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“I once read a book about Helen Keller– I know, shocker– and there was something she said that they quoted in the book that has stuck with me. ‘Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.’ Vasile Lupei was a perfect example of that, and what is even greater is he passed that quality to his son. I’m going to let that marinate in your minds for a bit. ”

~Helen Keller, Heather

“Just when you think you’ve seen it all.” ~ Jewel

Several hours earlier…

“H ave I ever mentioned to you guys that the last thing on my bucket list is to die in hell?” Heather sat on the reddish-colored ground beneath them, her back leaning against the rough rock and dirt wall behind her, absentmindedly drawing circles in the red dirt with her right index finger.

Even though there seemed to be some form of light in the underground space, balls of light also floated around them, courtesy of the sprite queen so they were able to see.

“And the bonus is that I even get to die with some ghostly apparition thing, no offense Jewel.”

“Don’t have any craps to give about being offended,” Jewel said dryly.

Fane’s wolf prowled restlessly beneath his skin, its unease mirroring his own.

His gaze landed on Jewel, the healer who had once been a beacon of light and warmth.

Her bright eyes always brimmed with answers and compassion.

Now, she looked … empty. Hollow. Like a vessel that had once overflowed with life and purpose but had been drained until there was nothing left.

It was a stark, painful contrast that made his chest tighten.

This wasn’t the Jewel he knew. The wolf inside him growled low in frustration, a sound that rumbled through his core.

He wanted to fix it—fix her—but he didn’t know how.

Then his gaze shifted to the ghostly figure Heather had described earlier, and his unease deepened.

The apparition sat just a foot away from Jewel, its vacant, translucent form flickering faintly in the dim light.

It stared at her with unnerving intensity, its empty gaze locked on her as though it were waiting.

Waiting for what? Fane didn’t know, but the sight of it made his wolf bristle.

The way Jewel sat so rigid, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to hold her very soul together, only made it worse.

Heather gave a thumbs-up to the other healer before going back to drawing in the dirt. “I just want it to be known that if any of you survive, you can share my joy with the world.”

“Let’s pretend for half a minute that your statement is genuine,” Andora spoke up. She shifted her long cloak over her legs, which were stretched out in front of her where she sat opposite Heather. “What other ridiculous things are on your bucket list, if dying in hell is the final check mark?”

Fane watched as Heather’s lips turned up in a playful smile. “You’re a queen of a powerful supernatural race. When was the last time you played pretend?”

Andora’s eyebrows rose as she looked at the blind healer.

“Ten minutes ago when I pretended you weren’t singing about ninety-nine bottles of jars on the wall filled with Celise’s head and taking them down to smash them around.

And ten minutes before that when you asked, ‘Are we there yet?’ for the sixty-third time. ” Andora sighed. “Yes, I counted.”

They’d been walking for what felt like forever, and because the scenery never changed, it seemed as if they’d gotten nowhere. Fane finally decided they should take a break and conserve energy, considering they had no food and no water at the moment.

“You have to admit,” Heather responded, “my song was pretty creative.”

Andora tilted her head slightly and pursed her lips, “The creativity level of a five-year-old isn’t that impressive. The fact that you’ve only walked into a wall once this entire time? Now that’s something to be admired.”

Fane smiled as he remembered what the sprite queen spoke of.

Heather pointed a finger at Andora and frowned. “That was not my fault. All of you had stopped walking so I couldn’t follow the sounds of your footsteps.”

“How were you able to hear them over your bottle song?”

Heather sat back and raised her chin. “Well, Andora, I have finely tuned senses because I’m a not-sighted person.” Her voice was haughty, though there was a smirk on her face.

The group grew quiet, other than the sound of Heather’s hand scooping up dirt only to then turn her hand over and let it fall back to the ground.

The image of a sand timer filled his mind.

How much time did they have? They hadn’t come across any food or water.

As supernatural beings, they could go a little longer than humans without those necessities, but the longer they did, the weaker they would become.

“Andora.” Fane looked over at the queen, “You’re the oldest of us, by a lot, I assume. Do you have any idea, any at all, of where we could be?”

Fane watched Andora closely. She leaned her head back against the rough rock wall behind her, the sharp edges pushing into her silver hair like a crown of jagged stone.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her luminous eyes—normally filled with fire and an unsettling amount of knowledge—narrowed as she stared down at her hands resting limply in her lap.

Her fingers twitched slightly, as though they might reach for something unseen, but then stilled.

The sight made Fane’s chest tighten. This was Andora, the powerful sprite queen who carried centuries of wisdom in her mind and magic in her very blood.

She was sitting there, silent and searching, as though even her vast memory had turned into a barren wasteland.

Fane didn’t speak, didn’t move. He simply waited, his sharp gaze never leaving her.

He knew better than to rush her. Old supernaturals had many memories to sift through, and he knew that if there was even the faintest spark of recognition buried in that ancient mind of hers, she would find it.

And he hoped— prayed —that she would. Because right now, her silence felt heavier than any words she could have spoken.

His wolf stirred uneasily, pacing just beneath the surface, its instinctive need to act warring with his own restraint.

The faint flicker of torchlight danced across the jagged lines of the cavern, casting shadows over Andora’s face, making her seem even more otherworldly than usual.

And still, she sat unmoving, her gaze fixed on her hands as though the answers she sought might be written in the lines of her palms. Fane clenched his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest, forcing himself to remain patient.

After at least a couple of minutes, her eyes rose to meet his. “There are realms we no longer speak of. Realms that have been forgotten to even those who have been alive as long as Perizada and perhaps even the djinn. Realms that no supernatural passes into because of the fading magic.”

Fane nodded. “The warlock spoke about how their magic had grown weak over time.” The memories of Cypher quickly crossed his mind.

“Yes,” Andora continued. “They seemed especially affected by the decline.” She grew quiet again, but still, Fane didn’t push her.

After another minute, Heather, who apparently wasn’t as content as Fane was to let the sprite think, spoke. “Do you remember these realms? Or were you just teasing us with the information?”

Jewel shifted, pulled her legs up, and wrapped her arms around them. “I remember some things that I’ve read about the supernaturals. I did a lot of reading after everything with Volcan went down and then…” She paused.

“Kara,” Heather said, softly.

Jewel winced at the sound of the healer’s name.

Fane’s stomach still twisted with guilt over what Kara had been through, how they’d been unable to get to her sooner.

“Yeah.” Jewel adjusted her position, then continued.

“The Colorado Pack library is pretty nice. I like to escape in the stacks.” The cadence of her voice changed as she seemed to let herself return to those times she spent getting lost in the past. History that could not hurt her because it had nothing to do with her.

“What did you learn?” Fane encouraged as he leaned forward, his elbows rested on his knees and his hands steepled together beneath his chin.

“There were the ones I already knew of,” she answered. “The Elf Realm, Dark Forest.” She chuckled. “Obviously, I’m well acquainted with that one.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the best of times,” Heather piped in. “Although your information about drinking urine might actually come in useful here. You know, since we have nothing to drink.”

Andora shook her head. “I’m not drinking anyone’s liquid waste.”

“You’d drink your own, sprite queen.” Heather sighed. “We’re not that gross. Only slightly gross.”

Andora’s brow lifted. “That’s very reassuring. Thank you.”

“Jewel.” Fane returned the focus to the healer, knowing that Heather was as bad as his mate and her two best friends about running off into rabbit holes.

“I actually read about the Pixie Realm before visiting there.” Jewel glanced at the sprite queen. “Never thought I’d go, considering the book said the realm had been sealed.”

Andora lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes we let those who record history think what they want. The truth is not always safe, no matter what you learn as a child about telling it.”