Roland stood with his friends on the graceful, smooth sailing vessel on Mare Serenitas, the tranquil, man-made New Elysian lake. He couldn’t stop staring at the blonde woman with electric-blue eyes that Erika had remembered to be Lairah. A young woman from New Elysia — perhaps even younger than Tsubasa, at least in Erika’s memories — who had often taken Erika sailing as a child, singing to her as they navigated the lake.
But Lairah was also the eagle-masked woman who had so relentlessly pursued the twins, using any violent means she could to try and abduct them. It was hard to reconcile the two. And yet… when Roland had last encountered Eagle Mask atop Rig One, when her mask was broken and he’d first been able to see her eye-to-eye, he’d seen something in her. Despite her threats, she hadn’t wanted to inflict violence upon him, and certainly not on the twins. In the end, she’d run away, rather than kill Roland where he’d stood.
There was so much more to her than we ever knew. Than we ever imagined.
“Lairah?” Erika asked, watching the woman at the tiller. “Do you… I mean… you’re not really here, are you?”
“I’ve been constructed from your memories by Aîrchal,” Lairah said. She smiled at Erika, and Roland was struck by the contrast in her eyes, the mingling of gentle kindness and focused intensity — and yet there was no conflict between the two. “But I’m so glad you remembered me, Erika.” She beamed a beautiful smile, and the lights above shone brighter in response, like the sun coming out of the clouds.
“Me, too,” Erika said. She sniffled, and wiped at her eyes. “But I don’t understand. Why are you… why are you with Reunion? Why are you being so violent?”
“I can’t speak for my present self,” Lairah said. She looked away, gazing out across the water, her smile fading. “But… there was always conflict in New Elysia. Conflict you never saw. Your parents chose one path. Everyone else… chose another. But I can say one thing for certain: I love you, Erika. And I always will. All I want is what’s best for you. My masked self may be misguided about what’s best for you now. But I guarantee you,” she looked back at Erika and smiled, “the Lairah you remember is in there. And she always will be, as long as you live. If you try, I’m certain you can bring her back. Reunion…” She shook her head. “No. I don’t think this is a path I would want to walk, if I had the choice. Given a proper choice, a new choice… I think I’d very much like to go with you.”
“I… I don’t know how to reach her, though,” Erika said. “She’s always been so quick to attack.”
“But at the Rig, something changed, didn’t it?” Lairah asked. “Conscience is a powerful thing. Don’t underestimate it.” She looked back out across the water, and sighed. “A storm’s coming.”
“There are no storms in New Elysia,” Enrique said.
“No,” Lairah said. “But, then, we aren’t actually in New Elysia, are we?”
With a smile, Lairah vanished. Thunder rolled, and the manmade sky went dark.
They weren’t on a boat anymore. The sound of waves was present, but distant, and the ground was solid beneath Roland’s feet. A frigid, icy wind gusted across them. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and Roland saw that they were on a wide balcony overlooking a snowy mountain village that descended sharply to a rugged, rocky shoreline. Waves crashed against the rocks, but didn’t threaten the houses farther above.
Behind them, paper shoji doors were slid open, revealing a large sparring hall of a dojo. Tsubasa took a step forward, and gasped softly. “Sensei,” she said in a small voice.
There, in the center of a hall, was a tall man, his bare arms taut with wiry muscle. His long, dark hair was peppered with gray, and pulled back into a ponytail. Tonfas were sheathed across his lower back, just like where Tsubasa sheathed her own. Despite his arms folded across his chest and his imposing physical stature, he had a kind, inviting face, warmth twinkling in his blue-grey eyes.
He spoke, his warm, rich voice speaking in the lyrical sounds of Kisetsugo, the language of the four lands of the Kisetsuryuu-En. He watched Tsubasa, waiting for her response.
But Tsubasa grasped the shoji doors and slid them shut.
“Tsubasa?” Erika asked.
Tsubasa shook her head, but said nothing. She took several long, deep breaths, her hands still on the doors, as if afraid something might open them if she didn’t hold them shut.
And then, slowly, she turned back towards them. But she still didn’t speak, instead walking past them to the edge of the balcony. When Roland turned to follow her…
He was somewhere else.
The stormy skies were gone, but he only got a glimpse of a clear, starry night before passing into a grand building interior. They must still be somewhere in Fuyuo, judging by the frigid air, the snow outside, and the tatami mat floors and shoji doors along this wide hallway.
“Where are we?” Roland asked.
“It’s… my family’s ancestral home,” Tsubasa said. “House Fujioka in Yukiyoshi, capital city of Fuyuo.” She introduced it with a flat, dispassionate voice, and bowed her head. “I visit every year, usually multiple times a year, with my brothers. It’s important to… stay connected to your roots.”
Roland didn’t know what to say. He’d heard Tsubasa talk about her family and her visits to Fuyuo before, but back then it had been with such cheer. Now there was this weariness in her, hints of sorrow, and confusion, as she spoke of the same things.
“Are you all right?” Roland asked.
Tsubasa sighed, and slid open a door on the left, and went through. The others followed, exiting into an inner courtyard. The twins and Tock gasped in awe, and Roland stared in amazement. In the center of the courtyard stood a wisteria tree, its delicate flowers blossoming even as they were dusted with snow.
“It’s… complicated,” Tsubasa said. She had her hands shoved in the pockets of her long, yellow coat, her head tilted back to gaze at the starry sky. “It sure is beautiful out here, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Roland said, coming to stand beside her.
“It’s… home,” Tsubasa said. Slowly. Uncertainly. She shook her head. Roland blinked, and in that brief moment that his eyes were closed, the landscape changed.
They were still standing beneath a wisteria tree, under a beautiful starry night sky. But the stars were harder to see here, less numerous, due to lights from the city nearby. Grass covered the hill, rather than snow, and the air was cool but not cold.
Tsubasa sighed. “Gardenia,” she said softly. “In the Cyril Republic. It’s where my Grand-da and Granny settled when they left Fuyuo, and they raised their children, and their children raised us, here. It’s… home.”
Uncertainty shone in her eyes as she turned to gaze out at the city. It was a newer city, without the history of Ars Moran, and that was reflected in the more modern brick architecture, in neat, straight streets lined with flowering trees, everything planned out, with little to no renovations or detours.
Down the hill from the wisteria tree was a house that stood out from the rest. It was a sprawling, one-story affair, done in the style of family estates in Fuyuo, and had an inner courtyard blooming with flowers, and numerous flowering gardens around the perimeter.
The way Tsubasa looked down at that home, where she’d been raised since childhood, resonated with Roland. It wasn’t all that different from how he thought of the orphanage where he’d spent his childhood, or the home of Eilidh where he’d always been welcomed as if it were his own home.
They were places that were welcoming, that were kind, that helped shape him. But home… it was difficult to know what that truly was, for him.
“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Tsubasa asked, with a little self-deprecating chuckle. “My parents love me. My grandparents love me. My brothers love me. I know everyone in the neighborhood, and they’re always so kind to me. And back in Fuyuo… we’re always welcomed with open arms. Like… family. There’s nothing but love everywhere I go. And yet…” She wiped at her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t get it. Something’s… wrong with me.”
“There’s something wrong with everyone,” Tock said brightly. “I mean, we’re all kind of broken, aren’t we? Maxwell and me, our home is a ship. And we love it, and love the adventure we’re on, but… it can be a reminder of what we don’t have, too. Home is where the heart is, right? Only that’s… not so simple.”
“The heart is so easily divided,” Muirrach said. “And when the heart is divided, what can you confidently call home?”
As if in response to his question, without even taking a step, their whole group was suddenly down in the street in front of Tsubasa’s home. And across the street, completely out of place in Gardenia, appeared the rustic Wonderian cottage that was home to Muirrach and Eilidh.
“When those who made your home a home are gone… is it then nothing more than a building with little purpose?” Muirrach asked. He fixed his longing gaze on the cottage, but didn’t approach, didn’t enter.
“But I’m not missing anything,” Tsubasa said with a frustrated sigh. “I just feel… lost.”
Lights flickered inside Muirrach’s cottage, illuminating the stained-glass windows that showed artistic interpretations of each of the Fantasians. The lights ended swiftly, but Roland had noticed a pattern. Softly, he sang the songs for the Fantasians he’d formed Pacts with in the order they’d been illuminated: gentle Kirin, imposing Jurall, mischievous Viatos, and finally serene Shureen.
The street rolled back, its stones folding over like fabric, revealing a staircase descending into the unknown. Dim, orange lanterns flickered on either side down, down, down into the depths.
“What’s happening now?” Tsubasa asked.
“It seems Aîrchal is inviting us deeper,” Maxwell said. “A song summoned the first stair. Now a different song brings forth another stair.”
“Going down,” Tock said. “We really are going deeper into Aîrchal, aren’t we?”
“To its core,” Enrique said, “just as Mother told us to. She said this place is marvelous, not terrifying.” He looked around the city street of Gardenia, with Tsubasa’s home on one side, and Muirrach’s out-of-place cottage on the other. “And that we should think on what its name means. Land of the Lost…”
“You said you feel lost,” Erika said, looking up at Tsubasa. “But maybe… maybe there’s more to being lost than just bad things?”
“Like what?” Tsubasa asked. As if realizing the words had come out more sharply than she intended, she tried to take the edge off with a self-deprecating laugh.
“To find, one must first search,” Roland said thoughtfully. “But in the searching, sometimes we wander. We don’t always have leads. Sometimes, to find what we’re looking for…” He looked at Maxwell and Tock, thinking on the journey that had led them here.
“Sometimes, we have to get lost,” Maxwell said with a knowing smile. “To find what we didn’t know to seek. What we never knew we needed.”
“So all my mixed-up feelings are a good thing, somehow?” Tsubasa asked. She didn’t seem remotely convinced.
“I’m lost, too,” Roland said. “Home is… elusive. I don’t know where I truly belong, either. Our circumstances may be radically different, but… we both need the same thing. To keep searching.”
“To never lose hope,” Tsubasa said. A small smile ghosted across her lips. She turned towards the stairs and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, what are we waiting for? We’re not finding any answers up here, are we? Let’s see what Aîrchal’s got planned for us next.”
“Shall we?” Erika asked, taking Tsubasa’s hand.
Tsubasa grinned at her. “We shall!” she said. The pair led the way, and the others followed.
Down, down, down they went. Their footsteps echoed noisily on the stone stairs, but Roland realized he welcomed the sound. The street above, in the midst of a big city, had been quiet, empty… lifeless. It was comforting now, their footsteps the sounds of life. Tsubasa had her usual lively gait again, now that she was walking up front with Erika. Enrique followed at a measured, thoughtful pace — not too dissimilar from Roland’s own. Muirrach’s webbed feet — he did not wear shoes — made surprisingly soft noises on the stairs, every step light and balanced. Tock had bright, bouncy footsteps, alongside Maxwell’s often steady, but occasionally hesitant, anxious steps.
“Brave heart, Roland,” came the memory of Alystair’s comforting words to Roland long ago. “The world is not all cold and perilous, the people not all distant and rejecting. You will find others who resonate with you. And you will not be alone.”
And Roland found himself smiling at the footsteps traveling with him. He was not alone — and it was very, very good to not be alone.
“Hold up,” Tsubasa said, stopping on the stairs. “There’s something strange up ahead.” She looked back at Roland. “You hear that?”
Roland listened for a moment, and immediately his brow furrowed at the odd sound. “Some sort of… sustained resonance,” he said, listening closely. “Like… glass?”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Tsubasa said.
“You guys can hear glass?” Tock asked, eyes wide with wonder.
“Certain types of glass have a particular resonance,” Roland said.
Tsubasa nodded. “Hard to hear, unless you’re used to them,” she said. “This is… weird. It’s like it’s filling a whole room. A room made of glass, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Roland said. “Let’s go see.”
“Yeah, nothing like seeing for ourselves!” Tock said. “There’s nowhere else to go anyway, is there?”
So down they went. The stairs leveled out onto a marble floor — not glass. The room was dark, and Roland couldn’t see the walls on any side. They all gathered together, peering through the gloom.
And then, the lights snapped on. A grand crystal chandelier glittered with light above them illuminating a wide, octagonal room. The stairs were gone, and there were no doors — only eight huge windows, one on each side of them. The windows were strangely blank — for a moment.
“Over here!” Erika cried, pointing. The window farthest from them suddenly showed a scene completely unrecognizable to Roland. The rolling cerulean plains were reminiscent of Central Wonderia’s Gormach Isle, but vastly bigger, and across them stomped huge quadrupedal creatures the likes of which Roland had never seen. Each had thick, grey, wrinkly skin, legs as thick as tree trunks, a trio of long, serpentine tails, and squat faces that were strangely cute, with big, curious eyes set above flat tusks poking out above their wide mouths.
And they were as big as castles, judging by the tiny human forms riding atop them in huge, intricately woven baskets. Each behemoth carried dozens of passengers.
“What the heck are those?” Tsubasa asked, peering through the glass. “I’ve never seen anything like them, even in books.”
“I’ve never heard any stories about them,” Erika said, and Enrique echoed the sentiment.
“Nothing like those where we’re from,” Tock said.
“Where are they going?” Roland asked, watching them move across the cerulean field with astonishing speed, each slow step crossing monumental distances. And that’s when he noticed another strange detail — something Tsubasa noticed as well.
“Is this room… moving?” she asked. For though the creatures were far off and moving left to right, they remained centered in the window, even as the landscape changed around them.
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Tock said. “No, it’s like… oh!” Everyone turned to her. She nodded sagely, her top hat bobbing on her head. “There’s some temporal weirdness going on in here. We’re not physically moving — and we’re not temporally moving, either. But that image is. It’s peering back in time.”
“Back in… time…?” Erika asked, gaping back at the window.
Just then, the window beside it also brightened, showing a completely different image. Which was unsettling, because it was right next to the first window, with only the thinnest edge of a frame dividing the two. While the rumbling behemoths continued their left-to-right trek in the first window, the window to the left of it showed a more static scene, of a grand city full of spiraling, pearlescent towers scraping the sky with their impressive height.
“Hold on,” Tsubasa said, eyes widening. “This city… it’s…”
“Bíscaír,” Roland murmured in awe. “It’s believed to have been the biggest city in Western Wonderia.”
“Have been?” Enrique asked. “How long ago?”
Roland took a breath, trying to wrap his mind around what Aîrchal was showing them. “From before the Fracturing,” he said in a hushed voice.
Silence filled the room.
“None of us could have these memories,” Maxwell said. “In that case…” He and Roland shared a look. They both knew where this was going.
“Another one!” Erika said, and they all turned to see that the window to the left of the one showing Bíscaír revealed a vision of its own, a glimpse into an impossibility: from the shores on the edge of Ars Moran, there on the horizon could be glimpsed…
“Wonderia…?” Roland asked, awestruck by the ruby-ore mountains, only ever found in Wonderia, on that distant, Albian horizon.
“The realms were once one physically connected world…” Tsubasa said softly, full of disbelief. For though they all knew that, had read the songs of the past in the Canticos, had seen all the evidence in ruins, museums, and research reports…
It was astonishing to see it for real. Even just this tiny glimpse was enough to feel like they were looking into a completely different world from their own, a world as far removed from theirs as wherever Tock and Maxwell had come from.
“And again!” Erika said, pointing. Now they looked to the right, at a window to the right of the first one which looked down from the rocky Orchestral Mountains to a glittering river, the only thin boundary separating Westgard from the lush forests beneath Wonderia’s Tinton Terrace.
“These are memories,” Roland realized. “Memories of the world as it once was.”
“But where are these memories coming from?” Erika asked. “None of us have ever seen this. Unless we’ve just imagined it.”
“These are no imaginings,” Maxwell said. “These are the memories of Aîrchal itself.”
They turned in a circle, watching as the other four windows all came alive with scenes of their own, visions of a past that no one else had ever seen, could only imagine from the clues left behind from so long ago. A world before shattering, Fracturing, sundering into the state it was in today. Two realms separated by doors. One realm lost, sealed away, beyond reach.
“Hold on,” Tsubasa said, leaning in very close to one of the windows. She pressed her hand against it, studied it for a moment, then stepped back, nodding. “Yeah. They’re not windows. They’re mirrors.”
“Mirrors?” Roland asked. “But how? They aren’t reflecting us.” But even as he said that, he was approaching a different window. Before he even touched it like Tsubasa had or inspected it closely with his eyes, he recognized what must have clued Tsubasa in — the resonance. There was a humming all around this room, the hum of glass, but the intricacies of glass resonance were delicate and subtle. The difference between a mirror and a window could be hard to recognize even for a well-trained ear — unless one knew what to listen for. Roland listened for it now, and heard it. And when he came close enough to the glass to touch it, he saw the ghost of his own reflection over the top of the vision contained in the “window.”
“They must reflect Aîrchal’s memories,” Muirrach said. One by one, each of them was approaching a window, inspecting them for themselves. Only one window went unexamined — the one they’d started at, with the alien behemoths and their numerous passengers. Tsubasa moved to that mirror next, double-checking it, then nodded affirmingly.
“But why?” Enrique asked, turning back towards the center of the room. “Why would Aîrchal show us this? No one else has ever encountered this, have they?”
“Not as far as the tales tell,” Muirrach said.
“Well, we used a song to progress deeper in,” Tock said, smiling at Roland. “I bet nobody’s ever made it this far. And Isadora told us that if we continued, we’d learn about the true nature of this place, and your world. And, well, of ourselves. I think… I think that’s where we started. With the last part.”
“Facing our own memories,” Tsubasa said, bowing her head. “The ways in which we are… or the things which we have… lost.”
The word hung in the air. But, strangely, it seemed to draw the seven of them together. They joined again in the center of the room, away from the mirrors.
“So,” Tock said. “Mirrors. And no exit from the room. How do we continue?”
“Aîrchal’s been happy to just pop us wherever it wants,” Tsubasa said. “Maybe we just wait.”
“Or, well…” Tock said, turning towards the mirrors. “Maybe we just make our own door.”
“What are you thinking?” Maxwell asked, eyeing Tock suspiciously, as if she was prone to worrisome plans.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Tock said, waving her hand. She started towards the mirror displaying the ancient city of Bíscaír. “We just smash a mirror, and the way forward —”
“You can’t!” Roland shouted, at the same time as Tsubasa cried, “Are you crazy?!?”
Tock froze in her tracks, one hand raised as if to strike against the mirror’s surface. Slowly, she turned around, eyes wide. “Um…” she said slowly, eyeing Roland and Tsubasa warily. “What’s… wrong?”
“You want to tempt fate?” Tsubasa asked. “Breaking a mirror is seven years’ bad luck!”
Roland stared at Tock, astonished at just how genuinely confused she seemed. And his shock turned to concern when Tock lowered her hand and shrugged. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding very sorry at all. “Didn’t realize you guys were so superstitious.”
“Superstitious?” Tsubasa cried.
“It isn’t superstition,” Roland said in a more even voice. “Please, Tock. I don’t know what it’s like in your world, but here… you don’t want to break mirrors. Ever.”
“Okay…” Tock said, shoving her hands in her pockets. “So, um… what do we do, then?”
There was a sudden, loud crack! Everyone jumped, and then stared. The mirror Tock had been approaching had a huge, jagged crack in it.
“What did we just say?!?” Tsubasa cried.
“I didn’t do it!” Tock said, raising her hands innocently. “I didn’t even touch it!”
Cracks exploded all around them, and as they jumped at the sound they turned round and round, watching as each of the eight mirrors erupted in jagged fractures, the scenes contained within breaking up and distorting with the damage.
“Stop!” Erika cried, looking down at the floor. As if she was speaking to Aîrchal itself. “Please, you don’t have to do this!”
A song sounded in reply, and Roland stood stock still, overcome by an unseen, impossibly monumental, presence. This was an ancient song, an ancient entity, something not remotely human, beyond full comprehension by meager mortal minds.
Aîrchal was singing. A powerful song — and a lonely song.
“A song of grief,” sang Shureen in Roland’s heart. “And an invitation.”
“An invitation?” Roland asked. All eyes went to him, but he raised a hand to wait.
“Aîrchal wants you to understand,” Shureen sang. “Do not fear what lies ahead.”
Before Roland could explain to the others, all eight mirrors exploded, fully shattering, their fractured fragments scattering across the floor.
All went suddenly, oppressively, dark.
“Roland?” Erika asked in a tiny voice.
“I’m here,” Roland said. “Everyone, stay where you are. We don’t want to get separated.”
“What’s going on?” Tsubasa asked. “Is Aîrchal inviting us somewhere?”
“We’ll find out,” Roland said.
A moment later, light returned — sudden and bright, so that Roland threw a hand in front of his face, squinting until his eyes adjusted. With the light came sound, a sound and fury, and as Roland grew able to see…
He wished he couldn’t.
He and his friends stood on a battlefield, a horrific vision of violence and wasteful destruction. What might have once been a grand field, or a lush forest, or even a bustling city, was now a horrible desolation, burning and barren, pitted with craters from terrible weaponry. Lumbering across the wasteland were dozens of those great behemoths they’d seen in the mirror — but these were covered in metallic armor, and had huge cannons mounted on their backs. Soldiers ran beneath them, various weapons in hand, or rode in armored vehicles mounted with guns or large cannons. The great behemoths fired their cannons, launching arcing bombs far across the battlefield. Roland turned, watching them fly…
From desolation to beauty. On the left was a marching army, tearing apart the land, losing life after life but still fighting forward. To the right… where golden magnificence reveled.
Elysia.
Not Elysia itself, but an Elysian contingent, an army come to fight the hordes of Albia and Wonderia. As an aggressor, or a defender, Roland couldn’t tell. Bombs exploded against golden shields carried by mechanical angels, to little effect. A staggeringly tall wheeled tower of white and gold sprouted a huge cannon, and from that cannon lanced forward a beam of blinding light, with a horrific noise that had Roland covering his ears in a panic, shuddering at the piercing sound. Explosions followed, and screams of pain and terror. A shockwave ripped across the landscape, throwing Roland off his feet. He opened his eyes to a whirling cloud of dust and debris, and sang for Viatos, blowing away the cloud and surrounding him and the others in an oasis of clean air. Tsubasa and Muirrach were helping the twins to their feet. Tock shouted something, and Roland heard nothing, only then realizing his ears were ringing. He turned back to the battlefield, but all was chaos, a wash of death and destruction. Another blazing beam blasted across the desolation, and Roland flung up his hands, calling upon Viatos once more to shield them…
And he fell.
Not onto the rough, battle-scarred ground, but instead onto a downy softness. The blasted, burned soil was replaced by soft white, and the bleak skies were clear and lovely.
Roland tried to stand, but it was hard to find his footing on this surface. And then he took another look, and gasped in wonder.
Wings. He and the others had fallen onto massive, majestic wings of pure white. And there were so many, not just one pair but seven pairs, all sprouting from the same body, an unknowable vastness. Serpentine, perhaps. But also birdlike? It seemed to change, over and over, and it was so grand, so impossible, that Roland’s eyes couldn’t take it in in its entirety.
“I have to stop her,” came a voice. A voice from all around, echoed upon itself, magnifying it. But the voice itself was… young. Childlike, even. And Roland shuddered at the familiarity.
It sounded like Lacie’s voice. The girl who had killed a man with two discordant tones, who had banished them all to Aîrchal with a snap of her fingers — that same voice now filled the sky. But it was filled with purpose, and a sense of heroic determination.
Then, a song erupted. A horrible song, a terrifying, discordant song that had all of them falling, clutching their ears, retreating into the shelter of the great creature’s massive wings.
And the creature did shield them. Wings covered them, and the song faded in the distance. But Roland found himself gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest, a terror flooding through him, struggling to wash away. Such short exposure to that song, but it had been such a horrific song, a song of ending, of unmaking…
Then there was a gust of wind, and Roland grabbed onto Enrique, while Tsubasa grabbed Erika, and all of them tried to hold onto each other as they were sent flying, spiraling through the air, hurtling through light, then darkness, then down to…
Gold.
They landed with surprising lightness on a golden city square, surrounded by incredible golden architecture, and golden flowering trees. From the boughs golden birds sang the most beautiful songs. And in the balconies were people — people with wings!
But they were not singing.
“A wish to save the world,” said Lacie’s voice. Roland turned, and saw a girl who looked exactly like Lacie, but dressed all in white, with a golden diadem at her brow. She strode with a serene, graceful stride, but there was something sad, almost desperate, in her expression. She climbed shallow steps to the centerpiece of the city square: a golden pedestal, upon which glittered a white crystal. The crystal hummed with a harmony that seamlessly blended with the birdsong all around, a beautiful supporting song to enhance all others.
The girl — Roland found it hard to believe she was Lacie, despite the similarity in appearance — stopped in front of the crystal and folded her hands, bowing her head in prayer. “Please,” she said softly. “I wish —”
Roland gasped. The girl’s lips kept moving, but he couldn’t hear her wish. The birds had gone silent. The wind had gone silent.
The crystal itself had gone silent.
A crack split the air, and with that sudden sound a physical crack ran down this vision, rending it in two. To the left, white and gold and beauty. To the right, blackness and bleakness.
Then, a second crack. And the world went horribly, endlessly dark.
Roland spoke into the dark, but no sound came from his voice. He reached out with his hands, and felt others, and held tight to them. He felt everyone closing in on him, all of them seeking each other, seeking the reassurance of company.
No one wanted to be alone.
Then, in the distance, a light glittered. Nothing bright, nothing large. It was small, and gentle. One little mote of light slowly spread, until the whole space was diffused with a gentle, soft glow.
They were in a deep stone cavern, with a great domed ceiling high above them. Down a gentle slope ahead of them was a crystalline pool, its waters still as glass, reflecting the ceiling above and the cavern around.
“Is this…” Erika started, and then paused a moment, as if surprised to hear her own voice. “Is this Aîrchal’s core?”
“Let’s find out,” Roland said. Hand-in-hand, the seven of them approached the pool.