The chamber is warmer than I expected.
Not with fire or magic——but memory.
Thick. Settled. Ancient.
Like this place was never meant to be found, only remembered.
The walls aren't just carved——they're layered.
Stone beneath stone.
Script upon script.
Some of it unreadable.
Some of it far too familiar.
I walk slowly, running my fingers along the markings.
The same curling symbols from my pendant repeat along the far wall——threaded between a split crest.
One side gold, intricate, delicate.
The other jagged. Darker. Still beautiful, but edged in something sharper.
Seelie. And UnSeelie.
I move closer.
It's not a mural.
It's a map.
A family tree——fractured halfway down.
The pieces don't fit together anymore.
The branches don't reconnect.
I kneel at the base of the wall, where the carvings blur into etched spirals and knot work, and find the same mirrored threadwork from my mark——-buried in both sides.
They where never separate. Not at the beginning.
I scan higher.
Names begin to emerge——too faded to read in full. But some are preserved in gold or obsidian strokes.
One symbol repeats across both lines.
A warning mark.
Fae for exile.
Or betrayal.
The more I look, the more clear it becomes:
The Court isn't unified.
It hasn't been for centuries.
Whatever balance once held between Seelie and UnSeelie fractured—-not just politically, but magically. And the trials, the testing, the pendant I was given…..
They weren't just meant to awaken me.
They were meant to sort me.
A thread to birth sides is easier to erase than choose.
I rise slowly, heart pounding.
Because now I understand what they're afraid of.
Not the bond.
Not my magic.
Me.
I don't want to leave yet.
There's more here——I can feel it.
Like the stone is holding its breath, waiting for me to ask the right question.
Waiting to be heard.
But I never get the chance.
Because the pendant at my neck jerks—-hard enough to pull the chain tight around my throat.
I gasp, stumbling back a step, one hand flying up to catch it.
It's hot.
Not warm.
Not guiding.
Warning.
A sharp pulse shoots through my chest.
And then I hear it.
Voices.
The floor beneath my feet thrums with power——not the slow hum of Nox, but something wilder, more immediate.
Like magic has been unleashed into the halls.
Not mine.
Not Freyr's.
I back away from the mural, heart racing, adrenaline already surging through me.
I don't know who's up there.
But I know they're not here for answers.
They're here for me.
And I'm done letting other people decide what that means.
I turn and run, pendant still burning against my skin, the last pieces of truth vanishing behind me as I take the stairs two at a time——back toward the Ritual Chamber.
Back toward whatever waits at the top.
I reach the top of the stairwell breathless.
The pendant is still burning——less like a warning now, more like it's preparing me.
The closer I get to the Ritual Chamber, the louder the voices become.
Not shouting.
Not yet.
Just layered.
Sharp.
Measured.
Commanding.
The doors are already open.
That alone tells me something's wrong.
Freyr never leaves them open.
I step through.
And stop cold.
I'm not alone.
At least a half dozen figures stand in a tight semicircle near the center of the Chamber. All cloaked in shades of black and iron——UnSeelie.
I know it by the way their presence fills the space.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just…..absolute.
Freyr stands off to the side, his usual smooth control strained at the edges.
His posture is composed.
His expression——-tight.
Glendora looks surprised to see me.
Maybe even disappointed.
"She's further along than we expected," Glendoraa says, voice cold, eyes flicking toward Freyr. "You let her go too far."
"She is not yours to claim," Freyr replies, quiet and dangerous.
Glendroa's head tilts slightly. "She was never yours to keep."
They both look at me then.
And the room shifts.
Like I've stepped onto a stage I didn't know I was standing on.
I should speak.
Ask why they're here.
What they want.
But I already know.
They want me.