My voice only echoed back at me in the void.
Fallon flipped through the pages of the third piece of the Mareki’s Key. I couldn’t see the writing, but the furrow in her brow told me she was devouring every word. I left her there and joggeddown the corridor. Somehow, it felt less oppressive than before—the cobwebs gone, the grime wiped away. As if the hall had always been in use.
I checked in every direction after crossing the magical barrier and stopped cold when I turned back. The enchanted bookshelf was gone. In its place stood an open archway leading into the darkened corridor.
Fallon was reading the plaque with the first half of the prophecy inscribed on it when her finger hovered lower. Her eyes widened.
“Wylder, look. The second half is here now.”
When I stepped back into the corridor, a second plaque hung beneath the first—one I was certain hadn’t been there before.
I drew in a sharp breath and read the full prophecy aloud:
In the veiled echoes of Mareki’s grace,
When the past unfolds anew,
The truth will come face to face,
As scattered elements entwine in the few.
The splintered shards will become whole again,
Once the forgotten realm is due.
The key lies within the Crimson Wraith,
Whose flames will guide what shadows pursue.
The curse whispers of a tethered heart,
Fated to break when the realm calls.
A life to balance the ancient debt,
Restoring truth from stolen halls.
When the sky splits and the past sings,
And golden fire stands alone,
The corrupted will face their ancient trial,
To burn for what they cannot atone.
“Is this our trial? Did we fail the quest?” Fallon’s voice wavered with a vulnerability I’d never heard from her before. She looked up at me, searching for an answer.
“No.” I shook my head firmly. “The Mareki wouldn’t have unveiled the tome if this were punishment.”
We moved through the castle with cautious steps. The halls were deserted—no Mageian elemental, no Shadow Glade warrior, no Hollow Summit blade. Not even a Tyrian troop. The silence pressed in, broken only by our footsteps. Not the scurry of a critter, not even the scrape of claws against stone.
Fallon and I descended the front steps of the castle. The sun was shining. No dragons soared across the sky. No blood stained the grass.
“I can’t sense River.” Fallon’s voice trembled.
She lifted her hands, palms up, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath. When she exhaled, her fingers shook. Slowly, she curled them into her palms and met my gaze. Her hazel eyes glistened.
“I can’t channel the elements.”
