The dust of Whisperhold still clung to their cloaks when the Keepers descended from the tower's heights, the wind singing behind them in tones of quiet farewell. Aelis, newly awakened, moved with the hesitant steps of someone learning to breathe again.
"I can still hear it," she murmured. "The wind hasn't stopped speaking. It's like I've been gone a thousand years and returned to find the world whispering secrets I forgot how to understand."
Elara walked beside her, careful not to crowd the Keeper of Wind. "The world hasn't forgotten you," she said gently. "You just need time to remember it."
Behind them, Kael and Maeron spoke in low tones, their voices edged with a tension Elara had come to expect. Ryssa and Tovan were up ahead, scouting the trail that would lead them east toward the Mirrordeep—a place spoken of only in riddles and legend.
"Tell me again," Aelis said as she adjusted her cloak. "Why are we heading toward the one place even ghosts avoid?"
"Because the sigils say so," Tovan called from ahead. "And Elara's dreams never lie."
"I didn't say they don't lie," Elara muttered. "Just that they haven't lied yet."
They crested a rocky bluff by noon and came face to face with the Mirrordeep.
It stretched across the horizon like a sea of frozen glass—motionless, flawless, terrifying in its beauty. The water reflected not just the sky but also their shapes with perfect clarity. Yet there was something *wrong* about it, something in the way their reflections moved ever so slightly out of sync.
"I don't like it," Ryssa said. "Things that pretty shouldn't be alive."
"They say it remembers," Kael murmured. "Every death, every fear, every betrayal."
"It's a lake," Tovan scoffed. "A creepy one, sure, but water's water."
Aelis stepped forward. "No. It's a boundary."
Elara turned to her. "Between what and what?"
"Between self and soul," Aelis said. "The Mirrordeep reflects more than faces. It shows truths."
Kael stepped to the edge, unslinging his pack. "We'll rest here before attempting to cross. Night will be safer—less likely to be spotted from above."
Elara felt the cold bite of his meaning. The Woken, the Harrower's corrupted scouts, had already caught wind of their journey. The beacon from Whisperhold had lit the skies for leagues.
She looked again at the glassy water, her own reflection staring back at her, a flicker of flame in its eyes.
***
That night, the Keepers gathered around a small flame cupped in Elara's palm. The fire danced with strange colors, refracting oddly in the presence of the Mirrordeep.
Aelis sat apart, staring into the lake. "There's something moving beneath," she said.
Elara joined her. "A creature?"
"Possibly. Or maybe just a memory too heavy to sink."
Maeron sat down beside them, drawing a map into the sand with a gloved finger. "To reach the Heartforge, we'll have to pass through the Gate of Echoes. That's only accessible through the Silvershade Pass."
Kael nodded. "And to open that gate, we'll need the Light Sigil."
Elara frowned. "Lysandra."
Maeron blinked. "You know her?"
"I saw her in a dream. I think she knew me... before."
Kael looked toward the lake. "Then we find her."
Tovan scoffed. "In case it's not clear, we don't exactly have a map. And if we try to navigate through that," he pointed at the Mirrordeep, "we might all end up on the wrong side of our own minds."
Aelis stood. "Then we don't cross it. We go *into* it."
"What?" Ryssa said flatly. "You've been awake for two days and already you want to drown us?"
"The leylines beneath the Mirrordeep don't just run—they *sing*," Aelis said. "I remember the song. I can guide us through."
Kael exchanged a wary look with Maeron.
Elara stepped forward. "We trust her."
A moment of silence passed.
Then Kael nodded. "At dawn."
***
The water accepted them without sound.
Their bodies sank slowly beneath the mirrored surface, yet no breath was stolen, no chill seeped into their bones. Instead, they floated as though in a dream, suspended in light and sound.
Colors swirled. Voices whispered. Memories tugged at their limbs.
Elara drifted beside Aelis, who sang softly—a thread of melody so beautiful it made Elara's chest ache. She couldn't understand the words, but their meaning shimmered behind her eyes.
Ahead, a corridor of light unfolded, threading its way through the murky blue. The path was narrow, but solid. With each step, the water moved around them like silk.
And then—darkness.
A shadow moved through the depths, coiling with malice.
Kael's voice rang out like a bell. "Brace yourselves."
It came like thunder underwater—massive, sinuous, with eyes like dying stars. A leviathan. But not of flesh. This thing was built from memory, from pain, its body composed of hundreds of faces locked in expressions of agony.
"The Harrower's sentinel," Maeron said grimly. "Born of grief."
Elara raised her hands. Fire flared in the deep.
The leviathan shrieked.
The battle was chaos.
Ryssa hurled shards of stone that barely scratched the thing's hide. Tovan darted between shadows, slashing tendrils that whipped toward their throats. Kael and Maeron fought as one, blades striking in tandem.
But the leviathan grew with every fear they showed. Every doubt, every hesitation fed it.
Elara faltered—her fire dimming.
Then she felt Aelis beside her, grabbing her wrist.
"Don't fight it," Aelis said. "*Sing.*"
"What?"
"Sing who you are."
Elara closed her eyes and breathed.
And from her chest came a sound—not a song, but a *pulse*, a rhythm of flame and memory. She poured her entire being into it. Her grief. Her hope. Her *truth*.
The leviathan screamed, its form unraveling into smoke and echoes.
The path cleared.
Exhausted, the Keepers emerged from the water hours later, collapsing on a silent shore.
And there, waiting atop a rise, bathed in gentle golden light, stood Lysandra.
***
She was radiant.
Not in the way of torches or fire—but like the soft shimmer of moonlight through leaves. Her eyes were mirrors that reflected not your face, but your *essence*.
"You came through the Deep," she said, voice warm. "Few ever do."
Elara stood. "You're Lysandra."
"I was. And I am. But more importantly, I *remember* you."
Elara's breath caught. "We knew each other."
"In a time before forgetting," Lysandra said, stepping closer. "You were the Ember. The First Flame. The one who lit the Circle."
Kael stiffened. "The Ember is dead."
Lysandra looked at him. "Is she?"
No one spoke.
Tovan scratched his neck. "Well, this just got very complicated."
Lysandra extended a hand. "The Harrower marches for the Heartforge. But he cannot breach the Gate of Echoes without *my* sigil. That's why he's coming for me next."
Maeron frowned. "How long do we have?"
"Days. A week if the wind holds."
Ryssa cracked her knuckles. "Then we move now."
Lysandra looked to Elara. "The sigil must be awakened, not taken. It's bound to memory, and I—" she touched her temple, grimacing, "—am fractured."
Kael stepped forward. "What do you need?"
"A guide. Through my own mind."
Elara took a deep breath. "Then take me."
Lysandra nodded.
She stepped forward, placing her hand on Elara's forehead.
The world turned to gold.
***
Elara stood in a hall of mirrors.
Each one showed a different version of herself. A child, a warrior, a woman in flames, a woman in chains.
Lysandra stood at the center, her light flickering. "These are my truths. Walk with me."
They moved from mirror to mirror. One showed Lysandra as a child, holding a glowing orb. Another, as a woman weeping beside a crumbled temple. Another, fighting side by side with the other Keepers.
And then—one final mirror.
Elara reached for it.
She saw herself—older, cloaked in light and ash, standing before the Heartforge... and dying.
Lysandra touched her shoulder. "That is what may come. Not what must."
Elara turned. "I don't want to die."
"You may not have a choice."
"I'll find one," she whispered.
Lysandra smiled.
Light burst outward.
***
When Elara awoke, Lysandra stood tall, a glyph glowing on her palm.
"The sigil is yours," she said.
Kael approached. "Then we go to the Gate."
Lysandra nodded. "And beyond that—whatever remains of hope."
Elara stared at the horizon.
It burned gold.