The jungle thinned. The sky brightened unnaturally.
Tavin stepped through the final wall of vine-choked trees and into a world carved from glass and godhood.
Far ahead, towers of translucent crystal shimmered beneath sunlit clouds. Pale meadows stretched across the land like folded silk. Roads of white stone cut sharp angles across the valleys — too perfect to be natural.
Kaelara muttered under her breath, "Lucian territory. Ugh. Even the birds march in formation."
She wasn't wrong.
A flock passed overhead — symmetrical wings beating in time.
Tavin stared. "Where's the chaos?"
"There is none," Niah said behind him. "They engineered it out."
As they walked, Kaelara gave him the rundown in low tones.
"Lucians were the first to propose the Gate ritual. Said it would end war by replacing armies with champions, gods."
"They didn't want peace," Niah added. "They wanted submission. And the world was too tired to argue."
"Luxarion," Kaelara spat. "Their 'perfect' god. Made of mirrors and lies. Only speaks through light priests—Luxants. If he speaks at all."
Tavin frowned. "And the priestesses?"
"Chained. Clothed in gold. Made subordinates and trophies both."
He clenched his fist. "And now we walk into that."
Kaelara smiled grimly. "Not unarmed."
They arrived at the aqueduct just after dusk.
It was half-collapsed, overrun with vines. A raven sigil had been carved into the stone and then burned smooth — as if someone had tried to erase it.
Kaelara stepped forward and pressed her palm into the seal's ghost.
The stone shifted.
"If she's still alive, she'll answer this."
A faint click echoed inside.
The stone door creaked open — and standing in the shadows was a woman in a servant's robe.
She did not flinch at the sight of them. Instead, she looked Tavin dead in the eyes and said:
"Took you long enough."
She was older than Kaelara, but not by much. Faint scar lines crossed her wrists. Her posture was straight, purposeful. A satchel hung from her hip, cooing softly.
Kaelara stepped forward, half-smiling. "Maika."
The woman nodded once, then turned to Tavin.
"So. The Gate's not dead after all."
"How did you—?"
She reached into her satchel and withdrew a small grey pigeon with indigo tail feathers. It blinked at them, then nestled back into the folds.
"Message came three nights ago. Violet wax. Ema'Tari's crest. She said: 'Prepare the mirror path. The Pōwehi walks.'"
She released the bird into the night. It vanished like smoke.
"Come," she said. "Time is thinner here than you think."
Inside, Maika laid out three bundles of clothing: white-and-gold robes for Niah and Kaelara, and a black mirror-silk tunic for Tavin.
"Your faces aren't known—yet," she said. "But you can't walk in like ghosts. Even shadows have to play the part here."
Kaelara held up her robe. "Gag me."
Maika raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky I didn't send you in dressed as a shrine dancer."
Tavin unfolded his tunic. The fabric shimmered like a pool of oil — ever-shifting, never catching the light the same way twice.
"Mirror-silk," Maika said. Blocks magical scans for a few hours. Let's hope my master doesn't notice its missing."
Niah clipped a small sunburst brooch to his shoulder.
"A false priest emblem," she said. "Weak enough to avoid divine attention, but real enough to pass if no one looks too hard."
Maika stepped closer, voice low.
"In two days, Solaria holds its Festival of Ascension. Nobles, servants, masked clergy — all blend together. You'll enter with the procession from the southern market."
"And the priestess?" Tavin asked.
Maika paused.
"I don't know her face," she said. "But light bends around her. Unnatural. She's been hidden in plain sight for years."
Kaelara looked at Tavin, then back to Maika. "So we find the one that shines too much."
Maika smiled thinly. "Exactly."
Meanwhile, in Solaria...
Far above, in a mirrored tower in the Lucian capital, a silver-veiled seer gazed into a rippling reflection pool.
A brand pulsed.
Unregistered. Unaligned. Echoing from outside the city walls.
"A Gate trembles," he whispered. "Not ours."
A servant dropped to one knee.
"Shall I send the Watchers?"
The seer nodded once.
"Send them. I want this reflection... broken."