Dawn came reluctantly to Lumina, as if the city itself knew what this day would bring.
Finn stood at the edge of the crystal tree's highest platform, watching the light creep across the spires below. His pack was heavy on his shoulders—supplies, his mother's journal, the two crystals warm against his chest. Beside him, his friends waited in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Elara had braided her hair tightly, the shells replaced with simple leather cords. She carried a waterskin that never emptied—a Tide gift—and a small knife that looked more ceremonial than practical, though Finn suspected she knew how to use it. Theo had wrapped himself in a grey travelling cloak, his eyes slightly glazed as he worked to block out the thoughts of the city waking around them. Briar stood like a stone, literally—she'd coated her skin with a thin layer of earth magic that would harden into armour at the first sign of danger. And Petra, their assigned guard, had refused to be left behind, her craggy face set in determined lines.
"You're sure about this?" Serafina stood before them, her silver eyes bright with unshed tears. She had argued for hours to be allowed to come, but Master Thorne had refused—someone needed to stay behind, to manage the Council, to keep Lumina from falling apart in their absence.
"We're sure," Finn said. "We have to try."
Serafina nodded slowly. Then she stepped forward and pulled Finn into an embrace so tight it drove the breath from his lungs. "Your mother would be so proud," she whispered. "So proud. Come back to us, Finn Merton. All of you."
"We will." Finn's voice cracked. "I promise."
She released him and stepped back, composing herself with visible effort. "The veil is weakest at the eastern edge of the city. Petra knows the way. Once you're through, follow the mountains. The crystal will guide you when you're close." She paused, then added, "And Finn—trust your instincts. They've served you well so far."
Finn nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Then he turned to his friends.
"Let's go."
The eastern edge of Lumina was nothing like the rest of the city. Where the other districts blazed with light and life, this was a place of shadows and silence. Abandoned buildings lined the streets, their crystal walls cracked and dark. The air was cold, biting, and carried a strange smell—like ozone after a storm, but wrong somehow. Poisonous.
"The old quarter," Petra explained quietly as they walked. "This is where Lumina ended, once, before the city grew. Beyond these buildings is the veil."
They passed through the last crumbling structure and emerged onto a barren plain. The ground was grey, lifeless, scattered with rocks that looked like they'd been shattered by some immense force. And ahead, stretching from one horizon to the other, was the veil.
It was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. A curtain of shimmering light, like the northern lights made solid, it pulsed and shifted with colours that didn't exist in any natural sky. Through it, Finn could see shapes—mountains, perhaps, or towers, or just tricks of the light. Impossible to tell.
"Once you step through, you're in the between," Petra said. "The space between worlds. It's disorienting. Time moves differently there. A minute can feel like an hour, an hour like a minute. The only way through is to keep moving, keep focused, keep your eyes on the destination." She looked at Finn. "Your mother's crystal will help. Follow its pull."
Finn reached into his robe and pulled out the dark crystal. It pulsed weakly, but the pulse had a direction now—a tug toward the veil, toward the mountains beyond.
"I feel it," he said. "It's pulling me east."
"Then east we go." Petra took a deep breath. "I'll go first. Stay close. Whatever you do, don't let go of each other."
She stepped through the veil and vanished.
Finn looked at his friends. Elara's face was pale but determined. Theo's eyes were wide, his mind clearly racing. Briar stood solid as ever, her earth-armour already beginning to harden.
"Together," Finn said.
They linked hands—Finn in the middle, Elara on one side, Theo on the other, Briar beside Theo—and stepped into the light.
The between was nothing.
That was the only way Finn could describe it. Not darkness—darkness at least had presence, had weight. This was absence. Emptiness. A place where nothing existed except the travellers who had somehow stumbled into it.
He couldn't feel his feet touching ground, but he was moving. Couldn't see light or shadow, but shapes flickered at the edges of his vision. Couldn't hear sound, but whispers brushed against his ears—whispers that sounded almost like words, almost like names, almost like his mother's voice.
Finn.
He stumbled, and Elara's grip tightened on his hand.
"Keep moving," she said, her voice muffled, distant. "Don't listen to them. They're not real."
He knew she was right. The between played tricks on the mind, pulled memories from your head and shaped them into traps. But knowing didn't make it easier. The whispers grew louder, more insistent.
Finn, my son. Finn, come to me. Finn, I'm waiting.
His mother's voice. Exactly as he'd imagined it from the photograph, from the journal entries. Warm. Loving. Desperate.
"Finn!" Theo's voice, sharp with alarm. "Your thoughts—they're scattering. Focus!"
Finn clenched his teeth and focused on the crystal. It was still there, still pulsing, still pulling him east. He followed the pull, step by step, refusing to look at the shapes that flickered and danced.
How long they walked, he never knew. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time had no meaning here. They could have been walking for a lifetime, or for the blink of an eye.
Then, without warning, the nothingness ended.
They burst through the veil on the other side, stumbling onto solid ground, gasping for air that actually tasted like something. Finn fell to his knees, his whole body trembling. Around him, his friends did the same.
After a moment, he looked up.
They were in a mountain pass. Steep cliffs rose on either side, their peaks lost in clouds. The ground was rocky, treacherous, scattered with boulders and loose scree. And ahead, visible through a gap in the mountains, was a darkness that didn't belong.
Black stone. A fortress carved into the mountain itself. At its base, a lake that reflected no light.
The Shadow Mountain.
"We made it," Elara whispered. "We actually made it."
"No." Petra's voice was grim. She was staring at the pass behind them, where the veil shimmered faintly. "We made it through. But we're not alone."
Finn turned to look. Shapes were emerging from the veil—dark shapes, humanoid but wrong, their movements jerky and unnatural. As they stepped onto the mountain path, they solidified into figures in black robes, their faces hidden by hoods.
Corvites.
"How did they follow us?" Theo's voice was high with fear. "I didn't sense them. I didn't sense anything in the between!"
"They were waiting." Petra drew a weapon from her belt—a short sword that glowed with earth magic. "They knew we'd come. They knew the veil would be our only path."
The Corvites advanced slowly, spreading out to block the pass. There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more. Behind them, the veil shimmered, cutting off any hope of retreat.
Finn looked at his friends. Elara had drawn her knife, though it looked pitifully small against the approaching enemies. Theo's hands were raised, his grey eyes blazing with concentration—he could attack minds, but there were too many, and he was already exhausted from the between. Briar had fully hardened her earth-armour, becoming a living statue of stone.
And Petra stood before them all, her sword ready, her face set in lines of grim determination.
"Get behind me," she said. "All of you. When I say run, you run. Don't look back."
"We're not leaving you—" Finn started.
"You're not leaving me. You're going to save your mother." Petra's voice was steel. "That's the mission. That's the only thing that matters. Now get behind me and be ready to run."
The Corvites were close now—close enough that Finn could see the emptiness beneath their hoods, the hollow spaces where faces should have been. Not human, then. Something else. Something Corvus had created to hunt.
The first one lunged.
Petra met it with her sword, the blade glowing bright as it struck. The Corvite dissolved into shadow, but two more took its place. She fought them, holding the line, her movements precise and deadly. But there were too many. Even as she struck down one, three more emerged from the veil.
"Run!" she screamed. "RUN!"
Finn grabbed Elara's hand and pulled her toward the mountain. Theo and Briar followed, scrambling over rocks, ignoring the cuts and bruises. Behind them, the sounds of battle grew fainter—Petra's battle cries, the hiss of dissolving Corvites, the clash of magic against shadow.
They ran until they couldn't run anymore, until their lungs burned and their legs gave out. They collapsed behind a large boulder, hidden from the pass below, gasping for breath.
When Finn finally looked back, he could see nothing but darkness. The veil shimmered in the distance. The Corvites were gone.
And so was Petra.
They waited for an hour, huddled behind the boulder, hoping to see her emerge from the darkness. She never did.
"She's gone," Theo said finally, his voice hollow. "I can't sense her thoughts anywhere. She's just... gone."
Finn slammed his fist against the rock, ignoring the pain. "She sacrificed herself for us. She knew what would happen and she did it anyway."
"That's what guards do." Briar's voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. "That's what friends do. She chose to give us a chance. We can't waste it."
Finn looked at his friends. They were battered, exhausted, terrified. But they were alive. And somewhere ahead, in that fortress of black stone, his mother was dying.
He pulled out the crystal. It was pulsing more strongly now, its tug unmistakable. She was close.
"We keep moving," he said. "For Petra. For my mother. For everyone who's counting on us."
They rose and continued up the mountain, into the shadow of the fortress, into the heart of darkness.
The path to the Shadow Mountain fortress was not guarded. That should have been suspicious, but Finn was too focused on the crystal's pull to think about it. Step by step, they climbed, until they stood before gates of black iron, carved with symbols that writhed and shifted in the dim light.
"Now what?" Theo whispered. "We can't just knock."
Finn reached out and touched the gates. The moment his fingers made contact, the symbols flared with light—red, angry, warning—and then, impossibly, the gates swung open.
"They're letting us in," Elara breathed.
"No." Finn stared at the open gates, his heart pounding. "They're welcoming us. Corvus knows we're here. He's been expecting us."
"Then we walk in anyway." Briar stepped forward, her stone-armour gleaming. "We've come too far to turn back now."
Finn nodded. Together, they stepped through the gates.
The fortress was a labyrinth of corridors carved from black stone, lit by torches that burned with cold blue flame. The air was heavy, oppressive, thick with magic that felt wrong—twisted, corrupted. Every step echoed in the silence, announcing their presence to whoever—whatever—might be listening.
The crystal pulled them deeper, through halls and chambers and staircases that seemed to shift when they weren't looking. Once, Finn caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows—a figure, watching, waiting—but when he turned, it was gone.
Finally, they reached a door. It was different from the others—carved from wood instead of stone, warm instead of cold, covered in symbols that Finn recognized from his mother's journal. Luminaire symbols. Protection symbols.
"She's in there," he whispered.
Theo closed his eyes, concentrating. "I can feel her thoughts. They're weak, barely there, but—yes. She's alive. She's waiting."
Finn reached for the door handle. It was warm to the touch, and as his fingers closed around it, he felt a surge of energy—his mother's energy, he realized. She knew he was here. She was reaching out to him.
He opened the door.
The room beyond was small, sparse, more cell than chamber. A single bed stood against one wall, and on that bed lay a woman. She was thin, painfully thin, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a shadow. Her face was pale, lined with pain and exhaustion. But her eyes—her silver eyes—were open, and they were looking at him.
"Finn," she whispered. "My son. You came."
Finn crossed the room in three steps and dropped to his knees beside the bed. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked, unashamed. "Mother. I'm here. I'm here."
Her hand reached up, trembling, and touched his cheek. Her skin was cold, so cold, but her eyes burned with a light that could never be extinguished.
"I knew you would come," she said. "I always knew. But you shouldn't have. It's a trap. Corvus—"
"I know." Finn gripped her hand, trying to warm it with his own. "I know it's a trap. I don't care. I had to come."
His mother smiled—a smile so like the one in the photograph that Finn's heart broke and healed in the same instant. "You have your father's stubbornness. And my courage. A dangerous combination."
At the door, his friends waited in silence, giving them this moment. But Finn knew they didn't have long. Any second, Corvus would appear. Any second, the trap would spring.
"Mother, I have to get you out of here. Can you walk?"
She shook her head weakly. "I can barely move. Corvus has drained me, taken almost everything. I'm sorry, Finn. I can't—"
"You don't have to." Finn reached into his robe and pulled out the two crystals—his own, bright and pulsing, and hers, dark and fading. "I'll carry you. I'll find a way. Just tell me what to do."
His mother's eyes widened as she saw the crystals. "You have both. You have mine and your own. Finn, do you know what that means?"
"No. Tell me."
"The crystals are linked. Mine to me, yours to you. If you combine them, if you merge their power—" She gasped, a spasm of pain crossing her face. "You could channel my strength through yours. You could carry me, heal me, protect me. But it's dangerous. The power might overwhelm you. It might—"
"I don't care." Finn pressed both crystals together. They resisted at first, then began to glow, brighter and brighter, until the light filled the entire room. "Tell me how."
His mother's hand tightened on his. "Open yourself. Completely. Let my power flow into you. Don't fight it. Don't try to control it. Just let it in."
Finn closed his eyes and opened himself, as Master Thorne had taught him. The crystals blazed, and suddenly he felt it—a flood of energy so vast, so overwhelming, that he nearly lost himself in it. His mother's power. Decades of magic, of knowledge, of love, pouring into him.
He gasped, his body arching, his mind reeling. But he held on. For her. For all of them.
When he opened his eyes, the room was dim again. The crystals had fused—become one, a single stone that pulsed with steady, gentle light. And his mother... his mother was sitting up, colour returning to her cheeks, strength flowing back into her limbs.
"Finn." Her voice was stronger now, wonder in it. "You did it. You actually did it."
Finn helped her to her feet. She was still weak, still fragile, but she could stand. She could move. She could—
The door burst open.
Corvus stood there, tall and terrible, his black robes swirling with shadows. Behind him, a figure waited in the darkness—a figure Finn recognized from his vision, from his mother's journal, from the reflection in the canal.
His father.
"Welcome, Finn Merton," Corvus said, his voice like ice and fire combined. "I've been waiting for you."
Finn stepped in front of his mother, the fused crystal blazing in his hand. His friends moved to flank him, ready to fight, ready to die.
"Let us go," Finn said, his voice steady despite the terror coursing through him. "Let us go, and I'll consider not destroying you where you stand."
Corvus laughed—a sound that made the shadows writhe. "Brave words from a boy who's barely learned to control his power. You think that crystal makes you my equal? You think your mother's borrowed strength can match what I've built over decades?"
"I think," Finn said quietly, "that I'm not alone. I think that matters more than you understand."
Behind him, Elara raised her hands, and water gathered from the air itself. Theo's eyes blazed with mental fire. Briar's stone-armour hardened to diamond. And his mother—his mother stood at his side, her silver eyes fixed on the man who had imprisoned her, who had tortured her, who had stolen eleven years of her life.
Corvus's smile flickered, just slightly. For the first time, Finn saw something like uncertainty in those dark eyes.
"You can't win," Corvus said. "Even together, you can't defeat me."
"Maybe not," Finn agreed. "But I can try. And that's more than you've ever done—risk everything for someone you love."
He raised the crystal, and light exploded from it—not borrowed light, not his mother's light, but his own. Pure. Bright. Unstoppable.
The battle for the Shadow Mountain had begun.
End of Chapter Nine