The weeks that followed the explosion brought changes to Lumina that none of the students had expected. Guards now patrolled the crystal tree's corridors day and night, their stone-grey uniforms a constant reminder that the city was no longer safe. Lessons were interrupted by emergency drills. Students were forbidden from walking alone after dark. And everywhere, in every hall and classroom and dining table, whispers followed Finn like shadows.
There he is. The one they're protecting. The one who saved all those people. The one they say caused it all.
The last whisper hurt most. Finn tried not to let it show, but he saw it in the way some students looked at him—fear mixed with suspicion, as if his very presence was a danger to them all. Cassius Vane had started the rumor, of course. Finn had heard it from Theo, who'd heard it from the thoughts of Cassius's friends: Merton brought this on us. Before he came, Lumina was safe. Now people are dying.
No one had died. The healers had saved everyone injured in the explosion. But facts rarely stopped rumors, and rumors rarely stopped hurting.
On a grey morning when the eternal twilight seemed dimmer than usual, Finn sat in Master Thorne's spire, struggling to maintain the shield he'd created during the collapse. The old man had been pushing him harder than ever, demanding perfection, accepting nothing less.
"Again," Master Thorne said.
Finn's shield flickered and died. He slumped forward, gasping for breath. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the crystal floor.
"I can't," he panted. "I've been at this for hours."
"You held the shield for three heartbeats during the collapse. Three heartbeats that saved lives. Now you cannot hold it for three minutes." Master Thorne's voice was cold, unyielding. "Again."
Finn wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something. Wanted to tell the ancient man exactly what he thought of his endless demands. But somewhere beneath the exhaustion and frustration, he knew Thorne was right. The shield had come from desperation, from love, from a place so deep he hadn't known it existed. To summon it at will, to control it, to make it his own—that was the real work.
He closed his eyes and reached for the elements.
Fire, warm and bright. Water, cool and deep. Air, light and free. Earth, steady and strong. He felt them waiting, patient, willing. Not as tools to command, but as partners to invite.
Help me, he thought. Help me protect.
The elements answered.
Fire wove itself into a lattice of heat. Water flowed through the gaps, cooling, strengthening. Air swirled around the edges, creating a cushion against impact. Earth formed the core, solid and unbreakable. The shield bloomed around him, visible now—a dome of shimmering light that pulsed with all four elements in perfect harmony.
Master Thorne raised his staff and struck the shield. The blow glanced off, harmless. He struck again, harder. The shield held. A third time, with power behind it—and still the shield held.
"Enough," Thorne said.
Finn released the shield and opened his eyes. The old man was staring at him with an expression he'd never seen before. It took him a moment to recognize it.
Pride.
"That was well done," Thorne said quietly. "Better than well done. In all my centuries, I have never seen a first-year create a shield of such strength." He lowered himself onto his cushion, his ancient joints cracking. "Your mother could do this. But not until her third year. You are ahead of her, Finn Merton. Far ahead."
Finn sank onto his own cushion, exhaustion washing over him. "Why? What makes me different?"
Thorne was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer than Finn had ever heard it.
"Your mother was powerful. Gifted beyond measure. But she was also afraid—afraid of her power, afraid of what it might cost her, afraid of becoming like the man she loved." He met Finn's eyes. "You are not afraid. You were afraid once, perhaps, in the ordinary world. But here, with your friends, with your purpose—the fear has burned away. What remains is pure. Untainted. That is why the elements answer you so readily."
Finn thought about that. Was it true? He didn't feel brave. He felt tired and scared and overwhelmed. But when the moment came—when Briar needed him, when the shield was necessary—he hadn't hesitated. Maybe that was what Thorne meant. Not an absence of fear, but a willingness to act despite it.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"Now you rest." Thorne rose with difficulty, leaning heavily on his staff. "And tonight, you will join your friends for the Festival of Tides. It is important that you are seen, that you are normal, that you are happy. The spy who watches will report that Finn Merton is just a boy, not a threat."
"You want me to be bait?"
"I want you to be visible." Thorne's ancient eyes held his. "The spy will act eventually. When they do, we will be ready. But until then, you must live your life. Train. Laugh. Love. That is what your mother would want."
Finn thought of his mother, imprisoned in the Shadow Mountain, dreaming of him as she suffered. The thought made his chest ache.
"I'll try," he said.
The Festival of Tides was Lumina's oldest celebration, a night when the Tide quarter transformed into a wonderland of light and water. Canals that normally flowed with quiet purpose were dyed in brilliant colours, their waters glowing blue and green and gold. Floating lanterns drifted through the air, each one a tiny sun that cast warm light on the crowds below. Music filled every corner—not just from instruments, but from the water itself, which had been enchanted to sing as it flowed.
Finn walked through the festival with his friends, trying to lose himself in the magic of it all. Elara had braided her hair with glowing shells that clicked softly as she moved. Theo kept stopping to stare at the floating lanterns, his grey eyes wide with wonder. Briar walked close to Finn, still recovering from her injuries but determined not to miss the celebration.
And for a few hours, Finn almost forgot. Almost forgot about spies and Council meetings and the shadow of his father. Almost forgot that somewhere, an enemy was watching.
Then he saw the reflection.
They were standing on a bridge over one of the main canals, watching the coloured waters flow beneath them. Finn leaned over the railing, gazing at his own reflection in the glowing liquid. For a moment, everything was normal—his silver eyes, his dark hair, the crystal visible through his robe.
Then the reflection changed.
Instead of his own face, he saw another. A man, tall and dark-haired, with eyes that were the exact silver of Finn's own. The man was looking at him with an expression that was impossible to read—longing, regret, hunger, all mixed together. Behind him, shadows writhed and twisted, reaching toward Finn with grasping hands.
Finn stumbled backward, gasping. The reflection vanished. The canal flowed on, innocent and beautiful.
"Finn?" Elara was at his side instantly. "What happened?"
"I saw—" He stopped. What had he seen? His father? A vision? A trick of the light? "Nothing. I thought I saw something in the water. It's nothing."
But Theo was looking at him strangely, his grey eyes troubled. "Finn, your thoughts—they went dark. Completely dark. I couldn't read anything for a second."
"I'm fine." Finn forced a smile. "Really. Let's keep going."
They moved on, but Finn couldn't shake the feeling of those silver eyes watching him. He kept glancing at every reflective surface—windows, canals, even the polished stone of the buildings—half expecting to see the man again.
He didn't. But the feeling of being watched never left.
Later that night, as the festival reached its peak, Finn found himself alone on a quiet balcony overlooking the main canal. His friends had been pulled away—Elara by a group of Tide elders who wanted to discuss her progress, Theo by a Zephyr teacher who'd noticed his unusual sensitivity, Briar by her family, who'd come to the festival specifically to see her after her near-death experience.
Finn didn't mind being alone. After weeks of constant attention—from guards, from teachers, from students who either worshipped or feared him—solitude was a relief.
He leaned on the balcony railing and watched the festival below. Couples danced on floating platforms. Children chased glowing fish through the shallows. Old friends sat at canal-side cafes, laughing and drinking and celebrating life.
It was beautiful. It was peaceful. And it felt, to Finn, like a world he could never truly be part of.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
The voice came from beside him. Finn turned to find a woman he didn't recognize—middle-aged, with dark hair streaked with grey, and eyes the colour of deep water. She wore Tide blue, but her robes were simple, unadorned, the kind worn by those who worked rather than studied.
"It is," Finn agreed cautiously. "Are you from the Tide quarter?"
"Born and raised." She smiled, and there was something familiar about that smile, something that tugged at Finn's memory. "I've lived here all my life. Seen a hundred Festivals of Tides. But this one—" She looked out at the glowing waters. "This one feels different. Special."
"Why?"
She turned to look at him, and her ocean-coloured eyes held his with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "Because you're here, Finn Merton. Because the son of Elena has finally come home."
Finn tensed. "How do you know my mother?"
The woman's smile widened, and something shifted in her expression—something cold, something hungry. "I knew her better than most. Better than she knew herself, perhaps."
Finn's hand moved toward his pocket, toward the crystal. "Who are you?"
"My name is Mira." She took a step closer, and Finn saw that her eyes weren't just ocean-coloured—they were empty, depthless, like water with no bottom. "I served your mother once. Carried her messages. Kept her secrets. Loved her like a sister." Another step. "And then I watched her fall in love with the wrong man. Watched her trust him when she shouldn't have. Watched her lose everything because of it."
Finn backed away, his heart pounding. "You're the spy. You caused the explosion."
Mira laughed—a sound like water gurgling down a drain. "The explosion was a test. A simple test to see what you could do. And you passed, little Finn. Exceeded all expectations." She tilted her head, studying him like a specimen. "Your mother would be proud. She always knew you'd be special."
"Don't talk about her." Finn's voice was sharp, angry. "You don't get to talk about her."
"Oh, but I do." Mira's eyes glittered. "I know things about your mother that you'll never learn. Things she hid from everyone, even Serafina. Things that would break your heart if you knew them." She took another step, and now Finn's back was against the railing. "Your father wasn't always a monster, you know. He was kind once. Gentle. Your mother loved him with everything she had. And when he betrayed her, when he sold her to Corvus for a promise of power, she still loved him. Still hoped. Still believed he could be saved."
The words hit Finn like blows. He thought of his mother's journal, of the entries that spoke of love and hope and heartbreaking faith. It was true. All of it was true.
"Why are you telling me this?" he demanded.
"Because you need to understand." Mira's voice softened, and for a moment, she looked almost human. "Corvus doesn't just want your power. He wants you to become like him. He wants to twist you, corrupt you, make you his heir. And he'll use your father to do it. He'll dangle him in front of you like bait, hoping you'll reach out, hoping you'll try to save him, hoping you'll fall into the same trap your mother did."
Finn stared at her, his mind reeling. "You're warning me. Why would you warn me if you work for him?"
Mira smiled again, and this time there was something sad in it. "Who says I work for him?"
Before Finn could respond, the air beside them shimmered and Petra materialized, her stone-grey eyes blazing. "Step away from the boy."
Mira laughed. "Your guard is loyal. That's good. You'll need loyal people in the days ahead." She stepped back, raising her hands in surrender. "I'm not here to hurt him. I'm here to deliver a message."
"From whom?" Petra demanded.
"From someone who wants Finn to know the truth. All of it." Mira looked at Finn, and her empty eyes held something that might have been kindness. "Your mother is dying, little Finn. Corvus's interrogations have weakened her. She doesn't have much time left. If you want to save her, you must come to the Shadow Mountain. Alone. Before the winter solstice. After that, it will be too late."
Finn's blood turned to ice. "You're lying."
"I wish I were." Mira reached into her robe and pulled out a small object—a crystal, identical to the one Finn carried, but dark, almost black. "This belonged to your mother. She gave it to me years ago, before she was taken. It's been dark ever since. But three days ago, it pulsed with light. Just once. Just for a moment." She held it out, and Finn saw that it was true—the crystal flickered faintly, weakly, like a candle about to go out. "She's reaching out. Trying to contact you. But she doesn't have the strength."
Finn's hand went to his own crystal. It was warm, pulsing urgently, as if responding to its twin.
"What do I do?" he whispered.
Mira's eyes met his. "That's not for me to decide. I've delivered my message. What you do with it is your choice." She glanced at Petra, who was watching with barely contained fury. "Your guard will try to stop you. The Council will try to stop you. They'll tell you it's a trap, that you're not ready, that you need more training. Maybe they're right. But if you wait too long, your mother dies." She stepped back toward the railing. "Choose wisely, Finn Merton. The fate of two worlds hangs in the balance."
Then she tipped backward over the railing and fell into the canal below.
Finn rushed to the edge, looking down. The water churned and bubbled, and for a moment he saw a dark shape moving through the glowing depths. Then it was gone, and the canal flowed on as if nothing had happened.
Petra was already sounding the alarm, her voice echoing through the night. Guards appeared from everywhere, plunging into the water, searching. But Finn knew they wouldn't find her. Mira was gone.
He stood on the balcony, staring at the spot where she'd disappeared, his mother's crystal pulsing weakly against his chest.
She's dying. If you want to save her, you must come to the Shadow Mountain. Alone. Before the winter solstice.
The words echoed in his mind, a countdown to catastrophe.
The Council meeting that followed was chaos.
Finn sat in the centre of the chamber, surrounded by angry voices and accusing stares. Serafina was there, her face pale with shock. Master Thorne had been summoned from the spire, his ancient eyes sharp with concern. Petra stood behind Finn like a stone statue, her failure written on her face.
"She should never have gotten that close," the Ember woman was saying, her voice crackling with fury. "The guard was supposed to protect him, not stand by while some Corvite spy delivered messages!"
"She appeared out of nowhere," Petra said stiffly. "One moment the balcony was empty. The next, she was there. There was no warning, no sign—"
"There's always a sign if you're paying attention." The Zephyr girl's grey eyes were cold. "I've been monitoring thoughts throughout the city. There's been a shadow in the Tide quarter for weeks—a mind that doesn't think like the others. I should have caught it."
"You should have," the Tide man agreed, his serene voice edged with steel. "We all should have. This failure belongs to all of us."
"Enough." Master Thorne's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Blaming each other accomplishes nothing. The question is: what do we do now?"
All eyes turned to Finn.
He sat quietly, his hands clasped in his lap, the twin crystals—his own and his mother's—warm against his chest. He'd been thinking since the balcony, thinking harder than he'd ever thought in his life.
"She told me my mother is dying," he said quietly. "She showed me the crystal. It's almost dark. If she's telling the truth, I don't have much time."
"It's a trap," the Ember woman said immediately. "Obviously a trap. Corvus wants you to come to him, and he's using your mother as bait."
"Probably," Finn agreed. "But what if it's not? What if she really is dying? What if I stay here, safe behind Lumina's walls, and she dies alone in that prison?" His voice cracked. "I can't do that. I won't."
"You're eleven years old," the Stone man rumbled. "You've been training for two months. You can't possibly—"
"I can't possibly what? Save my mother?" Finn stood, and something in his voice made the Council fall silent. "I held a building up with my bare hands. I created a shield that four elements couldn't break. I've learned more in two months than most Luminaires learn in two years. And you're telling me I can't try?"
"You don't know the way to the Shadow Mountain," the Tide man pointed out. "You don't know how to get past Corvus's defenses. You don't even know if your mother is really there."
Finn reached into his robe and pulled out his mother's journal. "She wrote about it. Not the exact location, but enough. Mountains to the east, beyond the veil. A fortress carved into black stone. A lake of shadow at its base." He opened the journal to a marked page. "And she wrote about a path. A secret path that only someone with her blood can follow."
He held up the dark crystal. "This will guide me. It's linked to her. As long as it pulses, I can find her."
The Council exchanged glances. Finn could see them wavering, could see the arguments forming on their lips.
Then Serafina spoke.
"He's right."
Everyone turned to stare at her. She met their gazes calmly, her silver eyes steady.
"He's right," she repeated. "We can keep him here, safe behind our walls, while his mother dies. We can tell ourselves it's for his own good, that we're protecting him, that we know better. But we would be wrong." She looked at Finn, and there was love in her eyes—love and grief and pride all mixed together. "Elena didn't hide him for eleven years so he could hide from his destiny. She hid him so he could grow strong enough to face it. And he has. Stronger than any of us dared hope."
"Serafina—" the Ember woman began.
"No." Serafina's voice was gentle but final. "I've spent eleven years mourning my friend, blaming myself for not protecting her. I won't spend another eleven years mourning her son because we were too afraid to let him try."
Master Thorne rose, leaning heavily on his staff. "The girl speaks wisdom." He looked at Finn, and his ancient eyes held something that might have been respect. "You will not go alone. That is not negotiable. Choose companions you trust—ones who can keep you alive and out of trouble. Take supplies. Take weapons. Take every advantage you can."
Finn nodded, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you."
"Don't thank us yet." The Stone man's voice was gruff, but his eyes were kind. "Thank us when you come back with your mother. Alive. Both of you."
That night, Finn gathered his friends on their platform for the last time.
They sat in silence for a long moment, the lights of Lumina spread out below them, the eternal twilight casting soft shadows across their faces. Finn had told them everything—Mira's message, the Council's decision, his plan to leave at dawn.
"So," Elara said finally, her voice carefully controlled. "You're going to the Shadow Mountain. To face Corvus. Alone."
"Not alone." Finn looked at each of them in turn. "I'm not asking you to come. This is my fight, my family. If you want to stay—"
"Don't be an idiot." Theo's voice was sharp. "Of course we're coming. You think we'd let you walk into certain death by yourself?"
"Certain death might be optimistic," Briar muttered. "But yes. We're coming."
Elara reached out and took Finn's hand. "We're your family now too, Finn Merton. Whether you like it or not. And family doesn't let family face monsters alone."
Finn felt tears prick his eyes. He blinked them back fiercely. "You're all insane. You know that, right?"
"Learned from the best." Theo grinned, but his grey eyes were serious. "So. What's the plan?"
Finn pulled out his mother's journal, opened to the page with the path. "We follow this. Through the veil, east toward the mountains. The crystal will guide us once we're close. And we move fast—we have less than two weeks until the solstice."
"And when we get there?" Briar asked quietly.
Finn was silent for a moment. He thought of his mother, pale and suffering in her prison. He thought of his father, the man who had betrayed her, who now served the darkest force in their world. He thought of Corvus, waiting in his fortress of shadow, hungry for the power that flowed in Finn's blood.
"When we get there," he said, "we do what needs to be done."
They sat together on the platform as the night deepened, four friends about to embark on a journey that could kill them all. Below them, Lumina shone on, beautiful and oblivious, a city of light about to lose its brightest hope.
And far away, beyond the veil, something stirred in the darkness and smiled.
End of Chapter Eight