I fight to sit up, and nausea rolls through me. I blink, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
The Nightshade.The last thing I remember is thecrushing weight of darkness coating my bones, a bone-chilling roar, my vision blurring … the other competitors. I commanded it to capture them.
“Tal— Uh, Maeve.” The voice is familiar.
I turn my head, squinting through the haze. Taron kneels beside me. His face is etched with exhaustion, veins still spreading across the inside of his neck.
His eyes – cold, blue and normally distant – are soft now, filled with something fragile I can’t place.Worry?
“Finally, you’re awake.” He’s whispering. As if afraid the sound of his voice might hurt me.
I try to respond, but my throat is dry. My tongue feels like sandpaper. I manage a slight nod, and he reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. His touch is feather-light, gentle, but the chill of his skin sends a shiver down my spine.
“What … what happened?” My voice is hoarse. I search his face for answers, but all he gives me is a faint, almost disbelieving smile.
“We’re the champions,” he says.
I try to grasp the meaning of his words. I understand what he’s saying, but it feels unreal. Like it belongs to another world.We won? The tournament?
“The Reckoning is over?” I croak.
“It is.”
Slowly, my senses sharpen. I take in my surroundings. We’re inside the temple, but we might as well be under an open night sky, glittering with bright, beaming stars.
Stone walls rise around us to form a circular space, adorned with carvings that depict stories of a bygone era. The rise and fall of empires, the triumphs of great leaders and the struggles of the common folk.
I spy carvings of elementals harnessing their talents to shape the world. The emergence of herbal remedies and the mastery of fire for crafting weapons. The evolution of the watercraft. The first harnessing of solar energy.
Mingled within these carvings are also glimpses of darker times. Tales of conflict, wars waged and lives lost. It’s unsettling, yet captivating. Because, even amid the turmoil, there are flickers of compassion.
All along the circular space, columns stretch upward to support a vast dome resembling the sky. In between these columns are rounded archways that seem to glow with moonlight. I can’t see beyond them, whether they lead anywhere at all.
My hand comes away wet from the ground. I realize I’m sitting next to a stream. It flows along the perimeter of the space, like slender veins. The crystal-clear surface reflects the stars above.
My gaze follows the stream to where it flows into a large pool at the centre of the space, and there, towering over everything, stands an ancient tree.
Gnarled roots spread across the floor, drinking from the pool, and branches curve against the surrounding columns. They cradle a statue on the floor, impossibly tall and regal – the figure of a god.
The statue wears a delicate crown of crescent moons, and its hands are raised as though holding the weight of the world. It’s Aether. The Spirit of the Cosmos. The most revered of the Ancient Spirits, representing the void of space, the stars and the moons.
Their expression is serene and wise, and around their neck hangs an amulet – a glittering orange crystal. The fallen star. The wish.
I’m at a loss for words. This is all too overwhelming. Sitting up, I gasp. There are people here. Three figures linger in the shade of the ancient tree, watching us.
They’re impeccably dressed, draped in vibrant silks and luxurious velvets. Two of them glide forward in flowing gowns – one a deep jewel-toned emerald with cascading layers, and the other a rich sapphire, adorned with delicate gold embroidery.
The third figure stands in a striking vest-and-tailcoat ensemble. His velvet jacket is a deep burgundy colour, perfectly tailored to his form, with silver detailing along the lapels.
He stands a little taller than the others, his frame lean but imposing. His dark hair is smoothed back, not a fly-away in sight, and a gleaming monocle rests over his right eye.
The woman in green, tall and willowy with raven-black hair that tumbles down her back in waves, folds her hands in front of her. Her gaze is sharp, like a knife, cutting into me as though she’s dissecting everything about me in one glance. It’s the look of an Astro.
I scramble to my feet, fighting through the pain. I’m not sure what the protocol is here.Do I curtsey? Tip my head?
No one says anything, and at last I can’t stand it.
“You…” I manage, looking at the monocled man. “Who are you?”
