footsteps falter before he forces himself forward to stand at my shoulder, Silver magic crackling around his fingertips.

“The crystal has nearly claimed him,” he murmurs.

Thalindor positions himself at the chamber entrance, his back to us as he scans for pursuit. “Make haste, Your Majesty. Our enemy will not grant us much time.”

The blood-sigil burns as I approach, recognizing its counterpart on the other side of the crystal barrier. The sithean stone pulses in perfect synchronization, drawing me closer to the mirror’s surface where Elionn hangs suspended.

When my fingers hover inches from the crystal, warmth radiates outward from the sigil. “What if I hurt him?”

Theron’s hand settles on my shoulder. “Your bond will guide you. Trust what you’ve become.”

His certainty calms the frantic pace of my thoughts, and I press my palm to the crystal surface, bracing for resistance.

Instead, steam rises where skin meets stone, curling upward in delicate spirals that carry the scent of mountain snow and ozone. The mirror yields, melting beneath my touch.