The garden path curved gently toward a vast marble structure ahead — a basin so wide and tiered that the word itself felt insufficient. It was less a basin and more an open bath carved from stone within the ground itself. Myrtle vines climbed the surrounding arches, and the air hung heavy with the perfume of blue lotus drifting from the water's surface.

  Prince Loven walked slightly ahead of Orielle, though his attention never truly left her. He watched the way her steps slowed as the structure came into view, the way curiosity softened her features, brightened her eyes.

  He said nothing of its power.

  He knew very well this was not how such a thing was meant to be done. The Mirror was a sacred moment, priests summoned, incense burned, the king present. Interpretation was careful, deliberate.

  But curiosity pressed against his restraint. And, if he were honest with himself, so did a faint, rebellious irritation toward his brother.

  If the Maiden of Light had come to Veridelle, isn't it the perfect opportunity to see what the gods unveil? Sol isn't here so that's on him... He thought to himself almost proud.

  As they approached, Loven guided her not to the grand, central pool, but to the smaller basin positioned at the front — carved from the same pale marble, though its surface shimmered with an almost imperceptible inner light.

  This was where the true reflection occurred.

  The first look was everything. The waters would reveal a mutable vision, always cryptic. And once seen, it would never show itself again to the same soul, no matter how desperately one tried.

  Normally, priests stood ready to interpret. Occasionally, reckless maids had dared a glance, only to walk away confused, clutching half-formed images they could not understand.

  But Loven wanted to see for himself first, without his brother being involved, the priests interpretation will come later.

  He alone wanted to see her first reaction.

  Orielle stepped closer, her breath catching softly. The intricate carvings along the rim caught the light — depictions of waves and flame interwoven with celestial patterns.

  "It's exquisite," she murmured, brushing her fingers lightly along the marble edge.

  A rare warmth touched Loven's voice. "Bralgor, the god of Craft and Forge, is said to have blessed our ancestors with the skill to shape it. And Aequira himself… blessed the waters within." He gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand. "Though the extent of that blessing remains a mystery since the power it holds is not normally that of either."

  He added lightly, "We offer its… guidance to allied kings. Your husband declined, of course. But his brother the previous king came. As did his father."

  Orielle looked up sharply, confusion threading through her expression. "The previous kings came to be blessed… by another god other than the holy circle?"

  Loven tilted his head slightly.

  Ah. Yes, I forgot...Eldoria is secretive about who they worship.

  "Yes," he replied evenly. "It is tradition among allies to receive a blessing. Though…" His lips curved faintly. "It is more a vision than a blessing."

  Orielle nodded slowly, processing, and then — almost unconsciously — reached toward the water.

  The moment her fingers brushed its surface, the basin flared. Light rippled outward in a pulse, bright and sudden.

  She jerked back, startled, glancing at Loven. "Did I do something wrong?"

  He laughed softly. "No. It merely recognizes you. It wishes to show you your own reflection and future. Go on."

  Behind her, Calen stiffened. This was wrong. The Maiden of Light should not be peering into prophecy without priests present — without the king, without ceremony. This was not some courtly entertainment. What is... the prince doing? Why is he dong this?

  But it was too late to do anything The light had already awakened. The Mirror would only show once in a lifetime.

  Calen clenched his jaw and held his silence.

  Hesitantly, Orielle leaned over the basin. "…My own…" she whispered.

  The water stilled. For a heartbeat, it reflected only her face — wide-eyed, luminous. Then the surface shifted. The image moved.

  She saw herself laughing, running through a field awash in flowers. Tirian stood ahead of her, and she ran toward him, catching his hands and pulling him down into the blossoms. His rare, unguarded smile flashed in the sunlight.

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  The scene was warm. Bright. Then suddenly it darkened.

  A scream pierced the air, distant, distorted. Too faint to recognize. Voices followed — worried, urgent. Perhaps Mira. Lyssia.

  Orielle's breath faltered. "What is this…?"

  Loven leaned in slightly. Calen stepped closer despite himself. Both worried about what was unfolding for Orielle's vision.

  The image shifted again. A baby's cry. Piercing through the air.

  Orielle lay pale against white sheets, sweat glistening along her brow. Tirian stood beside her, his face tight with fear and relief. She gave him a tired, trembling smile.

  The vision twisted.

  Stone walls. Eldoria's throne room. Blood spreading across the floor. Tirian's voice echoed, raw with fury. "I said everyone get out!" His sword was drawn. Pointed at her.

  Orielle stumbled backward in the vision only fear flashing across her face, then she turned and fled.

  The water churned, shifting to another.

  Orielle ran through corridors clutching a baby to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Knights thundered behind her.

  The image shattered again, An open field. Tirian lay in her arms, coughing violently, crimson staining his lips.

  "Hic—" His breath hitched. "Please… run, Orielle… you have to—" He coughed again, blood bubbling. "Run."

  His hand fell from her arm loosening its grip. Her voice broke as she clutched him. "Please! I—I can't… I can't run…" She bent over him, sobbing into his neck.

  The water trembled violently, light fracturing across its surface. As if restarting it's prophecy, it smoothed once more into clarity.

  Orielle saw her father.

  He stood in their old house, he was younger than she remembered. His mouth moved, though no sound reached her. His hand lifted holding her arm, worry in his eyes.

  The image shifted.

  She was boarding a ship. Commoner's clothing clung to her frame, plain. Her hair was hidden beneath a modest wrap, her eyes darting nervously as if she feared being recognized.

  The vision changed again.

  A wedding aisle. But somber and no joy in the air. She walked forward dressed in bridal white — but the man waiting at the end was not Tirian. His face was obscured, shadowed, but unmistakably crowned with blonde hair.

  The image blurred before clarity could settle.

  Now she stood dressed in Veridelle's attire — flowing Grecian lines, regal and radiant. She smiled softly, fingers intertwined with a man whose loose blonde hair fell down his back. His face remained unseen.

  Then—

  A flash of steel. A knife slicing across a throat. Blood spraying in an arc of violent red.

  The basin's glow pulsed erratically. The scene twisted again.

  A beautiful chamber. Light filtering through tall windows. Orielle stood alone, breaking the seal of a letter. Her eyes moved across the parchment — then widened in shock.

  The letter slipped from her fingers.

  The water began to glow again — brighter than before.

  Brighter—

  Blinding.

  Cracks of light streaked across the basin's surface like fractures in glass.

  And then— It shattered. The image splintered outward with a sound like breaking crystal, light exploding into fragments before vanishing entirely.

  The garden fell into stunned silence.

  Calen reacted first. He lunged forward, catching Orielle just as her knees gave out. "My lady!" His heart pounded violently. I should have stopped this. I should have—

  Her body began to shake. Violent and uncontrolled.

  Tears streamed down her face, strange sounds left her lips. Her eyes remained open but unfocused, fluttering rapidly.

  Loven froze for only a heartbeat before dropping beside them. "Your Majesty!" he said, panic sharpening his voice. He pulled a cloth from his sleeve, reaching to wipe her tears. "I'm sorry… that wasn't supposed to— It's never— I just…"

  His words faltered.

  This had never happened. The Mirror only reveals... not whatever this is.

  Her shaking intensified.

  Calen tightened his hold, helpless. "My lady, breathe— please—"

  Loven grabbed her shoulders, pulling her gently but urgently from Calen's grasp into his own arms. "Your Majesty!" His voice cracked. He searched her face desperately, but her eyes fluttered wildly rolled back, unseeing.

  "Please!" he shouted, fear stripping away all composure.

  Calen rose unsteadily to his feet, his thoughts in chaos. What do I do? What do I do?

  Loven's expression hardened into command.

  "Call the physician. And a priest, Now!" he snapped. "And alert my brother of what happened."

  There was no hesitation in Calen this time. He turned and ran. Loven gathered Orielle fully into his arms.

  She felt frighteningly light.

  Her shaking began to slow as if she lost all consciousness. Her tears still fell, but her body went limp, her head rolling weakly against his shoulder.

  "Please," he whispered under his breath as he began running toward the palace. "Please be fine."

  His mind raced.

  Why did it react like that? Why did it show more than one? It' never...

  He burst through the garden archways into the palace corridors. A maid froze at the sight of him her eyes landing on the unconscious queen in his arms.

  "You!" Loven barked. "Where are the Queen chambers?"

  She flinched. "Excu—" "The Queen of Eldoria," he repeated sharply. "Where."

  "This way, my lord!" she stammered, turning and hurrying down the corridor.

  Loven followed close behind, his steps swift and heavy. Orielle had stopped shaking entirely now. Her eyes were closed. Her body slack. Frustration twisted in his chest. He bit down hard on his lip. Ugh… I'm no better than my reckless brother. This was never his intention...

  What exactly did she see in after the last light?

  *****

  The ship had barely settled against Veridelle’s docks when Tirian stepped off.

  The impact of his boots against the stone echoed louder than it should have.

  The escort awaiting him bowed immediately. Fine Veridelle robes fluttered in the coastal wind. No one met his eyes for long.

  Fear moved through them rapidly. They knew why he had come. And they knew their kingdom had taken his queen. Which is why his cold and controlled face unsettled them.

  He did not speak. Only waited patiently.

  “Y-Your Majesty,” a servant stammered, keeping his head lowered. “King Sol awaits your v-visit.”

  Tirian’s gaze lingered on him. The man swallowed hard. If Tirian chose to draw his sword in this moment, no one present would survive long enough to scream. But oh how Tirian felt the urge.

  He stepped into the Aetherion without another word. The door sealed shut with a heavy click.