The day after the meeting in the Room of Shadows passed like a blurred dream.The wind outside Carfein's white-stoned castle whispered softly against the towers, brushing through banners that hung limp in the calm. The kingdom was at peace—or at least, that was what everyone liked to say. The coronation was still sixteen days away, and the streets below her cell were full of the hum of ordinary life: merchants shouting prices, children chasing down alleys, the steady rhythm of a place pretending everything was fine.
Inside her cell, however, there was no peace.
Aria sat on the edge of the narrow bed, a stack of papers spread beside her. She'd been trying to read through fragments of the diary Xyren had smuggled to her—but the words refused to settle. Her mind kept circling around the same impossible thoughts: the return to Earth, the strange glow of the Tree's roots in her dreams, Lirien's cold smile the night before.
A faint beam of sunlight crept through the barred window and struck the opposite wall. Dust danced in it, turning the air gold for a heartbeat. Aria exhaled, long and tired.
"Sixteen days," she murmured. "Sixteen days until the coronation, and I still don't know what he's planning."
Her stomach growled. The guards had brought her breakfast earlier—a tray with a slice of bread and a few blue berries—but she'd barely touched it. Hunger wasn't the problem. It was the waiting.
Every moment in that room stretched endlessly, like she was sinking in time itself. The silence pressed down until even her thoughts felt too loud.
She stood, pacing the room. The walls were old stone, smooth in some places, rough in others. The shelf by her bed was stacked with books Lirien had given her—texts on Quartian runes, histories of the kingdom, accounts of the early kings. She ran a hand across them absently, fingers tracing the spines.
That's when she felt it——a tiny click beneath her fingertips.
She froze.
Her eyes darted down. Between two books, behind a small slip of parchment, a faint outline marked the wall—a perfect circle, barely visible, about the size of a coin.
"What are you?" she whispered.
Curiosity overtook caution. She pressed her thumb against it.
Click.
The sound was soft but deep, like stone sliding against stone. Then came a faint rumble from the corner of the room. Aria spun around. One of the lower bricks, half-hidden behind a pile of parchment and an old chest, shifted slightly forward.
Her heartbeat jumped. She knelt, pushing the papers aside, and found a small recess—a rectangular block that had cracked open just enough to reveal darkness beyond.
A passage.
"Of course," she breathed, half in awe, half in disbelief. "Because why wouldn't there be a secret passage under my prison?"
Still, she hesitated. This could easily be a trap—Lirien wasn't the type to miss things like this. But what if it wasn't his doing? What if the castle itself had its own forgotten veins, built long before him?
Her curiosity won. It always did.
Aria grabbed a candle stub from the table, lit it with a spark of flint she'd saved, and crouched low. The air that came out of the gap was cold and smelled faintly of dust and iron. She pushed through, ducking her head as the wall slid quietly back behind her.
The light flickered against the narrow tunnel walls. It was barely wide enough for her shoulders. She moved slowly, each step echoing softly.
The passage wound downward in a gentle spiral, the air growing cooler and thicker with each step. Her flame danced, throwing shadows like twisting fingers on the stone.
"How big is this castle?" she whispered. Her voice came back to her, warped by the tunnel's curves.
Minutes passed—ten, maybe more—until finally the tunnel opened into a small space. Ahead of her, a faint glow filtered through a hole in the wall. She crouched and peered through.
On the other side was a room she'd never seen before.
Tables lined the stone floor, cluttered with bottles and vials of strange glowing liquid—green, blue, and violet, swirling faintly like something alive. Two figures in pale robes stood at one of the tables, whispering. She couldn't see their faces clearly, only the glint of glass and the low hum of magic.
"What… are they doing?" she murmured. The smell of chemicals stung her nose even through the hole. One of the figures poured something that hissed faintly when it touched another liquid, releasing a puff of faint silver smoke.
She leaned closer, careful not to make a sound.
"…progress is slower than expected," one of them muttered. "The essence resists the merge."
"Lirien won't like that," the other replied. "He said it must be ready before the Red Moon."
Aria's breath caught. The Red Moon. The coronation.
Whatever they were doing—it was part of the plan.
She stayed a few more seconds, watching the bottles bubble, before backing away carefully. She couldn't risk getting caught.
As she turned, her candle flickered again. The passage behind her forked—two paths now, one leading back toward her cell, and another sloping further downward.
She hesitated, heart pounding.
"Go back," reason whispered. "You've already seen too much."
But the darker path seemed to call her. Maybe it was foolishness, maybe instinct—but she followed.
The tunnel stretched longer this time, and the silence thickened. The only sound was the faint drip of water echoing from somewhere far away. Her candlelight painted the walls in gold, and at one point she thought she saw markings—ancient runes carved faintly into the stone.
Finally, the path leveled and widened. The air changed; it smelled less of stone and more… old. Like parchment and forgotten things.
She found a door—wooden, cracked but still strong—standing at the end of the tunnel. It wasn't locked. Just waiting.
She pushed it open.
The hinges groaned quietly, and she stepped into a long corridor lined with torches that still burned faintly blue. A crimson carpet ran the length of the floor, embroidered with the mark of the Carfein crown. The silence here was different—almost reverent.
At the end of the corridor stood a tall set of double doors. Gold trim glinted faintly under her candlelight. Her heart drummed faster as she approached.
"What is this place…?" she whispered.
The handle was cold under her hand. She hesitated only a moment before pushing.
The room beyond was vast—and filled with paintings.
Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Covering every wall from floor to ceiling.
She stepped inside slowly, turning in awe and horror. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust. The flicker of her candle revealed rows upon rows of portraits—each painted with incredible detail, each showing the same thing.
Her.