But now isn’t the time to push.
I turn my attention to the Guardian who walks a few steps ahead. Her stride is confident and controlled, like someone who doesn’t doubt where she stands in the world. She doesn’t look back, but her voice carries easily when she finally speaks.
“I’m Mira, by the way,” she says, still facing forward. “Second to Kieran.”
I blink, something cold settling in my stomach at the casual way she says his name.
Finn quirks a brow, glancing at me before grinning. “Wow. Second to Kieran? Sounds important.”
Mira doesn’t react to his teasing, her spine straight as a blade. “It is.”
The way she says it, so smooth and certain, irritates me immediately. Maybe it’s the confidence. Maybe it’s the way she hasn’t looked at me once since she started speaking.
Or maybe it’s the way she’s clearly implying something.
Second to Kieran.
Does she mean politically? Strategically? Or something else entirely?
I keep my expression neutral, but something about her tone sticks in my ribs like a thorn. “Second in what, exactly?”
Mira finally glances over her shoulder, her silver eyes lingering on me. “In everything that matters.”
I don’t know what pisses me off more—the answer, or the fact that I have no idea if she’s deliberately messing with me. But before I can come up with something appropriately cutting, Malrik speaks, his tone flat.
“We’re here.”
I tear my gaze from Mira, and my breath catches.
The Hall of Echoes.
The entrance is massive, carved from ancient stone that seems to pulse with its own heartbeat. Runes line the towering archway, glowing faintly with old magic—not the steady shine of modern enchantments, but something wild and untamed. They shift and dance as I watch, forming patterns that tug at something deep in my memory before dissolving again. The doors stand open, revealing the vast chamber beyond.
Through the archway, I catch glimpses of soaring columns that disappear into shadows far above, their surfaces etched with spiraling patterns that seem to move when I’m not looking directly at them. The air that drifts out feels different—heavy with memory and magic so thick I can almost taste it, like metal on my tongue.
The moment I see it, something in my chest pulls. The sensation is physical, like a hook behind my sternum drawing me forward. My skin prickles with goosebumps, and my shadows coil tighter around me, responding to whatever power waits inside.
Not the bond.
Something else.
Something older.
Something that feels like coming home and stepping into darkness all at once.
I swallow hard as I step forward, but Finn grabs my arm, stopping me before I can cross the threshold. His hand is warm against my suddenly chilled skin.
“Wait.” His voice is softer than usual, his joking edge gone. “Does anyone else feel that?”
I do.
The pull is stronger now, making my heart race and my breath catch. The runes pulse in time with my heartbeat, or maybe my heart is matching their rhythm. I can’t tell anymore. My shadows writhe restlessly, caught between drawing closer to the doorway and shrinking back from whatever waits inside.
And I don’t think I’m ready for what’s waiting there.
Finn, Aspen and Torric take a few hesitant steps inside, and when nothing happens, they continue on. Their footsteps echo strangely, as if the sound is coming from much further away than it should. Malrik hangs back, his silver eyes distant, seeing something beyond the present moment.
“I used to come here, as a child,” he says with a softness I’ve rarely heard from him. The words seem to ripple through the air, carrying echoes of childhood memories I can almost feel. “My father held meetings in this room. He said… he said he always found the answer here.”
