The castle did not sleep that night.
Even from her small balcony, Aria could see the movement—lanterns flaring to life along the bridges, banners unfurling in gusts of cold wind, servants carrying crates of golden ornaments, and the faint shimmer of runes igniting across the palace walls.
Carfein was being dressed for joy, yet the air tasted of tension.
Below, the lake mirrored the Tree of Life, its luminous roots spreading beneath the water like veins of liquid light. Only tonight, the glow looked… different. It pulsed faintly blue instead of silver, like the sky before a storm.
Aria leaned against the railing, clutching her shawl tighter.
"Blue again," she murmured. "What are you trying to tell me?"
The wind didn't answer. It never did.
She'd been rereading fragments of the diary all evening — pages describing experiments, failed sprouts, and the strange rituals of Amoths — but the words had begun to blur together. Each line was colder, crueler, and filled with too much truth.
Her eyes burned. Sleep wouldn't come.
---
A Shadow at the Door
A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.
No guard knocked like that — three times, the rhythm too calm, too deliberate.
Aria opened the door halfway.
A hooded figure stood there, a shadow more than a person. But when he looked up, the light from the corridor caught his eyes — a sharp, steady silver.
"Xyren."
"You really should stop calling my name out loud," he whispered, brushing past her into the room. "Walls in this castle have ears… and worse."
She folded her arms. "You know normal people visit during the day."
He glanced back with the faintest smirk. "Normal people don't get answers."
She sighed. "You have a talent for drama, you know that?"
"It's called survival," he said simply, then handed her something small — a pendant of black glass, smooth and oddly warm. "Wear it. It'll hide you from rune sensors for a few minutes at a time."
Aria turned it over in her fingers. "And if it breaks?"
"Then run."
"Comforting."
He glanced at the moonlight pooling through her window. "Lirien's been visiting the East Wing every night this week."
Her brows furrowed. "The sealed one?"
He nodded. "The one they say still hums with remnants of the first war. No one is supposed to go there… unless they're trying to hide something."
Aria's curiosity prickled awake. "What do you think he's hiding?"
"Something tied to the Tree," Xyren said quietly. "And I think it's time we found out."
---
The Walk Through Shadows
They moved through the corridors like ghosts.
Every torch they passed flickered, reacting to Xyren's presence, as if light itself hesitated to touch him.
He moved with effortless precision, and Aria—though nervous—found herself matching his pace, her steps softer than usual. The black-glass pendant pulsed faintly against her neck, as though alive.
"Keep your breathing steady," he murmured. "The runes sense rhythm more than sound."
"Good," she whispered back. "Because I'm definitely not panicking."
He almost smiled. "You're learning."
"I'd prefer learning to sleep again, if that's allowed."
They passed a gallery lined with old portraits — men and women who looked eerily familiar, their eyes carved with knowledge too heavy for mortals. At the end of the hallway, a single door stood—carved from obsidian, etched with runes that pulsed like veins of fire.
The East Wing.
Xyren knelt beside it, tracing a sigil with one gloved finger.
"These runes are Quartis… same symbols you've seen in the diary?"
Aria squinted. "Yes. That one—'Eiran.' It means 'growth,' I think. And that one—'Varen'—means 'flesh.' Why would those be together?"
He looked up sharply. "Because he's not trying to grow plants."
Her stomach twisted. "You mean—"
He nodded grimly. "He's trying to grow life."
---
The Forbidden Chamber
The lock gave a muted click, and the door opened with a whisper of cold air. The scent hit them first — metallic, sharp, and faintly sweet, like burnt petals. Inside, the room was filled with scrolls pinned to the walls, diagrams of trees drawn in both ink and blood, veins of blue light painted across maps of the land.
In the center of the room stood a crystal pod half-buried in soil, its contents glowing faintly — a seed, pulsating like a heart.
Aria felt her breath catch. "That looks… alive."
"It is," said a voice that didn't belong to either of them.
They froze.
Through the haze, a projection shimmered into being — Lirien himself, not in flesh but in spelllight, speaking to an unseen presence.
> "The second tree failed because it was forced. It rejected its roots. But if we merge life and shadow, the balance can hold."
He turned, expression grave but strangely elated.
> "Kael's bloodline still carries the original root-spark. The Third Tree will rise on his return. One final merging… and the world will not wither again."
The image flickered and vanished, leaving silence thick as tar.
Aria whispered, "He's going to use Kael? But why—"
"To make himself immortal," Xyren said coldly. "He's not saving the world, Aria. He's trying to own it."
---
A Close Call
Before she could respond, a faint glow sparked at her feet — a rune trap.
Blue fire spiraled up, catching her shadow. She gasped.
"Don't move!" Xyren hissed.
He flung his hand outward, summoning darkness that slid across the rune like smoke on glass. The fire hissed, sputtered, then died. But in that brief instant, Lirien's voice echoed again from the walls—
> "Who walks here?"
"Time to leave," Xyren muttered, grabbing her wrist.
They ran, shadows swallowing their steps. The corridor behind them flared alive with light as runes began to reactivate, but Xyren drew a circle in the air, bending it open like fabric.
"Go!" he said.
Aria stumbled through—and fell into a narrow maintenance tunnel. The walls were close, damp, and humming faintly with power. Her breath came ragged, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.
Behind her, Xyren emerged and sealed the rift with a sharp gesture. His hand trembled.
"That… was close," she panted.
He nodded, sinking to one knee. "You're getting better at not dying."
"Thanks, I think," she said between shaky laughter.
Then she noticed the pendant. A thin crack now ran through its surface, faintly smoking.
"I think your charm broke."
"It did its job," he said. "But you'll feel cold for a while. Shadow residue."
"Great. Add that to my growing list of curses."
---
Rest and Revelation
They finally stopped in a forgotten antechamber beneath the castle, where dust motes danced in narrow beams of light. Aria leaned against the wall, her hand trembling slightly.
"So," she said, trying to sound calm, "what happens if he succeeds? If this… Third Tree actually grows?"
Xyren's gaze was distant. "Then Carfein becomes the next Amoth Valley."
She frowned. "That place from the diary—the one where everything died?"
He nodded slowly. "It wasn't nature that killed them. It was the failure of the root magic. The soil turned venomous. The air burned. It took years before anything lived there again."
Aria swallowed hard. "So that's what he's risking? The entire kingdom?"
"Not risking," Xyren said. "Choosing."
She looked away, fingers curling into fists. "Then we stop him."
The silence stretched, and when she glanced back, Xyren was staring at her — not mocking, not cold, but thoughtful.
"You sound like someone who's already chosen a side."
"Maybe I have."
"Then you'd better be ready," he murmured. "Once you choose, the shadows remember."
She met his gaze squarely. "Then let them remember."
---
The Bells of Dawn
They walked back through the tunnels in silence.
When they emerged near the surface, the first rays of dawn were creeping over the horizon, painting the clouds with streaks of silver and pale rose.
Aria could hear movement above — guards shouting, doors opening, the sounds of horses and trumpets.
A deep, melodic bell began to toll through the city.
"What's that?" she whispered.
Xyren stiffened. "That's the return signal."
A messenger ran past the outer courtyard, yelling breathlessly,
> "Prince Kael has arrived! The heir has returned!"
The sound of celebration echoed through every street, yet neither of them moved.
Aria turned to Xyren, who was still staring at the sky, his expression unreadable.
"What do we do now?" she asked quietly.
He exhaled. "Now? We prepare for the end of peace."
The wind swept through the corridor, carrying with it the faint hum of the Tree — a sound neither of them had noticed before.
It wasn't glowing softly anymore.
It was pulsing, like something alive, something waking.
And in that low, rhythmic beat, Aria realized the truth she didn't want to face.
The Tree had a heartbeat.
And it had just begun to move again.