The silence was the first thing to strike me—a profound, breathless stillness that seemed older than the stone beneath my feet. Before us lay the ancient city, not as a ruin, but as a perfect, sleeping jewel preserved against the slow grinding of ages. It was as if every inhabitant had simply vanished mid-sentence, leaving their world flawlessly intact. My eyes were drawn to a garden where jewel-toned petals unfurled on blossoms that never wilted and sculpted hedges stood in vibrant, disciplined rows, lush without a single errant leaf. The cobblestone streets, smooth and unscarred, wound between homes that betrayed no hint of decay, their windows like vacant eyes staring into eternity.

Time itself had been snared here, held captive by a pervasive energy that thrummed in the air—a low, resonant hum of ancient mana that felt like a pressure against my skin. Beside me, Cassius moved with the fluid caution of a predator, his gaze sweeping every rooftop and shadow. Vel’s warnings were a discordant whisper against the city’s serene beauty, a chilling premonition that coiled in the tranquil air. This perfection wasn’t a gift; it was a cage.

I turned to him, and our eyes met in the unnerving quiet. His gaze was a steady anchor in the strangeness of it all.

“The ambient magic,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that barely disturbed the silence. “It’s like a resin, coating everything. It has insulated this place from the world—from time itself.”

I nodded, the pieces clicking into a dreadful mosaic. “So that’s why nothing has crumbled. They were desperate to preserve the city…”

“…Or something sleeping within it,” he finished, his eyes drifting over the silent architecture. “Something they believed had to outlast empires.”

“It feels like they never left,” I whispered, but the wonder in my voice had begun to curdle. The city’s pristine facade receded, and the chilling weight of our purpose rushed in to fill the void. The task at hand. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms as a frantic, trapped-bird rhythm started in my chest. I fought to swallow the rising panic, my gaze snagging on the one imperfect thing I could see: a lone, gnarled tree across a stone bridge, its bark twisted and ancient, its branches skeletal against the sky. In a world of unnatural stillness, its aged reality seemed the only thing I could hold onto.

Cassius’s voice cut through the haze. “Thalia? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I clipped out, the word sharper than I’d intended. To cover the tremor in my voice, I pointed toward the city’s heart. “We should head for that large structure across the bridge. If our destination is anywhere, it’s there.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Cassius replied, though he gave me a searching look I couldn’t decipher. I could barely make sense of my own thoughts; I had no hope of navigating his.

We started across the bridge, each footstep a dull thud in the waiting silence. I spared one last glance for the gnarled tree, a silent sentinel of true age, before focusing on the building ahead. Its entrance was a pair of colossal stone doors, their surfaces covered in intricate, flowing carvings that seemed to writhe in the ambient light. There were no handles, no hinges, no seam to suggest how they might be opened.

After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped forward and pressed my palm flat against the cold, unyielding stone. Closing my eyes, I reached inward for my own power and poured it outward not as a force, but as a question, a resonant plea. For a heart-stopping second, there was nothing. Then, a low groan answered, the sound of stone grinding against stone for the first time in millennia. The doors shuddered open, releasing a sigh of stale air and a cloud of dust motes that danced like constellations in the sudden slice of daylight.

We stepped through the threshold into an immense, cavernous hall. A wide aisle, fit for a royal procession, swept down the center, flanked by rows of stone benches polished smooth by time. I could almost hear the ghostly echoes of a congregation, the whisper of a thousand voices raised in ritual or celebration. This was it. This was the place.

The chamber was steeped in a deep gloom, the light from the open doorway stretching only a few feet inside. Dormant crystal lanterns hung from the vaulted ceiling like frozen teardrops. Extending my senses, I pushed a delicate tendril of my magic toward the nearest one, intending to coax it to life. As my power reached out, it brushed against another current in the darkness—something ancient, vast, and aware. It didn’t resist. Instead, it uncoiled like a great serpent, its energy weaving around my own, inviting me deeper.

My mana danced with it, a symbiotic melody of bending and yielding energies. It didn’t fight me; it guided me, showing my power the pathways it had forgotten. One by one, the lanterns overhead bloomed with a liquid gold light, the warmth pouring down and chasing the last of the shadows from the hall. The entire chamber seemed to take a single, deep breath, humming with life for a fleeting moment before settling into a new, warm stillness.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the ancient presence receded, leaving my own senses feeling raw and overexposed. The hall was silent but for the sound of our breathing.

My eyes found Cassius, and the dam of resolve I had meticulously built for weeks finally shattered. The strength fled my legs, and I swayed. “Cassius,” I whispered, my voice a threadbare thing. “I… I need to sit down.”

I staggered to the nearest bench as the golden light of the room seemed to bend and warp around me. My head swam. A moment later, he was there, a solid presence beside me. A strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me firmly against his side. His voice was a low murmur against my hair.

“I’m scared too, Thalia. But we will be okay. I know we will.” He squeezed my shoulder gently. “I trust you with my life.”

The words were my undoing. A sob broke from my throat as tears I hadn’t known I was holding welled and spilled down my cheeks. “Cassius,” I choked out, burying my face against his chest.

His hand began to rub soothing circles on my back. “It will be okay,” he repeated, his voice a steady mantra.

“But what if I fail?” The question tore from me, raw and ragged. “What if I lose you? I can’t… Cassius, I’m not ready for that.”

He pulled back just enough to grip my shoulders, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were fierce, burning with an intensity that silenced my fear. “You won’t fail. And you will not lose me,” he said, his voice ringing with absolute conviction. “My will to live is what will carry me back to you—and back to our people. Always.”

Taking a shuddering breath, I met his gaze. The terror hadn’t vanished, but a core of iron was reforming within me, pushing back against the doubt. “You’re right,” I said, my own voice gaining strength. “I will make sure you come back,” I vowed, not just to him, but to myself. “We have come too far, and have too much left to do, for me to fail now.”

He searched my eyes for a long moment. Then, his own fluttered closed as he leaned down and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to my forehead.

“There she is,” he murmured against my skin. “I was hoping that fire was still in there.”

A small, watery smile touched my lips before fading. In that unguarded instant, I saw it—a flicker of his own fear, a shadow in his eyes, masked so quickly I almost believed I’d imagined it. I slowly lifted a hand, laying my palm against his cheek. He leaned into my touch, a silent sigh escaping him as he closed the small space between us, resting his forehead against mine.

We sat like that, two soldiers in a silent pact, breathing the same air, sharing the same fear, forging the same resolve. It wouldn’t be easy. But in that quiet, golden hall, I knew one thing for certain: as long as we had each other, we would endure.

We rose as one, our gazes drawn to the far end of the hall. There, a short flight of stone stairs led to a circular pedestal that seemed to drink the golden light, its surface a swirl of polished obsidian. The altar. The place where he would have to wait for me.

Every step we took toward it felt weighted, as if the very air had thickened to lead. My feet wanted to root themselves to the floor, but I forced them onward, one agonizing pace at a time, until we stood before the first step.

Cassius turned, stepping in front of me, blocking my view of the altar. He pulled me into a fierce, warm embrace, his arms a final shield against the coming trial.

“You can do this, Thalia,” he whispered, his voice a low anchor in my swirling anxiety. He gave a wry, faint smile. “Just try not to keep me waiting too long.”

Then he let go. The warmth vanished. Without another look, he turned from me and ascended the stairs, each solitary footstep echoing in the vast, cathedral silence.

There was no turning back. The city, the magic, our quiet moment of fear—it had all led to this. It was time. Time to save Cassius. Time to restore the rightful king.