Solaria was blinding.
From the moment they stepped out of the tunnel and into the lower city, Tavin felt like he was drowning in reflected sunlight. Every surface — wall, roof, streetlamp — shimmered like polished quartz. The air itself seemed to bend, refract, and bounce back at them.
"It's like walking through a diamond," he muttered.
Kaelara nudged him. "Don't look too long at anything. They'll think you're a tourist. Or worse, a spy."
"And we're not?"
"Exactly."
The Festival had already begun.
Crowds in ivory robes and glass-veiled masks moved through the marble plazas like choreographed spirits. Lanterns floated in midair, casting ripples of color through mirrored spires.
Music drifted — sharp strings and hollow bells — echoing through the polished corridors of the capital.
As Maika predicted, no one paid attention to them. The masks equalized everyone.
Kaelara's was styled like a fox, golden-tipped and sleek.
Niah's was plain — smooth porcelain with a single violet crack down one cheek.
Tavin's was matte black, marked with an old Skotos crescent that only the Gate could recognize.
"We only have a few hours," Niah whispered. "Maika said she'd be drawn to the glass hall."
"Where light bends but doesn't reflect," Kaelara added. "A space out of sync."
The Girl of Light:
They found her near the Mirror Hall.
Tavin saw it before he saw her — a shimmer in the air, like heat rising from glass. The crowd parted slowly around a woman in white robes with hair like woven sunlight. Her mask was translucent gold, revealing nothing… yet drawing every gaze.
She didn't walk so much as glide, the shadows around her softening and pulling away as she moved.
He stopped.
The Gate inside his arm pulsed — not in pain this time, but in recognition.
She's the one.
Kaelara stopped beside him, scowling under her fox mask.
"Seriously? Her?"
Niah narrowed her eyes. "The light moves for her, not around her. That's not Lucian training. That's something else."
As if sensing them, the girl turned her head slightly.
Her eyes — silver, faintly glowing — met Tavin's.
The air between them bent.
Tavin staggered back, catching a vision:
— A reflection pool cracking —
— Chains of light snapping in slow motion —
— A child standing in a sunlit cell, hand outstretched —
She gasped.
So did he.
Then she turned away and disappeared into the inner court.
They followed her through twisted glass tunnels and kale-lit archways. Finally, they reached a secluded garden — vines coiling around carved pillars, the sky open above.
She stood by a crystal fountain, unmoving.
Tavin stepped forward, slowly.
"You're… not from here, are you?" she asked without turning.
"No."
"You're not supposed to be here."
"Neither are you."
She did turn then — and for the first time, he saw her unmasked.
She was beautiful in a way that didn't try. Eyes like starfire. A single ribbon tied in her hair. No jewels. No pretence.
"I don't know who you are," she said, "but the light warned me. A fracture is coming. And you… feel like the cause."
Tavin stepped closer. "Or the result."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the light twisted — and she vanished.
The Echo Stirs:
Back near the festival square, a mirrored sentinel shivered.
Its reflection no longer matched the world.
In a silver chamber above, a Luxant Priest stood before a dozen Echo Watchers — their masks faceless, their blades shaped from refracted light.
"The fracture has entered the Hall," he said.
"Find it. Before the Gate sings again."