The side path was narrower than the main one, winding through thick undergrowth where the silver-barked trees leaned close together, their branches forming a canopy of whispering leaves. It was quieter here. Too quiet.
Even the glowing flowers seemed dimmer, their light trembling slightly as if nervous.
The butterfly flitted ahead, pausing every few yards to make sure she followed. Its glow was the only steady thing in this place, and Lina clung to it like a lifeline.
The map tube knocked gently against her side as she walked. She thought about unrolling it, but she didn't know if it would even show this place. The "Veilroot" map might only chart the connections between the worlds, not the paths inside them.
After a while, she noticed the air growing warmer. Not uncomfortably warm—at first—but with each step, it thickened, heavy with a faint golden haze. Somewhere ahead, light flickered.
When they reached the source, Lina stopped in her tracks.
Before her lay a wide meadow, but instead of grass, the ground was covered in crystal petals—thousands of them—spreading in rippling patterns like frozen waves. In the center, rising from the middle of a shallow pool, stood a tall stone pedestal. And resting on top of it… something that shone brighter than the sun.
Lina squinted. Even through the golden haze, she could make out the shape—a delicate, ornate object that looked part key, part feather. Its edges were sharp and clean, but it pulsed with warmth.
"The key of first light," she breathed.
The butterfly landed briefly on her shoulder, then launched toward the pedestal, weaving easily between the crystal petals. Lina followed cautiously, stepping where there were gaps in the crystal, afraid of breaking them. But halfway through the meadow, she realized—
The petals weren't still.
They were moving.
One of them twitched just as she stepped past it. Then another. Then another.
The sound started—soft at first, a faint tick-tick-tick—before growing louder. The petals lifted themselves from the ground like tiny blades, turning toward her. And in the hazy light, Lina saw they weren't petals at all.
They were wings.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of crystal-winged insects rose from the ground, their bodies shimmering like shards of glass. Their eyes glowed amber, and the clicking sound came from their jagged mandibles.
The butterfly darted back toward her, its glow brightening, as if urging her to move.
"Yeah, I got it!" she hissed, breaking into a run.
The insects took flight, their wings slicing through the air with a high, sharp hum. Lina sprinted, weaving between the pools of light and shadow, her heart hammering. The pedestal seemed farther away now, as though the meadow itself was stretching.
One insect swooped low, its wings grazing her arm. A stinging heat flared along her skin, and she stumbled, nearly tripping.
She couldn't outrun them forever.
She yanked the map tube from her side, holding it like a club. When the next insect dove, she swung hard, the tube connecting with a satisfying crack. The creature shattered into shards that dissolved into glittering dust before hitting the ground.
But for every one she hit, two more swarmed closer.
The butterfly zipped past her, circling her head once before darting straight toward the pedestal again. Lina gritted her teeth and pushed harder. The pedestal loomed closer now, and with a desperate leap, she scrambled up the stone base.
The insects circled but didn't cross the shallow water around the pedestal.
Panting, she reached for the glowing object. The heat radiating from it soaked into her skin the moment her fingers closed around its shaft. She half-expected it to burn—but instead, the warmth spread through her whole body, steady and comforting, like the first rays of morning sunlight after a long night.
The key was light as air, shaped like a feathered wing with a delicate spiral at its base—the same spiral from the fountain, the tree, and the underpass gate.
The moment she lifted it, the insects froze in midair. Their wings drooped. One by one, they returned to the ground, folding themselves neatly back into the pattern of the meadow until they looked like ordinary crystal petals once more.
Lina let out a long, shaky breath.
The butterfly hovered beside her, wings shimmering in approval.
She glanced down at the key. "Okay," she whispered, "now what?"
The answer came from the water surrounding the pedestal. It began to ripple—not from wind, but from light. Golden rays poured upward, swirling around her in slow spirals before converging into a thin beam that shot toward the path she had come from.
The message was clear.
She climbed down and followed the beam back through the meadow. The petals remained still now, though she kept a wary eye on them just in case. The butterfly stayed close, guiding her through the haze until the path narrowed again and the silver-barked trees returned.
It wasn't long before she emerged back into the clearing where the root-arch and glowing web waited.
The stone guardian was already there.
It rose from the moss again, its red-lit eyes locking on her. This time, it didn't block the web.
"You hold the key," it rumbled. "The first light accepts you."
Lina held it out. "Does that mean I can pass?"
"Yes," the guardian said. "But the path ahead will not protect you. You will walk where the Winged Realm meets the edges of shadow."
"That doesn't sound… safe," Lina admitted.
"It is not," the guardian said simply. Then it stepped aside.
The butterfly darted toward the web. As it touched one of the threads, the light split open again, revealing the canyon river beyond. The air rushing from the opening smelled fresh and cool, carrying the distant roar of water.
Lina tightened her grip on the key and stepped through.
The world shifted instantly.
She was standing on a rocky ledge high above the river she had seen before. The canyon walls glowed with embedded crystals, their light reflecting off the churning water below. Across the gorge was a narrow bridge made of woven vines and wood that looked far too old to hold her weight.
And standing in the middle of it—just for an instant—was a figure.
Not the stone guardian. Not anything human.
It was tall and thin, draped in dark feathers, its face hidden beneath a mask shaped like a butterfly's wings.
It turned its head slowly, as if sensing her.
Then it vanished.
Lina's stomach twisted. Whoever—or whatever—that was, it had been watching her.
The butterfly landed on the bridge, waiting.
Lina glanced at the key in her hand, the mark on her wrist, the endless drop below.
She took a deep breath.
And stepped onto the bridge.