The Hall of Wings faded like a dream when Lina stepped back through the feathered doors.
One moment she was standing in that golden chamber surrounded by masked figures, and the next, she was in a long, narrow corridor that seemed carved from the night sky itself. No walls—only darkness stitched with threads of dim starlight.
The butterfly glided ahead, its glow the only thing keeping her from being swallowed whole.
She walked in silence, the echo of the council's words still ringing in her ears:
If you fail, both your world and ours will fade.
Her chest tightened. Back home, she'd been worried about normal things—school projects, her mom working late, that one kid in her class who always made fun of her shoes. Now… two worlds hung on her choices.
"Where's the Hollowed Garden?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The butterfly answered without turning. Past the Veil's edge. Where the roots drink shadow.
"Yeah, that's not creepy at all," she muttered.
The path opened suddenly onto a cliff of glass. Below stretched a forest, but not any forest Lina had ever seen. The trees were made of white bone, their branches twisting like the fingers of ancient statues. Between them grew strange black flowers that swayed though no wind touched them. In the center of the forest lay a circular clearing—an empty patch of ground so dark it seemed like a hole had been cut into the world.
"That's it, isn't it?" she asked.
It waits, the butterfly replied.
A thin bridge of woven vines connected the cliff to the forest floor. It creaked under her weight, each step sending vibrations through the air like plucked harp strings. The closer she got, the heavier the air became—thick with the scent of damp earth and something sharper, metallic, like old coins or blood.
By the time she stepped off the bridge, she could feel the mark on her wrist pulsing hard. The butterfly landed lightly on her shoulder.
"Why's it called the Hollowed Garden?" she asked.
The butterfly's wings moved once, like a sigh. Because it grows what you have lost.
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
The butterfly didn't answer.
The bone trees loomed above, their roots coiling around each other like sleeping serpents. The black flowers seemed to track her movements, their petals tilting to face her as she passed. She reached out to touch one, but before her fingers met it, the mark on her wrist burned so sharply she yanked her hand back.
The ground beneath the flowers rippled. She froze, watching as a shadow rose slowly from the soil—first just a shape, then something more solid. It was her.
Her face. Her height. Even her clothes. But the eyes… the eyes were hollow pits of shifting darkness.
"Hello," the shadow said, in her voice—but deeper, like it had been dragged across gravel.
Lina's throat went dry. "What—what are you?"
"I'm you," the shadow replied with a small, crooked smile. "The part you hide. The part you try to bury. But here… I grow."
The shadow stepped closer, and Lina instinctively backed away. The flowers whispered, their petals shivering.
"You want the key?" the shadow asked. "Then you'll have to take it from me."
It held out its hand, and from its palm grew a black crystal in the shape of a teardrop, pulsing faintly with red light. The moment Lina saw it, she knew—this was the second key.
She reached for it, but the shadow pulled back, grin widening. "You don't get it by wanting it. You get it by being willing to take it."
The butterfly whispered in her ear. Do not touch it in darkness. Call your light.
"I don't know how!" she hissed back.
Then learn.
The shadow lunged, moving faster than anything should be able to in this place. Lina threw herself sideways, landing hard on one knee. Pain shot up her leg, but she scrambled to her feet just as the shadow's hand slashed through the air where she'd been. The movement left a trail like smoke that twisted into shapes—her worst memories, playing out in miniature. The time she'd lost her best friend's trust. The fight with her mom. The night she'd felt so alone she'd cried herself to sleep.
"See?" the shadow said softly, circling her. "I'm not your enemy. I'm you. I'm everything you won't admit."
Lina's hands curled into fists. "Then maybe it's time I admit it."
The mark on her wrist flared again, but this time she didn't fight it. She closed her eyes, breathing deep, remembering her grandmother's stories—not just the words, but the feeling behind them. How they'd made her feel safe, like she belonged to something bigger than herself.
Warmth spread from the mark, flowing into her chest, then down her arms until her hands tingled. When she opened her eyes, soft golden light was spilling from her fingertips.
The shadow hissed, the hollow pits of its eyes narrowing. "That won't last."
"It'll last long enough," Lina said, and moved.
The fight blurred into a rush of movement—ducking under the shadow's grasp, dodging the whip-like tendrils of darkness it lashed at her, each one leaving streaks of cold in the air. Her light flared brighter each time she stood her ground, dimming when fear clawed at her. She realized quickly that hesitation gave the shadow strength, while her resolve weakened it.
Finally, the shadow stumbled, its form flickering. Lina didn't waste the moment—she thrust her glowing hand toward its chest. The light surged, flooding the shadow with warmth so bright it screamed—not in pain exactly, but in something closer to surrender.
When the light faded, the shadow was gone. In its place, the black crystal lay on the ground, still pulsing faintly red.
The butterfly landed beside it. Do you know why you won?
Lina shook her head.
Because you didn't try to destroy the shadow. You accepted it.
She crouched and picked up the crystal. The moment her fingers closed around it, the red pulse turned gold. The mark on her wrist glowed to match, and she felt something click inside her—like the turn of a lock.
"That's two," she murmured.
The butterfly's voice was quiet. Two keys. Two worlds still holding. But the third will not wait for you to breathe.
Lina looked back at the clearing. The flowers had gone still, their petals closed. The bone trees no longer seemed to watch her.
"Then let's go," she said, pocketing the crystal. But as they crossed back toward the bridge, she couldn't shake the feeling that part of the shadow still lingered inside her—not as an enemy, but as something that might one day speak again.