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T he time-worn walls of the tunnel pressed in on them as Vivienne and Cirrus pushed deeper into the mountain. The climb had begun as a gradual incline, but now, the path had become treacherous—more sheer ascent than hike, demanding every ounce of their strength and focus. Their hands and feet slipped against the wet, unforgiving stone, water trickling from the ceiling forming treacherous rivulets beneath their boots.

The roar of the waterfalls grew louder with every labored step, the relentless pounding of water against rock reverberating through their bones. Vivienne’s fingers throbbed from gripping the stone too tightly, her legs burning from the strain. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. The mantra looped in her mind as her gaze flicked to the abyss of pitch-black nothingness beyond the flickering glow of the ignis bark. She’d moved her dagger from her hip to the waistband at her lower back to stop it from clanging against her thigh. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Her hair was tied back and her smaller pack secured against her shoulders. She needed every ounce of her focus to climb.

Cirrus trailed just behind her, his breath uneven but determined. He’d insisted on taking the rear—"If you slip, I’ll catch you," he had promised—but Vivienne knew if she lost her grip, she’d plummet them into the darkness below, and to death’s door.

The tunnel twisted abruptly, and the temperature bottomed out. The air turned damp and heavy, the walls beaded with condensation. Vivienne’s arms trembled as she hauled herself up another ledge, her boots struggling for purchase on the slick rock. The waterfalls were deafening now, the force of them vibrating through the tunnel like a living pulse.

A faint glow emerged ahead, shifting and shimmering through a mist-choked opening. A cavern. Relief crashed over her as she scrambled toward the ledge where the tunnel widened, her lungs dragging in air like she’d been drowning. She collapsed onto solid ground, her body quaking from exertion.

Cirrus pulled himself up beside her, his white-blond hair damp and clinging to his face. His mouth parted in awe, his exhausted eyes reflecting the scene before them.

They had emerged behind the waterfall into an enormous cavern, the air thick with mist and mystery. The crashing falls pummeled the mountainside, sending up a continuous spray that caught in the dim shafts of light filtering through a jagged opening in the ceiling. The rock walls stretched into darkness, forming a towering dome that felt as ancient as time itself.

And there—opposite of the waterfall, etched into the weathered stone, stood a monumental relief of Elandra, the goddess of love, fertility, and harvest.

Water cascaded from her carved eyes, the waterfalls becoming her eternal tears. The crying goddess. The last of the four images from the ruins.

Vivienne’s breath hitched as her gaze locked onto the vines coiling around the goddess’ outstretched arms—real, thriving greenery, not just part of the carving. And within them, tucked against the embrace of divine stone, were what could only be the Noctilum flowers.

Silver-petaled buds. Luminous veins pulsing faintly against their dark green leaves.

“Oh, my gods…” Vivienne gasped, disbelieving yet electrified. She turned to Cirrus, pointing wildly at the vines. He couldn’t hear her over the waterfall’s thundering song, but the moment his gaze landed on them, his eyes flashed with understanding and relief.

We found them.

Vivienne staggered to her feet, legs trembling. She moved closer to the relief, tracing the paintings that stretched across the curved cave walls. The story of the island unfolded before her, a tale carved in time and sorrow.

The Fendwyrian soldiers had come, and Elandra had been summoned by her priests. But she arrived too late. Too late to save them.

Vivienne’s throat tightened as the story etched into stone revealed the goddess' fury, her anguish transmuted into divine retribution. The island had not merely defended itself—the island was Elandra.

Her power flowed through its trees, its rivers, its very bones. She ripped out a piece of her soul to give it life. She breathed her rage and sorrow into the land, so no invader would ever defile it again.

Vivienne’s fingers trailed over the ancient carvings, her mind racing. The island doesn’t just react—it defends itself. The beasts, the plants, even the land… everything was Elandra’s will, shaping and shifting to protect what remained.

She scanned the next set of markings, detailing the Noctilum. The process of harvesting under the light of a full moon, the healing properties of the petals, the time limit before their power faded. Yes! This is it!

They could save Owen.

Vivienne turned to Cirrus, her excitement surging. “Cirrus!” she shouted, her voice barely breaking through the roar of the falls. “I know how to help Owen!”

A sudden impact cracked against her skull.

Stars exploded in her vision. Pain rocketed through her head, her body lurching forward as the world tilted violently. She barely registered Cirrus’ scream of rage before her knees gave out beneath her.

Rough hands snatched at her arms.

Cirrus was fighting. She could hear the struggle—his roar of fury, the grunt of fists connecting, the sound of bodies colliding against rock—but she couldn’t turn to see.

Her vision blurred, darkness rushing in, swallowing the cavern.

The last thing she saw before the abyss dragged her under was Enyo’s sneering silhouette standing over her. His scarred face split into a cruel smile.

Then—

Nothing.