The Hollowed Garden had been a place of living dreams, but what lay beyond its edge was something entirely different.
Lina stepped onto the bridge of light, her fingers curled protectively around the butterfly resting on her shoulder. Behind her, the garden's vast curtain of mist swayed gently, as if breathing. She could hear the faint rustle of leaves and the far-off sigh of the Thorn Serpent, still locked somewhere deep within its green cathedral of roots. Ahead, the masked figure stood in perfect stillness, a sentinel of silence and silver.
They didn't speak at first. They simply waited, letting Lina's eyes adjust to the shimmering expanse beyond.
It wasn't a sky in the way she had known skies before. This one seemed alive, formed of rippling colors that bled and shifted like liquid glass. Some waves glowed gold; others curled in cool violet and teal. Here and there, enormous crystalline shapes drifted lazily through the air, reflecting landscapes inside them that could not possibly fit — forests upside down, oceans that poured upward into nothing, mountains that bent into rings.
"This," the masked figure finally said, their voice a soft chord, "is the Sky Between Worlds. Few see it. Fewer walk it."
Lina swallowed. "And I… walk it?"
"You must, if you wish to find the second key."
The butterfly's wings pulsed faintly against her cheek, a rhythm she was starting to think of as speech she couldn't yet understand.
The bridge stretched forward into the expanse, thin as a ribbon and glowing with that same pale light she had seen in the Hollowed Garden's trials. The masked figure moved without hesitation, and Lina followed, though every step felt like a challenge to her balance. There was no wind here, but the air had a weight to it, as if each breath had to be drawn through layers of unseen silk.
After what felt like only a few minutes, Lina realized the bridge didn't just go forward — it bent, curling upward like a spiral.
"Does it… end?" she asked.
"Only where you are meant to stop," the figure replied. "The Sky Between Worlds shifts to meet the one who walks it."
They climbed higher, passing close to one of the floating crystals. Lina slowed as she saw movement inside. It was a small house — ordinary, with a red roof and garden fence — but the flowers in the yard swayed in a wind that was not blowing here. She recognized the style of the windows. The door was painted blue. Her breath caught.
"That's…" she started. "That's my home."
The masked figure did not turn. "It is a memory. Not all memories wish to be left behind."
Before she could ask what that meant, the crystal drifted away, spinning lazily until it vanished into the haze.
The ribbon-path began to widen, and strange shapes appeared along its edges — tall, slender spires of glass that chimed when she passed them, each note different. Some rang deep and low, others sang in bright silver tones. The sound seemed to enter her chest, loosening something tight in her heart.
She glanced at the masked figure. "What is this place really?"
"The place between choices," they said simply. "The thread that ties a soul to its possible futures."
The bridge ended in a platform, circular and edged with a railing made of curling silver vines. At its center was something like a pool — but instead of water, it was filled with shifting starlight. Lina stepped closer, gazing into its depths. She could see shapes moving there — forests aflame, a crown lying in snow, a city made entirely of lanterns.
"The pool shows what waits ahead," the figure said. "But only what waits if you choose wrongly."
She tore her eyes away, unsettled. "And if I choose right?"
"You will not need the warning."
The butterfly left her shoulder, drifting toward the pool. Its wings glowed with a deep, sun-warmed gold, and where it passed above the starlight, the visions below flickered and changed. The burning forest became a place of green spring. The snow-covered crown melted into a garden of flowers.
"It changes things," Lina whispered.
"Yes," the figure said. "But change comes at a cost."
They moved on. The path now arched into a forest unlike any Lina had seen. The "trees" here were vast pillars of crystal, each carved with spiraling runes. Between them grew flowers whose petals floated above their stems, drifting in the still air like fragments of a dream. Small, glowing insects darted between them, leaving behind trails of shimmering dust.
She reached out to touch one of the petals, but it dissolved into mist before her fingers could brush it.
"They do not belong to you," the figure said quietly. "In the Sky Between Worlds, only what calls your name may be held."
They walked until the path ended at a door — freestanding, with no walls, just a frame carved from pale stone veined with gold. The door itself was made of wood as black as midnight, its handle a simple loop of silver.
"This is the way to the Hall of Echoes," the figure told her. "Inside, you will meet the Keeper. You must answer its question before you can go on."
"What kind of question?" Lina asked, uneasy.
"One that cannot be answered with words alone."
The masked figure pushed the door open, and Lina stepped through.
The Hall of Echoes was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow. The floor was made of polished stone so perfect it reflected the room like a mirror, and scattered across it were great shards of silver glass, each the size of a person. As she moved, the shards lit up, showing fragments of her own life.
There she was, running through the street after her brother's kite. There she was, hiding in the school library on rainy days. There she was, the night she'd first seen the butterfly, her hands cupped around it as if holding a secret flame.
A voice filled the hall, deep and many-layered, as if a hundred people spoke in unison. "What is worth more than the key you seek?"
Lina froze. The butterfly's wings trembled.
She thought of her village, of her family, of the way the masked figure had said "change comes at a cost." She thought of the Hollowed Garden's beauty and danger, of the serpent that had nearly crushed her, and of the way the butterfly had saved her without hesitation.
"My answer…" she began, but the voice interrupted.
"Speak not only with your tongue. Show me."
The shards around her shifted, rearranging themselves into a circle. The images on their surfaces flickered — her life, her memories, her fears. One shard glowed brighter, showing the Thorn Serpent's eyes narrowing before its strike. Another showed the butterfly landing on her palm for the very first time.
Lina stepped into the circle.
She reached toward the shard with the butterfly. As her fingers touched it, the glass warmed, and the image came alive — she felt again that moment of fragile connection, the unspoken trust between her and the creature.
"This," she said softly. "This is worth more than any key. Because without it… I'd be lost."
The voice was silent for a long moment. Then: "You may pass."
The shards dissolved into light, streaming upward into the dark. Where they vanished, a new door appeared — this one made entirely of crystal, with the faint hum of a heartbeat within it.
The masked figure appeared beside her again. "You have done well."
She glanced at them. "And if I'd answered wrong?"
"The Hall would have kept you," they said simply. "Forever."
Lina shivered.
They stepped through the crystal door, and the world changed again.
The place beyond was a sea — but not of water. This sea was made of clouds so dense they felt like velvet underfoot, glowing faintly in the endless twilight. Great islands of stone floated in the distance, each covered in strange trees whose leaves looked like hanging bells of light. Gigantic fish, their scales shimmering with starlight, swam lazily through the air above, their fins trailing threads of gold.
"This…" Lina whispered, "is beautiful."
"It is not beauty alone," the masked figure said. "It is a crossing. And crossings are never safe."
The butterfly flew ahead, leaving a trail of gold sparks in the air. Lina followed, stepping from one puff of cloud to another. The masked figure's feet made no sound at all.
Halfway across, the clouds shifted under her, rippling like water. She stumbled, and something vast moved beneath — a shadow larger than the Thorn Serpent, coiling and twisting in the deep fog below.
The masked figure stopped. "We are not alone."
The shadow rose.