The night was heavy with silence. Aria stood by the balcony rail, the cold iron pressing against her palms as she leaned forward into the open air. Above, the moon sat like a silver coin against the velvet-black sky, its light spilling across the jagged lines of Carfein's towers. The tree—the massive, glowing trunk that was the heart of Skyria—gleamed faintly, its roots descending into the abyss below like veins of starlight.
Aria hugged her arms around herself. The air was crisp, laced with the faint scent of moss and distant flowers carried by the wind. She stared until her eyes blurred, trying to lose herself in that quiet, eternal view. But her mind hummed with restlessness.
She whispered into the air, half to the moon, half to herself.
"Is there really no way out of here?"
The question hung unanswered. Somewhere far below, music drifted faintly from the lower quarters of the city, carried by revelers preparing for Kael's return. A world was moving, pulsing with life. Yet she was caged inside a balcony of stone.
Eventually, the weight of it all pulled her down. She slipped back into the room, laid herself on the bed, and closed her eyes. The moonlight spilled across her like a second blanket, and despite her buzzing thoughts, sleep crept in.
---
When she woke, the world was different.
The sun was climbing, golden light filtering through the carved windows. A tray lay on her table, steam curling from it. Her stomach grumbled instantly—betraying her cool composure—so she padded over and sat down.
Blueberries, plump and shining like gems. She popped one into her mouth; the sweetness burst across her tongue, tangy and bright. Beside them sat a fruit she didn't recognize, pale green with a translucent skin. She hesitated, then tore a piece free. The flesh melted like honey on her tongue, rich and strange, filling her chest with warmth.
"Oh gods," she murmured, chewing slowly. "If this is prison food, I might survive a bit longer."
Her little joke made her smile, but the moment shattered as the door creaked.
A guard entered, stiff-backed, carrying something under one arm. Without a word, he set a folded dress and a sealed letter on the table beside her tray.
Aria narrowed her eyes. "What's this? Breakfast and bribes?"
The guard didn't reply. He bowed slightly, then stepped back toward the door.
"Fine, be mysterious," she muttered, breaking the seal on the letter.
The script was neat, precise, written in the flowing Quarty style she could now understand thanks to the fruit she had eaten days ago.
Dress. Come with the guard. Do not refuse.
That was all.
Aria's stomach twisted. She glanced at the folded fabric, rich and shimmering in hues of midnight and silver. Her fingers brushed it; the cloth was softer than anything she'd worn before, smooth as water.
"Of course," she whispered dryly. "When in doubt, dress the prisoner up like a doll."
Still, she slipped into it. The gown hugged her form, its skirts trailing light as though threads had been spun from moonbeams. She caught her reflection in the narrow mirror by the wall. Her dark hair, unbound, fell in soft waves down her back, stark against her not-too-pale skin. She looked… not herself.
"Great," she muttered. "Now I look like I belong here."
The guard gestured, and she followed.
---
They walked through the castle's winding corridors. Each step carried her deeper into a world that wasn't hers. She passed windows where sunlight cut across banners stitched with golden sigils. Courtyards where Quarties gathered, their wings or tails catching the light as they strung decorations for the coming celebrations. The air smelled of roasted nuts and herbs, carried up from kitchens below.
Aria slowed once, watching a group of children chase each other with paper lanterns. For a fleeting moment, she envied their freedom.
The guard nudged her forward.
"Alright, alright," she muttered. "No sightseeing."
They turned down narrower halls, the air cooling, stone replacing marble. Soon the torches lit the walls instead of sunlight. The path sloped downward, deeper into the belly of the castle.
At last they reached a heavy door bound in iron. The guard opened it, the hinges groaning. Beyond stretched a stairwell, narrow and winding. The air smelled of damp earth and something old.
"I'm allowed only this far," the guard said, his voice low, eyes unreadable. "Wait here. Someone will come for you."
Before she could ask, he stepped back, pulling the door closed behind him. The lock clicked.
Aria's heart thudded. She stood alone, silence pressing in.
She paced. Counted the stones. Considered bolting—but there was nowhere to bolt to. Her nerves frayed.
Then she heard it: soft steps, steady, approaching. A figure emerged from the stairwell.
He—or she—was cloaked entirely in black, fabric falling in heavy folds. Hood drawn, face hidden. Even the hands were gloved.
The figure stopped before her. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough, distorted slightly, but commanding.
"Grab the cloth," he said, extending a length of black fabric. "Do not let go. Follow me."
Aria hesitated. Every instinct screamed trap. But curiosity and fear tangled, pushing her forward. She took the edge of the cloth, clutching it tight.
"Don't speak," the figure warned. "Not until I tell you."
They moved. Step after step, deeper into the twisting passages. The only light came from torches that flickered low, casting long shadows. Her slippers whispered against stone, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Finally, they entered a chamber.
It was circular, carved from rough stone, lit only by candles stuck into iron sconces. Their flames trembled, throwing distorted shadows. The air smelled of wax and old smoke.
And they were not alone.
Five figures stood within. She could not see their faces. Their forms wavered in the dim light, outlines blurred, as if shadows had taken shape. They did not move, only watched.
Aria froze, the cloth slipping in her grip.
The cloaked figure turned. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands and pulled back his hood.
The candlelight revealed his face.
Sharp jaw, eyes like storm clouds, dark hair falling loose across his brow.
Xyren.