With a gentle motion of her hand, Samantha sliced the air. The space before her rippled—no flash, no sound, just a fluid distortion like heat shimmering over sunbaked stone. Canya blinked, instinctively clutching the hide to her chest as the world tilted and reshaped around her.
When the trembling air stilled, they were no longer in the cave.
Canya's feet met solid, polished ground. The air was still and silent. She looked around—wide-eyed, cautious. They stood in a flat, barren space ringed by silver dust and etched with faded symbols. At its very center rose a peculiar structure—an upright, glasslike stone that shimmered faintly under a light source that didn't exist.
"What is this place?" she whispered, stepping cautiously around the stone's circumference. "Where are we?"
"We are at the very center of the Circle," Samantha replied, her voice suddenly solemn. "This is the final threshold."
"The Circle? But... I thought we left it when we came out of the cave," Canya said, confusion coloring her tone.
"We never left," Samantha said gently. "Not truly."
Canya stared at the strange stone. It was almost invisible unless she looked at it from an angle. Its smooth surface reflected nothing, and yet, when she stared long enough, colors seemed to ripple inside—muted reds, deep violets, and the faintest echoes of blue.
"And this?" she asked, motioning toward the stone.
"It is the key," Samantha said. "Or the lock, depending on how you see it."
"To what?"
"To everything," her aunt replied. "To freedom. To truth. To all the memories the Circle has hidden from you. But it's not your burden to unlock it. It's Allan's."
Canya turned sharply. "Allan?"
Samantha nodded. "He has to tame Mashahl. Only then will this place let you go."
"But…" Canya looked around again, a sudden unease settling in her stomach. "I don't see him. Where is he? We're out of the cave. Shouldn't we see him?"
Samantha didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked around as if examining the space herself, then took a slow breath.
"That's what makes this place difficult to understand," she said finally. "We are still inside the Circle. Even now."
Canya's brow furrowed. "That doesn't make sense. I can see everything out there. Look." She pointed into the distance. "See those trees? The white-barked ones. I remember them from before. The chalk trees."
"Chalk trees?" Samantha's head turned in Canya's direction, a hint of confusion in her gaze.
"Those trees over there." Canya motioned again.
Samantha followed her gaze and then chuckled softly. "Oh. Those ones. No, Canya. Those aren't trees. They're not real."
Canya frowned. "What do you mean not real?"
"They're illusions. Just like most of what you've seen here."
"You're saying… all of it? The trees, the plains, the mountains?"
Samantha nodded. "Fabricated. Constructs. The Circle pulls from your memories and your mind. It forms what you expect to see, what you fear, what you hope. Most of the time, it's harmless. But for those with power—or those caught in prophecy—it can be more… persuasive."
Canya turned slowly, her eyes scanning the pale horizon. Everything suddenly seemed less solid. Less certain. "Then… was Mashahl real?"
"To a degree," Samantha said carefully. "He was made real by your belief. By the Circle's power. That made him dangerous."
"And Henry? Was he real?"
"To a degree."
Canya's voice dropped, a whisper, almost unheard. "And Allan?"
Samantha turned to her, her eyes dim with something like sorrow. "Allan is real. His journey is real. And his choices will determine what becomes of this place—and of you."
Canya gripped the hide tighter, knuckles white. "So, what happens if he doesn't succeed in taming Mashahl?"
Samantha's eyes turned to the glasslike stone. Her lips tightened into a grim line. "Then you die."
The words struck Canya like ice. Her grip faltered, the hide suddenly heavy in her hands.
"Me? Why me?"
"Because," Samantha said slowly, her voice soft but unwavering, "you're the one who's trapped in the Circle."
Canya took a step back, heart pounding, a frantic drum against her ribs. "No… no, that doesn't make sense. I'm here. I'm talking to you. I'm holding this hide."
"I know," Samantha said. "But all of this—the space, the conversation, even me—might be part of your prison."
Canya shook her head, a desperate denial. "No. That's not possible. You're here with me."
A silence fell between them. Canya stared at Samantha, willing her to laugh, to contradict what she'd just said. But instead, her aunt gave her a soft, almost wistful smile.
"Where am I then?" Canya asked, her voice shaking, barely a thread of sound. "If I'm not here, where is my real body? What world is this?"
Samantha didn't answer, her gaze distant, unreadable.
"Then who are you?" Canya demanded, tears stinging her eyes, blurring Samantha's already ethereal form. "If I'm trapped… and none of this is real… who am I talking to?"
Her aunt opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"Samantha?" Canya reached forward, her hand trembling.
But her hand passed through empty air.
Samantha's outline shimmered like a fading mirage, the edges of her body unraveling into threads of light. Her face lingered for a heartbeat—just long enough to offer one final, sorrowful expression, a fleeting message of regret—before it too dissolved entirely.
And then she was gone.
Canya stood alone at the heart of the Circle, the hide in her hands glowing faintly, the only tangible thing in a dissolving reality. Her breath came quickly, too quickly, ragged and thin in the sudden, profound emptiness. The silence around her stretched like a blanket too heavy to remove, suffocating and vast.
She looked back toward the chalk trees—but now they flickered, dimmed, pulsed, like painted images trying to hold their shape under intense scrutiny. They were no longer solid.
The air was still, the polished ground unchanging beneath her feet. The shimmering glasslike stone pulsed once, a single, silent beat.
The Circle waited.
And Canya, for the first time since this journey began, realized that even her questions had questions, spiraling into an abyss of uncertainty.