They fell for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds.
When they finally stopped, Kael found himself in a vast chamber that defied all logic. The walls were made of crystallized darkness that pulsed with inner light, and the ceiling was so far above that it disappeared into what might have been stars or might have been eyes watching from above.
The girl released his hand and immediately began tracing symbols in the air. Where her fingers passed, reality solidified into barriers—wards, Kael realized, though he had no idea how he knew that.
"We have maybe ten minutes before Theron's hunters find this place," she said, not looking at him. Her voice carried an accent Kael couldn't place, lilting and ancient. "So let me make this simple. My name is Lyra Shadowborn. I'm what's left of the Seventh Realm's royal guard. And you're an idiot."
Kael bristled. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She finished the last ward and finally turned to face him. Up close, her silver eyes were mesmerizing—literally. Kael felt his thoughts scattering like leaves. "Stepping through the veil without preparation, without allies, without even knowing what you were walking into? That's textbook idiocy. You're lucky I was watching, or you'd already be dead."
"I didn't have a choice," Kael shot back. "That woman—the Sorceress—she was going to take me anyway. At least this way—"
"At least this way, what? You gave them exactly what they wanted?" Lyra shook her head. "The Sorceress wasn't going to take you from your world. She couldn't. The veil between realms is still too strong for that. She needed you to come willingly. And you did."
The words hit Kael like a physical blow. "You're lying."
"I wish I was." Lyra pulled off her gauntlets, revealing hands covered in intricate scars that glowed faintly green. "Three thousand years we've been trapped here, Ashford. Three thousand years of watching your world from the outside, unable to touch it, unable to reach it. The only way anyone from the Seventh Realm can cross over is if the seal breaks completely—which will kill us all anyway—or if someone with Ashford blood opens the way."
"Then how did those creatures attack my village? How did they—"
"Projections. Echoes. Think of them as shadows cast through a crack in a door." She moved closer, and Kael found himself backing up until he hit the crystalline wall. "Real enough to kill, yes. But not truly alive. Not truly there. Your family is probably fine, Ashford. Shaken, terrified, but alive. The Sorceress just needed you scared enough to make a stupid decision."
Kael wanted to argue, wanted to believe she was wrong, but a terrible certainty was growing in his chest. He thought back to the attack—how the creatures had focused on him, how they'd ignored everyone else once he'd used his power. How his father had tried to stop him from leaving, not just out of fear, but out of knowledge.
His father had known what would happen if Kael crossed the veil.
"So what now?" Kael asked, his voice hollow. "If I'm here and can't go back, what's the point?"
"The point," Lyra said, her expression softening slightly, "is that you're not dead yet. And as long as you're alive, we have options."
"We?"
"I told you. I'm what's left of the royal guard. My entire purpose, for sixteen years, has been to prepare for your arrival." She pulled back, giving him space. "The Sorceress wants to use you as a permanent seal—to bind you to the realm so completely that you become its anchor. You'd live, technically, but you'd never be yourself again. Just a living battery keeping two worlds apart."
"And Theron?"
"Theron wants you dead. He leads the resistance—the faction that believes the only way to save the Seventh Realm is to let the seal break completely and invade your world. Take its resources, its magic, its life force." Lyra's jaw tightened. "He doesn't care that it would kill billions. He just wants revenge."
Kael felt sick. "Are there any good options here?"
"One. Maybe." Lyra met his eyes. "What if you could fix the seal without destroying yourself? What if you could stabilize both realms, restore the connection that was severed three thousand years ago, without anyone having to die?"
"Is that possible?"
"I don't know. No one does. But there are texts in the Palace of Echoes—ancient records from before the sealing. If answers exist, they're there." She paused. "But the palace is in the Obsidian Wastes, at the center of the realm. To reach it, we'd have to cross all seven territories. We'd have to face the lords of each tower. And we'd have to do it before either the Sorceress or Theron finds us."
Kael laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That sounds impossible."
"It is impossible. Which is why no one will expect us to try." Lyra smiled, and for the first time, Kael saw something in her expression that wasn't just duty or determination. It was hope. Fragile and desperate, but real. "I've been preparing for this my entire life, Ashford. I know the secret paths. I know which lords might be swayed and which will kill us on sight. I know how to hide in shadows and how to fight when hiding isn't enough."
"Why?" Kael asked. "Why do you care so much?"
The question seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment, vulnerability flickered across her face.
"Because I'm tired," she said quietly. "Tired of this half-life. Tired of watching my people fade away, generation by generation. Tired of hating your bloodline for something they did three millennia ago." She looked away. "My grandmother was part of the royal guard when the seal was first made. She wrote everything down—every promise your ancestors made about coming back, about making things right. She died believing those promises would be kept."
"They weren't," Kael said.
"No. They weren't." Lyra turned back to him. "But maybe you can be different. Maybe you can be what they should have been."
Before Kael could respond, the wards she'd placed began to crack. Red light seeped through the fractures like blood.
"They found us," Lyra hissed. She grabbed Kael's arm. "When I say run, you run. When I say fight, you fight. And when I say trust me, you trust me. Understood?"
"I don't even know you."
"Then know this: if I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead. If I wanted you captured, I'd have left you for Theron." Her silver eyes blazed. "I want you alive, Ashford. I want you free. And I want you to fix what your ancestors broke. That's all you need to know."
The wards shattered.
Theron strode through, his sword gleaming, followed by a dozen of his resistance fighters. But he wasn't smiling anymore. He looked furious.
"Lyra Shadowborn," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "The princess's pet monster. I should have known you'd interfere."
"Lord Vex," Lyra replied coolly. "Still fighting wars that ended before you were born?"
"This war hasn't ended. It's just been delayed." Theron's gaze shifted to Kael. "Last chance, boy. Come with me, and I'll make your death quick. Stay with her, and you'll learn what it means to truly suffer."
Kael felt the green light building in his hands again. It was getting easier to summon, more natural. Like remembering how to breathe.
"How about neither?" he said.
And he unleashed everything he had.
The chamber exploded with emerald fire. But this time, Kael wasn't just lashing out blindly. This time, he felt Lyra beside him, her own power flowing silver and cold, intertwining with his. Together, they created something neither could have managed alone—a wall of pure rejection that sent Theron and his fighters flying backward.
"Impossible," Theron gasped, struggling to his feet. "You can't have synced your powers already. It takes months to—"
"Run!" Lyra shouted.
They ran.
Behind them, Theron's roar of rage echoed through the impossible geometries of the Shadow Sanctuary: "I'll hunt you to the edges of reality! I'll make you watch as I tear down everything you're trying to save!"
But Kael and Lyra were already gone, plunging deeper into the labyrinth of the Seventh Realm.
And for the first time since the stars fell, Kael felt something other than fear.
He felt like he might actually survive this.
He just had to learn how to live with what he'd become.