Elara’s hands trembled as she turned from the painting, the dagger slicing through the air before the thought even fullyformed. A rift tore open, effortless, like an extension of her will. The Void stretched before her—vast, consuming—but this time… it yielded.
She stepped forward, and the currents didn’t lash out or pull her under. Instead, they shifted, softened, parting around her like shadows recoiling from the touch of light.
If the Void was death, Rhiannon’s domain, then Epona’s light seemed to counterbalance it—two forces in tenuous harmony, holding each other in check.
A slow, measured breath escaped her, the tension easing from her shoulders. Her mind shifted to the Pit—the third tunnel where the Sidhe were most likely taken, the damp stone walls, the oppressive cold.Gods, let them still be there.Panic threatened to claw its way to the surface, but she forced it down, tamping it into submission. She inhaled deeply, drawing on theDraothCarawith everything she had, anchoring herself in the memory of the place.
But… nothing.
A chill coiled in her chest, creeping down her spine.Breathe, she told herself, fighting the rising dread.You just did this. Do it again.
She reached out into the shadows, fingers trailing through the empty, cold space, feeling blindly for the seam she was certain was there.
But something reached back.
Numbing and infinite, it slipped over her fingers like ice, twisting around her hand and locking tight.
She had no time to scream, no breath to even try, before it seized her, dragging her forward through a doorway that ripped itself open from nothing.
Chapter 57
Elara was sinking.
Plunging into a churning sea of mist and shadow, dragged down an endless spiral. The world reeled as she fell, breath torn from her lungs as the cold closed in. She reached out, fingers cutting through nothing, legs kicking as she tried to find an seam, a current,anythingto orient herself.
And then—something caught her—a grip colder than Death, locking onto body and snapping her spiral to a shuddering stop.
“What treasure do you bring to these depths, earth’s daughter?”
The voice rippled through the darkness, speaking inTírrísh, each syllable ancient and laced with power. Her gaze darted, but there was no one—only herself, suspended in the abyss.
Elara clutched the Wound of Light tighter to her chest, the erratic thrum of her heartbeat slamming against the cold steel.
“Rhiannon?”
A low, rumbling laugh moved through the darkness, reverberating around her like the growl of an ancient beast.
“No, child. Rhiannon has been silenced longer than rivers have carved their paths, longer than mountains have held theirvigil, longer than stars have whispered their secrets to the night.”
Silenced.
The word scraped along her spine, every hair standing on end.
“Who…who are you, then?”
“I am not one, but a collective.”
Elara swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak.“Please. Release me. I—I need to help someone. A friend. I need to?—”
And then she felt it. A rethreading. Subtle at first, but growing, like the tide turning. Something immense stirred, the air thickening with its presence, pressing in from all sides until she could scarcely draw breath.
“There are those who wish to speak with you. Do you acquiesce?”
Her heart wrenched painfully, caught in the agonizing space between hope and dread. Could it be Thane? Her throat constricted. She had to leave—had to find her way to Reynnar. But what if itwasThane? What if he could help her?
“I do.”
In the heartbeat between her last breath and the next, Elara was gone—ripped from that weightless Void and thrown into the Pit.
