When Reine stopped speaking, the silence lasted several breaths. The story she had told didn't sound like a tale parents used to scare children. It felt like memory passed down through generation.

Roselys looked toward Reine with a gentle expression, as if she wanted to hide her pity but couldn't help feeling sorry for the child. Vencian caught the same thought in her expression.

If Reine was meant to be sacrificed, then her bloodline wasn't common. The Hollow Eater wanted descendants of that royal line.

A thought rose in his head before he could stop it. If Reine is here, then who would they give instead? He imagined the villagers at night, the same pit, the same chant—only this time with Neine.

She's her sister. She has the same blood as her.

The idea made his stomach tighten. He didn't share it. Urgency settled in his chest like weight. They had to leave before those people could do the next offering.

They talked about some auspicious hours lasting till twelve hours long.

Reine sat near the chalice again, her eyes distant. Vencian asked the question that had been bothering him. "The Solshifter who came to take the payment. What happened to him?"

Reine blinked, thinking. "I don't know. The story never said. No one talked about him."

Vencian didn't push further. Her tone told him that was all she knew.

Neine said their parents are no more…

He saw her tremble in her fingers. It seemed after rehearsing the story for them she realized the truth of her own situation she had to go through.

Vencian hesitated before reaching out. Her hand felt weightless, cool as river stone.

He clasped it, meaning only comfort, but the touch snagged something in him — a small, uneven rhythm he'd once known well, back when the world began to tilt.

He almost said it aloud. Maybe that's why I keep seeing them. Instead, he let out a breath through his nose, half a laugh at his own foolishness.

Reine looked up, eyes glassy, and leaned against him as if her body had decided before her mind could object.

Vencian froze, arms stiff, then gave her back a quick pat. "Easy, girl," he muttered. "You'll dent the armor. Fines for that in three provinces."

A sound like a laugh caught in her throat.

He softened a little. "When we get out, I'll take you somewhere. Moonfrost Keep. Quiet place. You can see the whole valley from the wall. On clear nights, the mist turns to a sea."

Reine's voice came muffled. "Does it snow there?"

"Every other night," he said. "You wake to a white courtyard. Trees crack when the sun hits them. Sounds like glass breaking."

She stirred, her head lifting a fraction. "Do people live there?"

"Some. Guards, a few servants, my mother, who till this day scolds me if I don't eat my food on time." He smiled faintly. "Bring anyone you like. It's safer than this pit."

Reine exhaled, content with that. "Sounds nice… even if…" The words faded mid-breath. Sleep took her before she could finish.

Vencian sighed. He laid her against a pack, brushed hair from her face, and stood. For a moment, he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. Then he turned to the pedestal.

Roselys crouched there already, studying the chalice. She looked up. "You like children?"

He grunted. "Hardly."

Her smile was quick. "I do." She turned back to the relic. "This is their god's image," she said. "Like how the True Light keeps a prism."

Vencian crouched beside her. The surface of the chalice caught faint red reflections from the walls. He remembered how it had moved before the pull. It was clattering. None of them saw it. Were they too distracted? Or was I the only one who could see it move? He rubbed his temple. And that pain before it happened... what was that?

Roselys circled the slab once. "If this temple belonged to Erythareon, it means he was a demigod, not a full god," she said. "It makes sense. In the old days, they built temples for each one separately."

Vencian nodded slowly. "Then this place isn't another country." He glanced around the hall. "It's another layer of it."

She understood immediately. "A separate plane," she said. "Or a mirror of the old world."

That idea settled in both of them. The air felt thicker after it. There wasn't a door to the outside, only the same faint haze through the cracks.

"If it brought us here, it must have a trigger to send us back," Vencian said. "Something started it."

Roselys folded her arms. "The pattern Harin drew. The circles around the chalice. He said it would keep something from waking."

Vencian traced a shape in the dust. "If we draw it again, maybe it reacts the same way. Or maybe the timing matters."

She looked toward the dull sky through the broken roof. "So both the design and the time must align."

They studied the pedestal again. The floor held faint grooves that matched what he had seen before the pull. Roselys crouched and ran her hand along one, frowning. "These marks are old. They might be part of the same ritual."

Vencian remembered why they had come to the village at all. "We were supposed to find proof that the moon's scarlet pattern connected to the Erythrai clan." He drew that crescent-like mark on the ground with his sword tip. "Have you seen this before?" he asked Reine.

Reine shook her head. "I don't know what it means."

He sighed. Back to where we started. He leaned on the nearest pillar to think. The pillar shifted slightly under his weight. A scrape echoed through the temple.

The chalice slid a few inches and stopped, revealing a small metal recess beneath the pedestal.

Roselys crouched again, brushing away dirt. A circular recess lay there, no larger than a spread palm. Inside it, five smaller holes were arranged in a pattern. Each hole was just wide enough for a fingertip. "It's a hand lock," she said, studying the spacing. "The fingers need to go in, then twist."

Vencian knelt beside her. He could see now how it worked—each finger would slot into its hole, curl slightly to grip, then turn as one. "Odd," he murmured.

They exchanged a look. Her eyes met his, cautious but curious. He tried his hand first, but his fingers were too thick to fit properly.

Roselys hesitated before placing her hand over the recess. Her fingers found the holes naturally, sinking in up to the first knuckle. She curled them slightly, feeling them catch against the inner edges.

Vencian placed his hand on her wrist. "Careful. What if it pulls you somewhere again?" He meant it as a joke, but his voice came out half serious.

Roselys gave a short laugh. "Then pull me back."

He didn't answer. When she began to twist her wrist, a faint vibration passed through the stone. Their smiles faded at the same time. The air shuddered.

The floor opened in silence, then the pull came—cold, sudden, and absolute. The world folded inward. Vencian reached for her, but the space between them stretched too fast. Darkness swept through the hall.

He heard her shout his name once before the sound broke apart.

Then there was nothing but gray fog and the echo of his own heartbeat.

— — —

When his vision returned, the world had turned gray. Vencian rose to his feet, his hands brushing against the cold ground. He could barely see his own boots through the fog.

"Roselys!" he called. His voice vanished into the haze. He tried again, louder. "Reine!"

Nothing answered him. The air absorbed every sound like a wet cloth. He moved forward, one hand reaching in front of him. The fog gave no shape or direction.

He stopped and shouted again, "Quenya!" The name came out more desperate than he intended. There was no pulse through their bond, no faint light in his mind.

He walked until his breath came heavy. The fog stayed the same in every direction. There was neither wind nor sound, and the walls were gone. Am I inside the same temple or somewhere else? he thought.

Then a voice came from behind him.

"All that pretending, and you still look scared."

Vencian froze. The voice was too familiar. He turned slowly.

A man stood there, thin, pale, and unmistakable. Black hair falling into dull eyes. The same face he had once seen in mirrors on Earth. Luke Marlowe.

The fog coiled around them like a curtain.

Luke smiled faintly. "Let me ask a question," he said. "Can you tell which of us is real?"

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