Glass. Dozens of pieces, frames warped by moisture and time, surfaces darkened by oxidation.
Bastien waded deeper. This was Charlotte’s vault. Had to be. The construction matched her methods, the placement deliberate, the integration of celestial and mortal elements unmistakable. She’d been trying to create something here—not just storage but active working, a space where observation and preservation intersected.
At the chamber’s center, an altar rose above the waterline.
Stone platform, four feet square. Carvings covered its surface—botanical patterns intertwined with geometric forms, decoration that doubled as documentation. And at the exact center, standing in relief three inches proud of the surrounding stone:
The Lacroix family crest.
Gold and silver inlaid into stone. Celestial marks in gold that still held its luster despite submersion and time. Mortal glyphs in silver tarnished black. The two sets of symbols intertwined, braided together in patterns declaring what Charlotte had been attempting.
Connection. Between incompatible realms. Between elements that cosmic law said should remain separate. Their connection.
Bastien photographed it from multiple angles, then pulled out his notebook and sketched. The dome’s symbols next—astronomical patterns, star positions, celestial mechanics all rendered in stone. Evidence of planning that spanned generations, preparation that considered variables across timelines.
This connected to what Delphine had found in the Archive. Those eighteenth-century Lacroix inventories, commissionedpieces that predated Charlotte’s death by decades. She’d been building toward something specific, laying groundwork that clearly outlasted her lifetime.
Movement caught his eye.
His reflection stood in the glass directly ahead. Not quite synchronized—the image showed him holding the lantern in his left hand when his right gripped it. Small displacement, the kind of lag demonstrating active magic rather than passive reflection.
The reflection spoke first.
“You’ve brought her back into the light.”
Not his voice. The words bypassed his ears entirely, arriving directly in his mind. Sound without acoustic vibration, meaning transmitted through observation rather than air.
Bastien had encountered echo imprints before. Charlotte’s magic had included some techniques for sealing memory fragments in reflective surfaces—consciousness preserved beyond biological death through confession and intention. She’d been experimenting with methods that most practitioners refused to consider. It would have been a way for them to communicate; to find each other beyond her mortal life.
Apparently she’d succeeded.
“Charlotte’s work?” He kept his voice level. Professional.
The glass took on an energy with purpose, almost like life as it responded. “Memory fragments sealed during creation. Observation preserved beyond the observer’s death.” The reflection somehow influenced him to look beyond toward the darkness. “She worked here for three years. Binding pieces of soul to glass through rituals that cost blood and sanity.”
Other alcoves brightened. More reflections appeared, each wearing his form but with subtle differences in posture and expression. Individual perspectives despite shared template.
They spoke in sequence, overlapping into a chorus.
“The crest marks the collaboration between realms.”
“Divine power channeled through mortal determination.”
“Gold and silver intertwined as you and she were bound.”
“She knew you would return here.”
“She knew you could not resist following truth even when truth meant pain.”
The first reflection met his gaze again. “You’ve brought her back into the light. Now the question becomes whether that light reveals or destroys.”
The alcoves dimmed. Reflections faded to ordinary duplication, no lag, no delay. Bastien stood alone in ankle-deep water, surrounded by glass that showed nothing except his own form repeated around the chamber’s circumference.
Echo imprints. Memory fragments. Charlotte had succeeded in preserving pieces of consciousness in reflective surfaces, creating architecture that could speak across time. The technique appeared in her grimoires as nothing more than theory, where he’d previously believed they left it. This was proof of implementation.
And if Charlotte had managed it, Gideon could have too. He could have been watching through these surfaces right now, observation that never ended because the observers themselves had become part of the glass.
The water had begun warming. Subtle shift, environmental response to presence. Charlotte’s design adjusting conditions based on who occupied the space.
