The stone lid of the coffer fell apart in Ana’s hands as she moved it aside. Only she and her father knew what was inside, and she hoped against hope that it was still in one piece—unlike most everything else in her life now. Her home, the Tognir Kingdom, had shaken and broken apart as the shrieking Eltana had collapsed, defeated and spent. Dozens of her people, the Tognir, were dead. Luc, the High Guardian, and Dom, the last King, were dead. And Eli, her only friend and the only Tognir—wait, no—human— she’d ever really loved, had vanished from her life, taking his place in the human world with Nel.

Ana frowned. The memory of Nel, her jet black hair floating and wild green eyes flashing, still made envy flare up in her heart. She knew it couldn’t be helped. But Eli was happy and whole, which eased the jealousy and grief. A little.

And what about her? She glanced down into the coffer and sighed. Heirloom tableware, made of jet black polished stone, lay in large shards. It had been her mother’s and would have been handed down to her once she married. It was one of the only valuables she had hoped to recover. But that tradition, that marriage, everything—it was all shattered. Just like the tableware.

“Any luck?” A voice grumbled in her mind. She glanced behind her. Her father, Ron, stood in the jagged stone doorway to the cellar.

“No.” She dropped the splintered stone lid and got to her feet.

Ron pulled her close, his aura navy-purple. Ana wanted to weep. She wanted to shout at the dark stone caverns, smash the glow stones that had faded to a dull gray-blue light.

But she’d already done it. Multiple times. There was nothing left in her heart except a deep aching that sometimes breached the numbness she used to survive.

It had only been two weeks. She didn’t know if she could continue to go on like this.

“Well.” Ron released her, brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Find yourself something decent to wear. I need to go rally morale. I think it would do people good to see you again.”

Ana nodded, only half hearing him. As he left, she followed him down the hall and stopped to turn into her old room. Her reflection caught her attention. The looking glass was deep in the room against the far wall, but she could still see the defeated slump of her shoulders, the eternal frown she now wore like a favorite necklace, and the wrinkles in her forehead and around her eyes and mouth.

She looked like a woman 10 years her senior. Felt like it, too. How would it do anyone good to see her like this?

Still, she went to her coffer and pulled out a heavy gown of deep turquoise. The fabric’s color, once so vibrant in the bright light of glow stones, just glinted dully, muddying the color that had reminded her so often of Eli’s beautiful eyes.

A wave of fresh anguish rolled through her. She bit back the pain and dressed mechanically, locking the memories away. She had a job to do now. And Eli had always been about duty. He’d want her to be strong, to rise above her melancholy for the greater good.

Her people needed her. So she would go to them.

The survivors, about 37 in total, gathered around the broken dais. Their nervous auras and worn expressions represented the new modus operandi for the Tognir. Ana could see their eyes darting about, glancing at the rubble, waiting for another disaster to put them out of their misery.

“Have we any updates on the hunting mission?” Ron called. Three Tognir, all of them former Takers, shuffled to the front.

“We’ve caught a few nets full of fish and mollusks,” Cor said, his algae-colored hair sticking straight up in the water. “Enough for the next 2 or 3 days, I’d wager. If we ration.”

Ron nodded, his lips pressed into a firm line. The men had been gone for nearly that long. It was becoming increasingly obvious they needed more gatherers. But their food source was the river, and they couldn’t risk many more. Most of the survivors were women with their children, and they were using every spare minute outside of tending their young ones to help the few men move rubble and lay their loved ones to rest

Ana herself had been searching the rubble, for survivors, food, valuables. But she’d done so in private, needing time to process, mourn, and come to terms with the fact that in a way, she’d helped bring this devastation on her people. She’d helped Eli and the girls, and delayed Luc’s anger enough to help Eli save Nel. What would have happened had Eli not taken the knife? If Nel had died? Would the Eltana still have destroyed them for killing King Dom?

Ana swallowed hard. It didn’t matter now. Eli and the girls were safe, and she hoped, happy. What mattered right now, right here—she looked at the Tognir people, their worn yet trusting gazes flicking between her and Ron—was giving these people back their lives, as much of it as they could scrounge from the rubble.

“Good work, men. We need more of you, but unfortunately, I don’t think that’s a possibility.” Ron glanced compassionately at the Tognir mothers and widows, who met his gaze with blue-black auras.

Ana glanced down. How could she feel sorry for herself in the face of her people’s misery? She hadn’t lost anything, really. Eli was safe. Her father was safe and leading them all. She was still a noblewoman, respected and honored among her people.

Ron looked back at her and smiled gently.

So she was up.

She stepped forward, and the people’s gaze shifted to her. They took in her dull gown and weary eyes, and somehow a light kindled in them. She saw herself reflected back in their auras—a picture of beauty, silent strength, bearing their sorrows, unafraid to join them in the rubble and the raw, back-breaking work of burial and grief.

She tried not to let her smile slip. Her father was right—it was doing them good to see her. But it was a facade. She was so buried in her own minuscule troubles, so lost in what could have been, that it seemed it was all she thought about, even as she tired herself out each day working among her people. It was the only thing that kept her sane.

Deep down, she was still the same, selfish Ana. But the confidence they took in her reassured her that there was still a will to live and thrive in her people. And whatever it took, she had to keep that will healthy and strong.

So she smiled more broadly.

“There’s nothing more I can say that hasn’t already been said,” she started. “We have suffered an enormous loss. We feel lost, abandoned, unsure of how we can go on. But working together, we will build ourselves a new future. We will take time to rest, grieve, lay to rest our loved ones. But we are free from the Eltana. She can never again threaten us. We are free from the dangerous Takings, and from Luc and Dom, who used their power selfishly and hurt many people. We can see our home as it truly is. And with that knowledge, we will find a way to thrive. I know we can.”

They gazed at her. She could see the skepticism in their auras, swirling gray-gold. They wanted to believe. But they were deep in the pit of their loss.

“There is a light at the end of this tunnel,” she whispered. “We can’t see it yet. But I promise there is one. There has to be.”

It didn’t convince them. But it lifted some of the despair in their auras. She didn’t need them to believe her. She needed them to at least hope.

“Now,” she said, turning the subject. “Before we do anything else, let’s have a meal.”

Dozens of auras flashed orange. If there was one thing that could be counted on, it was that the Tognir were hungry. Always hungry. They formed an eager line at the foot of the dais while Cor, Ned, and Tim, their three Takers-turned-hunters, distributed their harvest of fish and mollusks.

As Ana turned back to go into the ruins of the palace, Ron touched her shoulder. His aura warmed golden-yellow.

“You’re doing a fine job, Ana,” he said, so that only she could hear. She smiled weakly, and he slipped two fish into her arms. “Keep it up. They need you.”

She sighed, heading back into the palace. No pressure or anything, she thought.

“Wait,” said a familiar voice. Ana stopped in the crumbling doorway and turned. Her father’s aura swirled with wary curiosity. “I’d like to speak, if I may.”

A tall, wiry figure clambered up onto the dais and stood in front of them.

“Scribe Lin,” Ana said with a nod. She’d noticed him working with the others and felt glad he’d survived the destruction. He’d helped her, what seemed like ages ago, free Eli from the Palace prison.

“Lady Ana.” Lin’s blue eyes twinkled with a kindly familiarity when he looked at her. “Lord Ron.”

“You may speak,” Ron said, though his voice was cautious.

“Thank you, sir.” Lin nodded, then turned to the Tognir. “Far be it from me to add to your miseries, but there are several things I feel I must share, about our current situation, as well as about our future.”

Ana tilted her head. She and her dad exchanged glances, his brow furrowed, his arms crossed.

“We cannot stay much longer in this place,” Lin went on, gesturing around at the ruins. “As you all know, the magic is fading. Soon, the Threshold may close, cutting us off from food and warmth. The glow stones will go dark. And we will be blinded.”

The Tognir murmured, their auras flashing violet.

“When that happens, we will no longer be able to survive here. There is something else, too.” Lin’s presence seemed to widen, stretching out, and it was an ocean of blue sincerity. “We are not what we appear to be. We are but corrupted versions of something much greater, held in captivity for centuries to the whims of the Eltana, or Crinna, as is her true name, and the ancient Eye of the Rogue, which supplied her power.”

Gasps of disbelief echoed among the Tognir. Ron shifted, his aura flashing with oranges.

“Scribe Lin,” Ron began, but Ana reached across, touching her dad’s arm.

“Let him speak,” she pleaded. “Let’s at least hear him.”

Ron stared at her, then glanced at Lin, who’d stopped speaking and was looking back at both of them, waiting.

“Very well,” he growled.

Lin nodded, then turned back to the rest of the Tognir. “In our truest form, we are Aewyn, creatures meant for sunlight, creatures with a tail and fins instead of legs. And the Aewyn Kingdom of El’ae is where we must go to find our kin.”

This time, Ana gasped. What was Lin saying? That they were an entirely different species of creature…and that they needed to leave?

“The kingdom is located at the end of the Lost Tunnel, a journey of one to two weeks.” Lin had begun to pace, and the Tognir’s murmurs had grown in volume. “If we gather enough supplies, and everyone helps—“

“That’s enough,” Ron snapped, stepping forward.

“Dad, wait,” Ana said, but he shook his head, glaring at her.

“No. I cannot allow this to continue,” Ron said, facing Lin. “These are dangerous ideas, and we have no proof that any of this is true. You would have us go blindly down the Lost Tunnels, away from the only source of food and shelter we have left?”

Lin’s blue eyes flashed. “Sir, if you would allow me to explain—“

“I’ve heard enough. This is crazy talk, nothing but a delusional fairy tale. I will hear no more.”

Lin paused. “Sir. This information regards the lives of everyone here. Including you.” He glanced at Ana. “Including your daughter. If you do not hear me now, you will find yourselves deep in a hole you cannot dig yourselves out of.”

Ron stepped forward and pointed at Lin. “You will not threaten me or my family. You will not endanger the Tognir with your delusions.” His aura twisted with sharp reds. “There was a reason we put the Scribes away from the rest of us. Now we know why.”

Lin’s eyes widened. His aura blazed up with red-orange anger and deep hurt.

Without another word, he turned and stormed away, past Ana, into the Palace.

Ana stared after him, her heart torn. What he’d said was…incredible. In every sense of the word. She knew her father was simply trying to protect the Tognir.

Even so…Lin’s words offered hope, something Ana desperately craved.

What if Lin was right?

Ron took in several deep breaths once Lin had gone and faced the Tognir.

“We will continue on as we have been,” he said. “The last thing we need right now is a dangerous expedition on the word of a Scribe.”

Ana could see their auras, most of them confident, agreeing with Ron. But some of them swirled with uncertainty, and a glimmer of bright hope.

Ron escorted Ana off the dais and into the anteroom.

“Dad,” she said softly. “Lin was just trying to help.”

“I know,” he said, his brow still furrowed. But his aura had softened, swirling navy. “But honestly, Ana…another kingdom, at the end of the Lost Tunnel?” He shook his head. “It’s just impossible. It’s a fever dream, cooked up out of desperation. Nothing more.”

“But he’s right about one thing,” Ana said, chewing her lip. “We can’t last here if the magic fails completely.”

“I know that as well,” Ron said with a sigh. He took her hands. “I don’t want to give the Tognir false hope, Ana. They don’t deserve that, after all they’ve been through.”

Ana gazed at him, then nodded. “I understand.”

Still, as she retreated to her room with the two fish her dad had given her, she couldn’t help but let her own aura buoy up with hope. They already knew what would happen if Lin was wrong, and it made Ana sick to her stomach.

But if he was right, if they left the ruins and ventured on to something better…

She shook her head, dispersing the hopes. Her dad was right. What Lin was saying was impossible.

And until she saw evidence to the contrary, she had to do what was best for her people.

* * *

Lin retreated to the Room of Records, seething. Curses he’d buried throughout his years as a silent Scribe stormed through his mind. He took a deep breath, then another, as the towering, half-crumbled shelves of fabrics enveloped him.

Of course they wouldn’t listen to him. Why would they? Had he really been so naive as to hope the Tognir had somehow changed heart because of the destruction?

Apparently so. Ron’s words, his cynical, paranoid hatred of the Scribes, had come out all too plainly in his speech silencing Lin. It seemed not even a catastrophe could erase centuries of relegation to the bottom of society.

Lin paused near a sealed stone chest. The presence within it, half-veiled through layers of stone and Song-woven cloth, seemed to stretch its silver-black tendrils towards him, as if to comfort him.

You should be their leader, it hissed within his mind. Warmth, solace, understanding, flooded through Lin, relaxing his tense muscles and jaw. You have the answers they desperately need. I could help you convince Ron and the others.

Lin frowned. “I will not,” he muttered, turning away from the chest and striding the opposite direction. “I will not, I will not, I will not.”

Suit yourself…. The presence faded, and the comfort slipped from Lin’s shoulders like a cloak falling to the floor. He shook himself, then heaved a sigh. The Eye of the Rogue, the source of the late Eltana’s power, had fallen into his outstretched hand the night of the destruction. It seemed to have chosen him…but Lin would not choose it. He would not become another Eltana, another Crinna, bent and unnaturally aged, coursing with otherworldly power that sought no ends but its own. So he’d fashioned a pouch with a Shield Song he’d learned from an old fabric, thrown the Eye inside, then locked it in the chest concealed in the Room of Records, where no one else dared come.

It was the right decision, he knew. But as the days wore on, and the Eye’s magic slowly faded from the broken walls of the Tognir kingdom, leaving cold darkness in its wake, he grew more and more weary of fighting the Eye. And after Ron’s dismissal of him today, he knew there would be no easy way to convince the Tognir of the truth.

Lin crept back towards the chest and stopped, lifting his hand to the highest shelf to feel for the key. His fingers closed around the crusted metal object, and his heart sunk with dread.

If only Bon were here, he’d know exactly what to do.

Lin was the only Scribe left and had been for the last decade. His heart still ached for his mentor and his dark, twinkling eyes. What he wouldn’t give for a word of advice, or even the shoulder of a friend to mourn on.

But despite the destruction, despite all he’d done and was continuing to do to protect the Tognir people, he would be shunned and left alone to face his fate.

Just like always.

Lin shook his head. He had to hope. He had to keep hoping against the dark cloud that threatened his tired mind, day and night. To lose hope meant to give up on the Tognir…and on the new life that awaited them beyond the Lost Tunnel.

It also meant failing his duty as a Scribe—and not only a Scribe, but the sole Scribe alive to see the Eltana defeated, the only Scribe with the ability to reveal every secret the Scribes had been sworn to conceal during her centuries of corrupted life.

Failure was not an option. Failure meant more than death. It meant a death with no meaning. It meant burying hope and truth under the rubble of the kingdom.

He nodded, his jaw set and firm. He would continue to present the truth to the Tognir. He would simply need to find alternative ways to go about it, perhaps scouting for those interested in his words when he helped with clean-up efforts and inviting them to come to the Room of Records to hear more. Underhanded, perhaps, and it contradicted Ron’s command.

Lin scowled and crossed his arms.

He answered to no-one but the truth now, and that truth would be made known, with or without Ron’s approval.

All of the Tognir depended on him now, whether they realized it or not. And he would not fail them.

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