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“The fragment is giving it more to work with,” I gasp, fighting to separate reality from illusion.

A figure appears at the far end of the hall.

Elionn, his skin streaked with crystal veins. “You abandoned me. Because of you, I’ll die.”

None of it is real, only the glasscrawler’s manipulation, but the guilt surges anyway, hot and choking. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

Theron’s voice comes from beside me, confused. “Amalia Wolf, there is no one there.”

The illusion of Elionn dissolves, reforming into Kelaros.

His mouth stretches impossibly wide, teeth multiplying into row after row until a shark’s maw splits his face.

“Family helps family, cousin.” Blood drips from his lips as he speaks.

I back away, shaking my head. “Not real. Not real.”

Beyond Kelaros, a doorway appears in the wall where none existed before, ancient wood covered in thick moss, moisture beading on its surface. Through the crack between door and frame pulses an ancient and wild magic, calling me forward.

“Let us out,” voices whisper from behind the door. “We miss our children.”

The Opal fragment surges without warning, a violent tide of crystalline fire flooding my veins from chest to fingertips. I gasp, doubling over as the shard pulses in rhythm with my racing heart. Each beat sends fresh pain spiraling outward until my entire body vibrates with it, a tuning fork struck on living crystal.

“Amalia?” Theron sounds distant, underwater.

My vision shatters, reality splintering into geometric fragments. Each shard shows a different scene of the Dark Spire corridor with its obsidian walls, the crystalline architecture of the Opal Court, impossible spaces between, and corridors made from dry earth.

“Make it stop,” I choke out, clutching my head between my palms.

The Opal in my veins responds to the glasscrawler’s manipulation, the two magics feeding off each other, amplifying into a storm I can’t control.

The floor beneath my feet turns translucent, revealing depths that couldn’t possibly exist beneath the Dark Spire, a vast underground network of crystal veins pulsing with opalescent light.

I catch my reflection in a polished wall panel and freeze in horror. Crystal climbs my throat in delicate fractal patterns, spreading upward from the shard embedded in my chest.

I claw at my neck. “No!”

Firm hands grip my wrists. “Amalia.”

Thumbs settle over my racing pulse points, nails digging in with a sting that brings my mind back into focus.

Theron kneels before me. “Look only at me.”

I try to focus, but the court’s hunger pulses through my blood, demanding I return to it, become it, complete what began in the crystal chamber. “I can’t— They’re everywhere.”

“They are nowhere,” Theron counters, one hand moving to cup the back of my neck. “Stay with me.” He rests his forehead on mine, skin to skin. “This is real. I am real.”

Silver magic threads from him into me, warm static that travels down my spine and outward to my limbs. Unlike the cold fire of the court, Theron’s power is cool moonlight, breath, and life.

The phantoms hover beyond Theron’s shoulders, their forms growing more transparent.

“They’re still there,” I whisper, clutching at Theron’s robes.

“Then shut it out,” he instructs, his warm breath brushing my face. “Focus on what you can touch, not what you see.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, surrendering sight. In darkness, other senses sharpen. The soft fabric of Theron’s robes between my fingers. The steady rhythm of his breathing. The warmth radiating from his skin.

“Feel my heartbeat,” Theron murmurs, taking my hand and placing it over his heart. “Find its pace. Synchronize with it.”