Everything went silent.
The oppressive darkness that had been pressing against him suddenly lifted, as if the chamber itself had taken a breath and held it.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the vision shattered.
Finnian opened his eyes to find himself alone in the shifting maze, his back still pressed against the cold stone wall. Where Kieran's monstrous form had loomed moments before, there was only empty shadow dancing. The wounds on his back and shoulders still throbbed with very real pain, but the immediate threat had vanished.
He pushed himself away from the wall, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries.
"What—" he began, but the word died in his throat.
A voice drifted through the darkness, so familiar it made his heart clench with longing and disbelief.
"Finnian?"
The voice was soft, gentle, carrying the same warmth that had comforted him through childhood nightmares and celebrated his small victories.
He spun around, searching the shadows frantically. "Who's there?"
"Finnian, my dear boy."
This time there was no mistaking it. Finnian's legs nearly gave out beneath him as recognition crashed over him like a wave.
"Mother? Is that you?"
"Yes, Finn. It's me."
Mrs Ravenswood voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoing off the chamber walls with ethereal resonance. But there was something wrong with it—a tremor of fear that made Finnian's protective instincts flare to life.
"Oh, Finn, I'm so sorry. I tried to stay away, tried to keep you safe, but he found me. Kael Vorthak—he has me."
The name hit Finnian like a physical blow. Kael Vorthak, the shadow hunter who had sent the shadow hunters.
"Where are you?" Finnian called out, turning in desperate circles. "Mother, where are you?"
"I don't know," Elena's voice was growing weaker, more distant. "It's so dark here, so cold. But he says… he says he'll let me go if you come to him. If you surrender yourself."
"I'll find you," Finnian said fiercely, his earlier fear forgotten in the face of his mother's peril. "I'll come for you, I promise."
"No!" The sharp urgency in her voice stopped him cold. "You mustn't trust him, Finnian. He will harm you."
The sound of clashing steel suddenly filled the chamber—the ring of blade against blade, the harsh scrape of metal on stone. Finnian heard his mother cry out in pain, the sound cutting through him like a dagger.
"Mother!" he shouted, running toward where he thought the sounds were coming from, but the maze shifted around him, corridors appearing and disappearing like smoke.
The clash of weapons grew more intense, accompanied by Mrs Ravenswood labored breathing and what sounded like cruel laughter in the background. Then, abruptly, silence fell again.
"Mother?" Finnian's voice cracked with desperate hope. "Mother, are you there?"
No response.
He stumbled through the darkness. His heart hammered against his ribs, and the power within him stirred restlessly, responding to his emotional turmoil.
"Please," he whispered to the empty air. "Please be alive."
A new sound reached his ears—footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming from behind him. He whipped around to see a figure emerging from the shadows, but it was his mother.
Her familiar features were pale as death, her eyes dull and lifeless. Dark wounds marred her simple dress, and when she moved, it was with the jerky, unnatural gait of a puppet whose strings were being pulled by unseen hands.
"Finnian," she said, her voice hollow and echoing. "Why didn't you save me?"
The question drove through him like a spear. This wasn't his mother—couldn't be—but the accusation in those dead eyes was unbearable.
"I tried," he stammered, backing away from the approaching figure. "I didn't know where you were, I—"
"You were too slow," she continued, her movements becoming more fluid, more predatory. "Too weak. Just like you have always been."
"You're not real," Finnian said, raising his blade between them. "My mother is out there, alive and well."
The specter tilted its head, a mockery of the gesture his mother used to make when she was thinking. "Are you so sure? What if she's not? What if she called out for you in her final moments, and you weren't there?"
The doubt hit him like poison in his veins.
"What if she suffered?" She pressed, drawing closer. "What if she needed you, and you failed her just like you fail everyone?"
Finnian's sword arm wavered. The rational part of his mind knew this was another manifestation of the trial, another test designed to break his resolve. But the emotional wounds the specter prodded were all too real, all too fresh.
"You're going to fail again," she whispered, now close enough that he could see the terrible wounds that had supposedly killed her. "You're going to let everyone down, just like you let me down. Just like you let yourself down."
The power within Finnian flared suddenly, responding to his anguish. For a moment, golden light flooded the chamber, and in that light, he saw the truth—the figure before him dissolved partially, revealing the shadow-stuff beneath the illusion.
But the vision reformed quickly, and with it came a new horror. The figure began to change, her wounds deepening, her skin growing pale and cold. She was becoming a corpse before his eyes, accusation never leaving her dead stare.
"This is your fault," she hissed, her voice now carrying the chill of the grave. "All of it. Every death, every loss, every moment of suffering—it all traces back to you and the cursed blood you carry."
Finnian found himself backing toward another wall, trapped once again between his fears and the cold stone.
"No," he said quietly, his voice wavering. "You're wrong."
The specter paused, surprised by his response.
"My mother loved me," Finnian continued. "She was proud of me. And she would never blame me for things beyond my control."
The figure's features contorted with rage. "You naive fool. You think love matters? You think good intentions make up for weakness?"
"I think," Finnian said, raising his blade, "that you're not my mother, and you have no power over me."
The specter shrieked and lunged forward, no longer bothering to maintain the illusion of humanity. Shadow-claws reached for his throat, but this time Finnian was ready.