Above, a chandelier of bone and scorched steel shook, its flames sputtering as if caught in a wind that did not exist. The air lacked warmth and the shadows were restless, curling along the edges of the room like serpents waiting to strike.
Rune’s gaze fixed on Argyle. His hand flexed, tracking the thread binding him to Alora’s ring. It pulsed, alive with her heartbeat. It was a living tether that had always answered him. Yet like the bond, it gave him nothing other than her location.
No feeling. No whispers. No echo of her mind.
And yet… part of him admired her defiance. No fae could hinder the dark the way she had. No creature could thwart him so completely.
It proved she was far more than he realized.
The air shifted abruptly, charged with a surge of potent energy. Rune straightened as a prickle crawled down his spine.
Then he heard it.
It started as a ripple of sound that carried on the windless air. A voice. Hers. Soft, haunting. Woven of magic and longing. The melody threaded through the tunnels, and the mountain itself hummed in response.
Every note wound through him like silk and flame.
Whispers dance through the silver air
Shadows shift as if aware
A glow that lingers soft and shy
Underneath a pale moon sky
Step by step through the haze we roam
Lost in time where the spirits call home
Hollow laughs and bells faintly ring
In the fog where the fairies sing
His heart stopped as understanding struck him like a spear of ice.
Seven Hells. She was leaving.
Rune moved before the thought finished forming. He became a wraith of dark mist, racing through the tunnels toward the song that called him like a heartbeat.
And there she was.
Alora stood in the center of the bright cavern garden, her hair and body lit with threads of gold, embers whirling around herlike fireflies. But it was not the sun illuminating the garden, it washer.
Rune stared at Alora in awe.
Caelum stood beside her, muted as he too listened to her song. On the other end of the cavern, his Harbingers emerged from the dark tunnels, gaping at her in wonder.
Alora sang like a siren of old tales. A voice like a melody from the Heavens.
She wasn’t drawing from his magic.
This was hers.
Rune stilled at the edge of the cavern, chest heaving. His hand pressed against the wall, afraid his legs might give.
Branches twist like hands unknown
Roots beneath are ice and stone
