The night was hushed, heavy with the kind of silence that seemed to press against the skin. Sophie stood by the tall window of her chambers, staring at the distant east wing where the rooflines stretched like dark claws against the moonlight. The corridor leading there had been sealed off, guards stationed more heavily in recent days. Still, the secrets within those walls called to her like a whisper carried on the wind.
Eira slipped inside quietly, shutting the door behind her. She carried a bundle beneath her cloak and set it down on the table. "Lanterns," she murmured. "And cloaks dark enough to keep us unseen."
Sophie turned, unease stirring in her chest. "After today's council session, Alexander won't let his guard down again. He knows I'm hiding something."
"All the more reason we need to move quickly," Eira countered, her voice low but fierce. "If we wait, he'll close every door before we even touch the handle. The east wing may hold the only answers left to us."
Sophie pressed her lips together. She thought of the look in Alexander's eyes—sharp, testing, almost hungry—as though every word she had spoken at council had been written into his ledger of suspicion. To sneak into forbidden halls now felt reckless. But what choice did she have? Nara's warning still echoed in her ears: The queen is not dead. The prophecy breathes.
If that was true, then Seraphina's fate and Sophie's own arrival here were entangled. She could not untangle them from her chambers.
"Tonight, then," Sophie whispered, the words trembling as they left her lips.
They moved carefully through the palace after the last bells rang, marking the midnight watch. Their cloaks blended with the shadows, their slippers muffled against the cold stone floors.
Twice they passed guards, and Sophie's heart leapt into her throat. But Eira knew the patrol patterns as though she had memorized them, pulling Sophie into alcoves and behind thick curtains until the danger passed.
At last they reached the corridor leading to the east wing. A pair of armored sentries blocked the main entry, their halberds gleaming in the torchlight. Sophie's stomach sank.
"There's no way through," she whispered.
Eira's eyes gleamed. "No way through the front. But there are other ways. The palace wasn't always guarded like a fortress."
Sophie frowned. "What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, Eira led her down a side hall, the stones growing older and the light dimmer. Dust clung to the walls here, the tapestries worn and forgotten. At the end of the passage, she pushed open a warped wooden door and revealed a narrow staircase spiraling down into the dark.
Sophie hesitated, staring into the blackness. "What is this?"
"A servant's passage," Eira whispered. "Built centuries ago, when the palace was young. Few remember them now." She lit one of the lanterns, its glow casting trembling shadows across the stone. "It leads beneath the east wing."
Sophie swallowed her fear and followed.
The air grew colder as they descended, damp with the smell of earth and stone. Their footsteps echoed softly, the sound strangely hollow. The passage wound like a serpent, leading them deeper until Sophie lost all sense of direction.
Finally, they emerged into another corridor—this one choked with dust and cobwebs. The walls bore faded murals of winged figures and star-shaped sigils, half-erased by time.
Sophie brushed her fingers across the symbols, a strange shiver coursing through her. "What is this place?"
Eira's face was grim. "Older than the throne itself. Perhaps older than Eldoria."
They pressed onward.
The corridor ended at a heavy door, its wood blackened with age and its frame carved with strange runes Sophie did not recognize. She reached out instinctively, but Eira caught her wrist.
"Careful," she warned. "Magic lingers in places like this."
Sophie drew back, her breath quickening. "Then how do we get through?"
Eira studied the carvings, tracing one with her fingertip. "Sometimes the wards are only for show. Sometimes they sleep until awakened. Either way, we must risk it."
She pressed her hand flat against the door. For a moment, nothing happened—then a faint shimmer rippled across the wood, like moonlight on water. The air crackled, and Sophie felt the hairs on her arms rise.
Then the shimmer faded. The door groaned, slowly creaking open.
Beyond lay darkness.
They stepped inside.
The room was vast, larger than any chamber Sophie had seen in the palace, though its ceiling hung low with ancient beams. Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of books, scrolls, and jars filled with strange substances that glimmered faintly in the lantern light. Tables were scattered with half-rotted manuscripts, broken quills, and shattered crystal spheres.
But what drew Sophie's gaze was the mural painted across the far wall.
It showed a woman crowned in silver, her hair like flame, standing against a storm of shadows. Beside her, a man with eyes of fire and wings of light. Between them, a rift in the sky where stars bled into darkness.
Sophie's heart hammered. She didn't need to ask who the woman was. She knew.
"Seraphina," she whispered.
Eira stepped closer, her face pale. "This… this is no ordinary mural. It's prophecy. Look—there's you."
Sophie turned sharply, shaking her head. "No."
But Eira pointed. Near the painted queen, a smaller figure knelt, wrapped in unfamiliar garb. Modern garb. Sophie's breath caught. The face was blurred, worn by age, but the outline was unmistakable.
"It's you, Sophie," Eira whispered.
Sophie's legs nearly gave way. She backed away, clutching the edge of a table to steady herself. "No… that's impossible."
"Impossible or not, someone painted it centuries ago."
Sophie pressed her hand to her mouth. If this was true—if her presence had been foreseen—then she was not here by chance. She was part of the prophecy.
Her mind reeled. But what does it mean? What role am I meant to play?
Before she could answer, a sound froze her blood.
The clang of a boot against stone.
Sophie and Eira spun. From the doorway, torchlight flickered. Shadows moved. Voices muttered.
"Guards," Eira hissed, her face paling.
Sophie's heart thundered. They had been found.
They doused the lantern quickly, plunging into darkness. Sophie's hand closed around Eira's, and they ducked behind a tall shelf just as footsteps entered the room.
"Search carefully," a stern voice commanded. "The king wants answers."
Sophie pressed her back against the wood, her chest heaving silently. Her mind screamed with panic. Alexander. He had set the trap—and they had walked right into it.
Eira's grip on her hand tightened. They would have to escape. But how, when the shadows themselves seemed to be closing in?