The mountain was silent.
Too silent.
Elara lay against Kai's shoulder, watching the sun rise over the broken battlefield. The light touched every crack in the stone, every trace of scorched sigils and shadow-charred grass. Her body ached. Her hands still hummed from the raw magic she'd channeled. But deeper than the pain was a tremor of certainty.
She had cracked the mirror. Severed the sigil. Forced Maevra into retreat.
And in doing so… she'd awakened something older. Something worse.
The Watcher remained still, cloaked in silver and shadow.
"What did she mean?" Elara asked, voice hoarse. "She said I made it worse."
He didn't answer right away. Just knelt beside the shattered ground where the gold key had struck.
"You broke the seal early," the Watcher said. "Before the Gate could align with the veil. The burst of energy reached beyond this realm. Into places that should have remained closed."
Kai exhaled. "We're talking evil interdimensional prison break, aren't we?"
The Watcher gave a humorless nod.
Kai groaned. "Of course we are."
Elara stood, clutching the key around her neck. "You said there's another mirror. In Theran'Quel."
"Yes," the Watcher said. "And beyond it—a chamber. One that may contain the first true fragment of the Heart."
The Heart. The artifact her father once searched for. The object her key whispered about in dreams.
"How do we get there?" she asked.
The Watcher lifted a hand—and light formed in the air, spinning into a floating map. A constellation of ruins flickered across it. At the center: Theran'Quel.
"You'll need to descend into the Woken Fault," he said. "The ruins lie within the spine of the old world. Guarded by... memory."
"Memory?" Kai asked. "Like enchanted statues? Ghosts? Or are we talking 'your-worst-trauma-as-a-boss-fight' kind of memory?"
"Yes," the Watcher replied without blinking.
Kai sighed. "Cool. Just checking."
Elara smiled faintly despite herself. "We'll be ready."
The Watcher turned to her. "Be sure you are. Theran'Quel tests not just strength—but truth. The Gatekeeper there remembers who you were... even if you don't."
With that, he vanished into mist.
---
The journey took them through silver meadows and crumbling watchtowers. They walked by moonlight, camped in hollowed-out trees, and followed old ley lines south.
Each night, Elara dreamed of the key.
She saw her father—standing at the edge of a vast cliff, holding the mirror shard in one hand, and a letter in the other.
"Elara," he said, voice wind-scattered. "If you're hearing this… then you've seen what the key can do."
The dream shifted. She was younger. Sitting by the fireplace. Her father's hand resting over hers, guiding her fingers along an old, runic alphabet.
"Magic isn't power. It's memory," he had told her. "And memory? Is dangerous in the wrong hands."
She woke with tears on her cheeks.
By the fourth night, they reached the edge of the Woken Fault.
The canyon yawned before them—jagged, dark, impossibly deep. Wind howled up from the abyss like a living thing.
Kai peered over the ledge. "Great. This place screams 'certain doom.' What now?"
Elara held up the gold key.
It pulsed.
Then slowly, a stone bridge shimmered into existence—ancient, cracked, but whole enough to cross.
"Now," she said, "we walk."
And they did.
Into the mouth of a forgotten city. Into the bones of Theran'Quel.