The air within the Elderwood Forest was crisp and quiet, broken only by the rhythmic crunching of dried leaves beneath their boots. Arin walked beside Elira, the silence between them thick but not uncomfortable. Each was locked in thought, struggling to process the revelation that Elira was marked by something called the Lunaris Crest—a power feared and hunted across worlds.
But as the trees thinned and moonlight broke through the canopy, something shimmered on the forest floor—like silver threads hidden beneath the moss.
"Wait," Arin said, holding up a hand. "Do you see that?"
Elira knelt beside him, brushing aside leaves and revealing a strange etching in the earth. It looked like a star chart, but the constellations didn't match any she recognized.
"It's not just markings," she whispered. "It's... glowing."
Indeed, the lines pulsed faintly with light, as if reacting to the moon above. Arin's expression darkened, not with fear—but familiarity.
"I've seen this once before," he muttered. "A long time ago, on the border of the Mirrorlands."
Elira looked up sharply. "What are the Mirrorlands?"
"A fractured realm. One that lies between worlds. Dangerous. Ever-shifting. But more importantly—it's said to be the birthplace of ancient magic. Before even the kingdoms of Valecir formed."
He traced a line with his gloved finger. The moment he touched the marking, it pulsed brighter, casting moonlight-blue hues on their faces. A low vibration hummed through the earth beneath them.
Suddenly, the ground rumbled slightly—then cracked open with a soft hiss.
A stone pedestal rose from the forest floor, carrying atop it a glass orb floating just above a narrow groove in the stone. Inside the orb, tiny lights swirled—an entire starfield in miniature.
Elira stared, mouth slightly agape. "What is it?"
Arin didn't answer immediately. His gaze was locked on the orb, but his hand hovered inches away, hesitant. "A celestial map. It reacts only under moonlight… and only to certain bloodlines."
He turned to her. "You activated it."
"But you touched it—"
"And it lit up brighter when you looked at it," he interrupted. "That's not coincidence."
Elira took a deep breath and placed her palm on the side of the pedestal.
The lights inside the orb suddenly surged, the stars rearranging themselves, spinning into a new pattern—then halting. A line of glowing dots formed, connecting into a path.
Arin blinked. "It's showing us the way to something."
"To what?"
He looked at her, his voice barely above a whisper. "To the Arcane Spindle."
Elira didn't know what that was, but from the gravity in Arin's tone, she knew it mattered.
"Long ago," Arin continued, "when the worlds began to split, the Spindle was a nexus point. A place where realities still touch—where barriers thin. If the Lunaris Crest is part of your blood, it will awaken fully there."
Elira backed away from the pedestal, shaking her head. "I didn't ask for any of this. I don't want powers, or destinies, or ancient secrets. I just want to go home."
"I know," he said gently. "But this… this is the only path forward now. Your home might be tied to this far more deeply than we imagined."
She looked up at the moon, its silver glow cool and comforting, yet distant. The night felt alive around her, whispering things just out of reach. She could feel something stirring within her again—that low hum in her blood, the pull of something not quite her own.
They camped that night beside a stream, far enough from the glowing pedestal that its light faded into a memory. Elira sat beside the water, her hands submerged to the wrists, letting the cold numb her thoughts.
Arin approached silently, holding two cups of warmed berry tea. "No fire tonight. The light could draw attention."
"Thanks," she muttered, taking the cup without meeting his eyes.
For a long moment, they sipped in silence.
Then, Elira broke it. "What do you know about the Crest? Really."
Arin exhaled. "Only fragments. My mother was a lorekeeper—trained in myth, not magic. She told stories of a silver bloodline, marked by the moon, born once every thousand years. Most of it sounded like fantasy. Until…"
"Until what?"
"Until my older brother was hunted down by the Seekers."
She turned sharply. "He had the Crest?"
"No. But he tried to help someone who did."
Elira's heart twisted. "What happened?"
"They burned his name from every record. Said he betrayed the council. I was only ten. By the time I figured out the truth, it was too late. He was gone."
He looked away, jaw tight. "That's why I joined the Relic Guard. I wanted to find the truth behind the stories they erased. That's how I found the star map years ago. That's how I found you."
"So, I'm part of a myth," she said bitterly. "A hunted relic."
"No," Arin said firmly. "You're not a relic. You're a key."
"A key to what?"
"To changing everything."
Later that night, Elira dreamed again.
This time, she stood beneath a black sky with twin moons, surrounded by towers of glass and shadow. A woman in silver robes approached, her eyes glowing with soft light. Her voice echoed like a memory.
"You are not broken, Elira. You are unmade—meant to be remade. The Spindle awaits."
Elira reached for her, but the dream shattered into a thousand fragments.
She awoke with a start, sweat clinging to her neck despite the cool forest air.
Arin was already awake, sitting upright with a sword across his lap. "Bad dream?"
"More like a message," she whispered.
He looked at her seriously. "Then we keep moving."
By dawn, they had packed and followed the map the orb had shown. The trail led them deeper into the Elderwood, through mist-laced groves and hidden paths. Creatures stirred in the shadows, but none dared approach. Whether it was Arin's presence or the strange aura now pulsing around Elira, she couldn't tell.
Hours later, they reached a clearing surrounded by ancient stones.
A single statue stood in the center—a winged figure carved from dark marble, its eyes covered by a band of vines. In one hand it held a sword, in the other a mirror.
Elira approached, compelled by something she couldn't name. As she stood before the statue, the vines began to unravel from its eyes.
A low hum filled the air, and the mirror it held shimmered—not with reflection, but with moving scenes.
She saw her own face, then another—one identical to hers, but with eyes of molten silver. Behind the other version of herself was a city of towers in the clouds, burning.
Elira staggered back.
"What the hell was that?"
Arin caught her. "It's a memory gate. They were once used to test seers. But it just showed you a parallel self. A different fate."
"I don't understand any of this," she said, trembling.
"You don't need to," he said. "You just need to survive long enough to make it matter."
She looked at the sky. The moon would rise again tonight.
And with it, so would the path ahead.