The palace was still humming when Elara slipped back through its moonlit corridors. Her shoulder ached beneath her borrowed cloak, and the hem of her gown was stained with dew and dirt from the garden. She moved quietly, though her pulse hadn't slowed since the knife had sliced so close.
Behind her, the maze slept. But inside her, everything had awakened.
She found Ana waiting just beyond the side hall, arms folded, brows pinched in worry.
"Where in stars have you been?" Ana hissed, grabbing her elbow. "You vanished from the East Wing hours ago. I looked everywhere. Even the laundry halls."
Elara offered a crooked smile. "I went for a walk."
"A walk? At this hour? Through the gardens? Dressed like this?"
Elara looked down at her muddied gown. "Fashionably rebellious?"
Ana's expression softened for a moment, then tightened again. "You can't keep doing this. Whatever game you're playing... they're watching. More than before."
Elara nodded, too tired to argue. "I know."
Ana peered closer, her voice low. "You were with him, weren't you? The one who leaves the notes."
Elara blinked. "What notes?"
Ana scoffed. "Don't pretend. I saw the way your hands shook when the last one arrived. You've been different since."
Elara didn't answer.
Ana sighed. "At least tell me you're safe."
Elara smiled faintly. "I think that's a relative term now."
Before Ana could press further, the distant chime of a clock struck midnight. Elara stepped back. "I need to go."
"Where?"
"Somewhere beneath the stone."
Ana stared at her, confused. But Elara was already walking away.
The meeting place was beneath the servant chapel, through an unused wine cellar and behind a crumbling tapestry no one ever looked at twice. When Elara stepped through the shadowed arch, M. was already there, leaning against the wall like he'd been waiting his whole life.
He looked different in the torchlight less mysterious, more… human. Tired, even.
"You came," he said quietly.
"You left another note," she said.
He smiled faintly. "Didn't think you'd catch me that time."
"I almost didn't. Ana did."
His brow lifted. "The chambermaid?"
"She's more than she looks."
M. nodded once. "So are you."
Before she could respond, he turned and moved toward a stone staircase hidden behind a false wall. "Come. There's something you need to see."
They descended into darkness. The stone narrowed around them, the torch M. held casting long, twitching shadows. Elara kept her hand against the wall, needing the solidness beneath her fingertips.
"How far does this go?" she asked.
"Farther than you think. These tunnels were built before the palace. Before the city. They were carved when kings were still myths."
"And we're going where, exactly?"
"To truth."
They reached an iron gate. It groaned as M. pushed it open. Beyond it, the air shifted. It felt… alive.
Elara stopped. "What is this place?"
M. stepped inside, his torchlight flickering against carved stone. "A vault. Not just for gold or relics. For knowledge. For memory."
The floor beneath them pulsed faintly, like something breathing.
"This isn't in any map," she said.
"That's the point."
They entered a wide chamber. At its center stood a pedestal. Upon it rested a stone the twin to the one that had marked her but cracked down the center. Its glow was faint. Wounded.
Elara stepped closer, her heart caught between awe and dread. "What happened to it?"
"It chose wrong," M. said softly. "A long time ago."
"A failed Chosen?"
He nodded. "They wanted the power for themselves. The stone shattered their soul—and itself."
She looked at the jagged split. "So why didn't mine reject me?"
M. didn't answer right away. Then: "Because you didn't want to own it. You were willing to carry it. That matters."
Her fingers hovered above the broken stone. "What else is down here?"
"Echoes."
She gave him a look.
"Each Chosen leaves behind something. Imprints. Warnings. Sometimes, their voices."
Elara lowered herself to the pedestal. Closed her eyes.
The hum returned. Stronger now. A low vibration, crawling up her spine.
Then voices. Not loud. Not clear. But there.
She saw flashes: a woman crowned in fire; a boy kneeling with tears in his eyes; a warrior bleeding into snow. Each face carried the mark. Each life ended with it.
And then… her own voice, not her own.
"You are the last. The cycle ends with you, or the world burns again."
Elara's eyes flew open. She gasped.
The cracked stone pulsed once. Then dimmed.
"It spoke," she whispered.
M. stepped forward. "No. They did."
Elara rose, shaken. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
M. watched her. "Decide what kind of Chosen you'll be. The others followed fate. You can break it."
Before she could respond, the ground trembled beneath their feet.
Dust rained down. A low rumble echoed through the chamber.
M. cursed under his breath.
"They've found us."
He pulled his blade.
Elara backed toward the gate.
"Run," he said.
She hesitated, eyes flicking to the broken stone one last time.
Then turned and ran.
Behind them, the past whispered warnings.
Ahead, the future waited uncertain, and burning.