They didn't sleep that night.
Lucian sat beside the dying embers, the second shard pulsing faintly in his palm like a heartbeat. Its glow wasn't warm—it was cold, like moonlight reflected off ice. It felt heavier than it should have, as if it held more than just energy. As if it carried memory.
Laila stood a few feet away, staring at the ley-line pool. Since the fusion, something had changed in her. Lucian could feel it—she was quieter, more attuned. Her magic pulsed differently now, like it had learned a new language overnight.
"What do you think the prophecy means?" Lucian asked finally.
Laila didn't turn around. "I think we've already fulfilled the first part."
"The twins of root and tide?"
She nodded. "You're earth. I'm water. We fused. The bond… it's not just magic. It's blood. Fate. Something old is watching us."
Lucian clenched the shard tighter. "Then the second part—'the gate shall break'…"
"…and what waits will walk again," Laila finished. "We're not the heroes stopping something. We might be the fuse."
The silence stretched between them like stretched glass.
"We need to find answers," Lucian said. "Before we break the world by accident."
🜂
They left the dead ravine by first light, following the ley-line eastward. It coiled like a silver vein, rising and dipping through canyons and over cracked cliffs. By mid-morning, they reached an outcropping with a ruined marker—ancient stonework carved with symbols neither of them recognized, save one: the spiral sigil that had appeared in their shared vision during the last fusion.
Laila ran her fingers across the carving. "It's not just a symbol," she said. "It's a map. Look."
She pointed out small indentations around the spiral—ridges, dots, and arrows. Not decorative. Deliberate.
Lucian stepped closer. "If this spiral is the ley… then those markers could be sites."
"Shards," Laila said. "Maybe prisons. Or keys."
Lucian's eyes scanned the etching. "We've been calling it the Underkingdom, but what if it's not a place beneath the world—what if it's woven into it? Parallel."
Laila looked up sharply. "You're saying it's inside the ley?"
"Or alongside it," he said. "A layer. We're not just walking east. We're walking closer to that layer's surface."
As if to confirm it, the shard in Lucian's palm vibrated faintly. The second one, now fastened in a cloth pouch Laila wore, responded too—two threads tugging toward something unseen.
They were being pulled.
Not unwillingly. But undeniably.
🜂
By dusk, they reached what looked like a ruined sanctum—pillars choked in ivy, staircases broken mid-air. At its center, a shallow basin filled with liquid glass, undisturbed by wind.
Lucian leaned over it—and gasped.
The reflection didn't show the sky.
It showed a city beneath them.
A massive, circular city built in spirals, glowing with ley-light—dim, flickering, ancient.
"Underkingdom," he whispered.
Laila stared into the basin. "It's right below us."
Lucian looked at her. "We have to find a way in."
🜂
The entrance came two days later, hidden in what appeared to be an abandoned root system—the bones of a tree older than any living memory. At its base was a tunnel—carved deliberately, but sealed by an arch of fused crystal.
Lucian pulled out the two shards.
As he approached, they pulsed brighter.
The crystal arch shimmered, then split apart like melting ice, revealing a stairwell that descended into darkness.
Laila held out her hand. "Together?"
Lucian took it.
They stepped into the Underkingdom.
🜂
The air changed immediately. It smelled of minerals, salt, and something else—memories turned sour. The walls pulsed with a faint glow, like veins beneath skin. Glyphs flickered along the corridors—some familiar, some shifting as they passed, as if watching them.
After hours of walking, they emerged into a massive chamber.
It was like stepping into a cathedral turned sideways—pillars floating midair, platforms suspended by threads of light, and far across the room, a massive crystal door with six indentations in a circle.
Two of them glowed faintly.
Lucian stepped forward. "They're shard locks."
Laila nodded. "Then this must be… the heart."
Lucian turned toward her. "The gate."
A voice echoed behind them.
"Correct."
They spun.
A woman stood at the far end of the room. She wore armor made of obsidian and bone, her hair braided with silver threads. One eye was covered with a metal plate shaped like a sunburst.
"I am Vessara," she said. "Warden of the Threshold."
Lucian raised his guard. "What threshold?"
"The one you've been unlocking," Vessara said. "With every shard you collect, every fusion you invoke—you are weakening the boundary. You walk with power you barely understand. But you have not yet crossed the line."
Laila's voice was cold. "Then tell us where the line is."
Vessara approached slowly. "There are four more shards. When the circle is complete, the gate will open—and He Who Waits will rise."
Lucian's heart thudded. "Who is he?"
Vessara's expression softened, strangely. "He was once a protector. Then a king. Then a prisoner. He sleeps now beneath the Spiral Throne. And he dreams of freedom."
Laila stepped forward. "You want to stop him?"
"I want to test you," Vessara said. "To see if you are worthy of deciding."
With that, she raised her hands—and the room shifted.
The platforms floated apart, each one holding a memory.
Lucian found himself standing on a slab of crystal, staring at a younger version of himself—alone, bleeding, hiding under Selia's table as voices shouted above him.
Laila faced a memory of her first healing—Tista in her arms, fevered, as she channeled water magic into her little sister's chest with no idea what she was doing.
Each platform held a choice.
A failure.
A fear.
"Face them," Vessara said, her voice everywhere. "Or fall."
Lucian closed his eyes.
Fusion wasn't just strength.
It was honesty.
He stepped into the memory and let it play. Let it hurt. He forgave himself. He stood tall.
So did Laila.
The platforms returned.
Vessara stood before them again, quieter now.
"You may pass," she said. "But the path ahead will not be kind. The third shard waits in the ruins of Thereth. A city swallowed by magic. Its people are not dead—but they are not alive, either."
Lucian met her gaze. "We'll face them."
"You'll face yourselves," she replied.
She turned and vanished into light.
The gate behind her cracked open slightly—enough for one more journey.
Lucian and Laila stepped through.
Beneath them, the spiral continued to turn.