The train hurtled through a darkness that seemed to have no end. Finn sat across from Serafina, the crystal still warm in his palm, her words about Malachai Corvus echoing in his mind. He wants you. He's been searching for you for eleven years.
Outside the window, the nothingness suddenly changed. Stars burst into view—thousands upon thousands of them, more than Finn had ever seen in London's light-polluted sky. They hung in impossible constellations, patterns that seemed to shift and reform as he watched, as if the heavens themselves were alive and breathing.
"We're approaching the veil," Serafina said, rising from her seat. She moved to the window and placed her palm against the glass. "Look."
Finn joined her, pressing his face close to the cold pane. For a moment, he saw only stars. Then, far in the distance, a light appeared—not a star, but something larger, something that grew steadily as they hurtled toward it.
It was a city.
It hung in the void like a jewel suspended on an invisible thread, a metropolis of spires and bridges and floating platforms, all connected by streams of soft light that pulsed and flowed like liquid luminescence. At its centre rose a massive structure that looked like a tree made of crystal, its branches spreading outward to cradle entire neighbourhoods in their glowing embrace. Waterfalls tumbled from some of the platforms, but instead of falling into emptiness, the water curved and looped and flowed upward again, defying every law of physics Finn had ever learned.
"What is that?" he whispered.
"Lumina," Serafina said softly. "The hidden city. The last refuge of our kind. Your mother's home. Yours now, if you want it."
The train plunged toward the city with terrifying speed. Finn gripped the edge of the window, certain they would crash, but at the last moment, the tracks materialised beneath them—gleaming rails of silver that stretched out from the city's edge like welcoming arms. They passed through what looked like a wall of liquid light, and suddenly they were inside, rushing through streets that twisted and turned in impossible ways, past buildings that seemed to have been grown rather than built, their walls covered in living moss and flowering vines.
The train slowed, gliding to a stop at a station that was open to the air—except the air was warm and sweet, carrying scents of flowers and spices and something else, something that made Finn think of starlight and ancient forests.
"Welcome to Lumina," Serafina said. She smiled, and for the first time, the smile reached her silver eyes. "Come. There's someone waiting to meet you."
The station platform was crowded with people, and Finn's first instinct was to lower his gaze, to hide his strange silver eyes as he'd learned to do in London. But as he stepped off the train, he realised with a shock that no one was staring at him. No one was looking at him at all.
They were too busy staring at everything else.
A woman with hair that floated around her head like seaweed in slow motion argued with a fruit seller whose melons changed colour as Finn watched. Two children raced past on what looked like ordinary bicycles, except the bicycles were floating six inches above the ground. An old man sat on a bench, reading a newspaper whose pages turned themselves, and beside him, a cat with iridescent fur groomed itself with sparks of blue light flickering from its paws.
Finn stopped walking, overwhelmed. Serafina paused beside him, patient.
"It's a lot to take in," she said. "I remember my first time. I was older than you, and I still couldn't speak for an hour."
"Where are we?" Finn asked. "I mean, I know you said Lumina, but... where is this? How does it exist?"
"Lumina exists in a pocket of reality that ordinary people cannot perceive," Serafina explained. "Think of it as a bubble attached to your world—connected, but separate. Your scientists would say it exists in a different dimensional plane. We simply say it's hidden. And it has to be. The ordinary world isn't ready for magic, and magic isn't ready for the ordinary world. Not after what happened."
"What happened?"
Serafina's expression darkened. "A long time ago, our kind lived openly among ordinary humans. We were revered as gods, or feared as demons, depending on where you lived. But fear won, as it usually does. There were persecutions. Witch hunts. Burnings. Thousands of us died. The survivors retreated, created places like Lumina where we could live in peace. The ordinary world forgot we ever existed, and we learned to be grateful for that forgetting."
She started walking again, and Finn hurried to keep up. "But if you're hidden, how did my mother live in London? How did she meet Mr. Bisby?"
"Some of us choose to live in the ordinary world, at least for a time. We learn to hide what we are, to suppress our powers, to blend in. Your mother did that for several years. She was... running from something. From someone." Serafina glanced at Finn meaningfully. "From your father."
Finn stopped again. "My father? The letter said—"
"The letter said your mother was taken. That's true. But it didn't tell you who took her, or why." Serafina sighed. "There's much I need to explain, but not here, not now. First, you need to be sorted. The Academy awaits."
The Lumina Academy was the crystal tree Finn had seen from the train, and up close, it was even more extraordinary. The trunk alone was the size of a city block, its surface smooth and warm to the touch, pulsing with soft light that seemed to breathe. Branches extended outward at every level, supporting platforms and buildings and bridges, all connected by spiralling staircases that moved on their own, carrying people up and down without effort.
Serafina led Finn to a large chamber at the base of the tree. It was circular, with high ceilings that vanished into shadow, and in the centre stood five pedestals arranged in a pentagon. Each pedestal was made of a different material: one of rough stone, one of polished obsidian that seemed to contain flickering flames, one of crystal clear as water, one of smooth marble veined with silver, and one of wood so old it looked petrified, yet small green leaves sprouted from its surface.
Around the pedestals, students were gathering—dozens of them, ranging in age from Finn's age to teenagers of sixteen or seventeen. They wore robes of different colours: deep red, ocean blue, pale grey, earthy brown, and a shimmering white that seemed to contain all the others.
"These are the five districts of Lumina," Serafina murmured as they found a place near the back. "Embers wear red—they're fire-wielders, passionate and fierce. Tides wear blue—they command water and emotion, sensitive and deep. Zephyrs wear grey—air and mind, thinkers and dreamers. Stones wear brown—earth and protection, steady and strong. And Luminaires wear white—those rare few who can channel all four elements."
Finn looked down at his own clothes—the ordinary, drab clothes Mr. Bisby had given him. "I don't have robes."
"You'll receive them after the sorting, if you're sorted at all." The voice came from behind them, and Finn turned to find a boy about his age, with sharp features and dark hair slicked back with what looked like gel. His robes were red, and his eyes—a deep amber—regarded Finn with open suspicion. "Visitors aren't usually allowed at the sorting. Who are you?"
Finn opened his mouth to answer, but Serafina spoke first. "This is Finn Merton. He's Elena's son."
The boy's eyes widened. "Elena Merton? The Elena Merton? The one who—" He stopped abruptly, something flickering across his face that might have been fear or might have been awe. "You're her son?"
"Yes," Finn said quietly. "I'm her son."
The boy stared at him for a long moment, then his expression hardened. "Well, that doesn't mean anything. Being born to someone powerful doesn't make you powerful. We'll see what the sorting says." He turned and pushed through the crowd, disappearing among the red-robed students.
"Who was that?" Finn asked.
"Cassius Vane," Serafina said, and there was something carefully neutral in her voice. "His family has been prominent in Lumina for generations. His father serves on the Council. He's not used to being upstaged, and you've just upstaged him simply by existing."
Before Finn could ask what she meant, a bell chimed—a deep, resonant note that seemed to come from the tree itself. The crowd fell silent, and from the shadows at the far end of the chamber, a figure emerged.
She was ancient, impossibly ancient, her face a map of wrinkles and her eyes milky with age. She moved slowly, leaning on a staff carved from the same crystal as the tree, and yet there was something powerful about her, something that made Finn want to bow without knowing why. Her robes were white—Luminaire white—and around her neck hung a pendant identical to the one Serafina wore, the tree-compass symbol.
"Students of Lumina," she said, and though her voice was quiet, it carried to every corner of the chamber. "Today, we welcome new seekers to our midst. Today, the five elements will speak. Today, you will learn where you belong."
She raised her staff, and the five pedestals began to glow. Light rose from each—red from the obsidian, blue from the crystal, grey from the marble, brown from the stone, and white from the ancient wood—and the lights swirled together, forming a vortex of colour in the centre of the chamber.
"When I call your name," the ancient woman said, "step forward and place your hands upon the central stone. The elements will recognise you. They will claim you. Trust what they choose."
One by one, names were called. Finn watched as students approached the swirling lights, placed their hands on a pedestal that appeared in the centre as if by magic, and waited. Some were claimed quickly—a flash of red, and they joined the Embers; a surge of blue, and they became Tides. Others took longer, the lights flickering and shifting as if unsure, until finally a colour settled and they were sorted.
Finn watched a small girl with braided hair step forward. The lights swirled around her for a long moment, then settled on brown. Stone. She smiled and joined the brown-robed students, who welcomed her with quiet nods.
He watched a boy with nervous eyes step forward. The lights flickered red, then blue, then grey—and finally settled on grey. Zephyr. He let out a breath of relief and practically ran to join the grey robes.
And then the ancient woman called: "Finn Merton."
The chamber went silent. Every eye turned to him. Finn heard whispers ripple through the crowd—"Elena's son," "the lost one," "is it really him?"—and felt the weight of their gazes like a physical pressure.
He walked forward. His legs felt strange, disconnected from his body, but he kept moving until he stood at the centre of the pentagon, facing the swirling vortex of light. The pedestal had appeared before him—a simple column of white stone, its surface smooth and cool.
"Place your hands upon the stone," the ancient woman said. Her milky eyes seemed to see right through him, to something deeper. "And let the elements speak."
Finn raised his hands. For a moment, he hesitated. What if nothing happened? What if he wasn't really magical, if the letter and the compass and the train had all been some elaborate mistake?
But the crystal in his pocket pulsed warmly, and he thought of his mother's face in the photograph, laughing, silver-eyed. He thought of her words in the letter: Follow the compass that has been sleeping in your blood.
He placed his hands on the stone.
For a moment, nothing. Then—
Fire exploded through him.
It was red and gold and orange, a conflagration that roared through his veins, and he felt heat, immense heat, but it didn't burn. It welcomed. It sang to him of passion and courage, of the spark that ignites in darkness, of the fire that warms and the fire that destroys. It was power, raw and wild, and it wanted him.
But before he could surrender to it, something else rose.
Water flooded his consciousness—deep, calm, infinite. It spoke of emotion and intuition, of the tides that connect all living things, of the tears we shed and the oceans we carry inside. It was feeling, deep and true, and it wrapped around him like an embrace.
And then air rushed in, lifting him, showing him thoughts and dreams and the endless possibilities of mind. And earth followed, solid and steady, promising protection and endurance and the strength to stand firm.
The four elements swirled within him, each claiming him, each wanting him. The light around him flickered and changed—red, blue, grey, brown—cycling faster and faster until they blurred together into a single colour.
White.
Brilliant, blinding white exploded from the stone, from Finn, from everywhere at once. The chamber was flooded with light so bright that people cried out and covered their eyes. The ancient woman's staff blazed in response. The crystal tree above them hummed with power.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
Finn stood in the centre of the chamber, his hands still on the stone, which now glowed a soft, steady white. The vortex of light had vanished. The pedestals had dimmed. And every person in the room was staring at him in absolute, breathless silence.
The ancient woman stepped forward. For the first time, her milky eyes seemed to focus, seemed to see him, and in them he saw something that made his heart clench.
Recognition.
"Finn Merton," she said, and her voice trembled slightly. "Son of Elena. Heir to the Luminaires. Welcome home."
The silence held for one more heartbeat—and then the chamber erupted.
Later—Finn wasn't sure how much later—he found himself in a small room high in the crystal tree, sitting on a bed that was softer than anything he'd ever felt, staring at a set of white robes that hung on the wall. Through the window, he could see the lights of Lumina spread out below him, a city of magic and wonder that was somehow now his home.
A knock at the door made him jump.
"Come in," he said, his voice hoarse.
The door opened, and three faces peered in—the small girl with braided hair, now in brown robes; the nervous boy, now in grey; and a third person Finn hadn't noticed before, a girl about his age with dark skin and eyes the colour of the ocean, wearing blue.
"Can we come in?" the small girl asked. "We brought cake."
"Cake?" Finn blinked.
"Sorting cake," the nervous boy explained. "It's tradition. After the sorting, new students share cake with whoever wants to come. Most people don't come, actually, but we thought you might like company."
Finn looked at them—these three strangers who had sought him out when everyone else was keeping their distance. He thought of Cassius Vane's suspicious glare, of the whispers that had followed him from the chamber, of the weight of being Elena's son, the first Luminaire in living memory.
"Come in," he said again, and this time he meant it.
They filed in, the small girl carrying a plate piled high with slices of what looked like ordinary cake, except it shimmered faintly and changed flavour with every bite. She introduced herself as Briar, from a Stone family that had served the Luminaires for generations. The nervous boy was Theo, a Zephyr who could read minds but promised, with a solemnity that made Finn laugh, never to read Finn's without permission. And the girl with ocean eyes was Elara, a Tide who had been born in Lumina but raised in the ordinary world, just like Finn.
"We're the misfits," Elara said with a wry smile. "Briar's family is too loyal to be interesting. Theo's powers showed up so early they nearly drove him mad. And I'm a Tide who's afraid of deep water." She shrugged. "The point is, we know what it's like to be different. So if you ever need friends who understand—"
"We're here," Briar finished simply.
Finn looked at them—at Briar's steady gaze, at Theo's nervous but genuine smile, at Elara's ocean-deep eyes—and felt something he'd never felt before in his life.
He felt like he belonged.
"Thank you," he said, and his voice cracked, but he didn't care. "Thank you all."
They stayed for hours, eating cake and talking and laughing. Theo showed them how he could float objects with his mind, though he nearly dropped a lamp on Briar's head. Elara made a cup of water dance in the air, spinning and spiralling like a living thing. Briar demonstrated how she could make the stone walls hum by pressing her palm against them, a low vibration that felt like a heartbeat.
And when they finally left, promising to meet him for breakfast in the Great Hall, Finn sat alone in his new room, surrounded by silence for the first time since the sorting.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crystal. It pulsed warmly, steadily, and as he watched, an image formed in its depths—his mother's face, smiling at him, her silver eyes bright with love.
Then the image shifted, and he saw something else: a dark figure, hooded and menacing, standing on a mountain of shadow, looking down at a city that burned.
The image faded. The crystal dimmed. And Finn sat in the darkness, the warmth of his new friendships warring with the cold fear of what was to come.
Somewhere out there, his mother was waiting. Somewhere out there, Malachai Corvus was hunting. And somewhere in between, Finn Merton would have to become the person the crystal had shown him—the person his mother believed he could be.
He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and made a silent promise.
I'll find you, Mother. I'll find you and bring you home. No matter what it takes.
Outside his window, the lights of Lumina shone on, eternal and beautiful, a city of magic waiting for its heir to grow into his power.
And far away, in the darkness beyond the veil, something stirred and smiled.
End of Chapter Four