Everything inside her seed to collapse inward at once, as though her body no longer knew how to function under the sheer weight of what she was seeing. Her mother.
After all these years, after the grief, the loss, the hollow acceptance that she was gone—here she was. Alive.
Shock ca first, sharp and paralyzing. Disbelief followed close behind, clawing its way through her mind. Then joy surged up from sowhere deep within her soul, so sudden and so intense it almost hurt. It filled her completely, pressing outward until it felt as though she might crack beneath it.
A darker thought slipped in just as quickly, souring the mont. A flicker of anger burned through her. Dena had known all along. All those questions, all those desperate attempts to pry the truth from her, and Thalora had been lying here the entire ti, hidden, guarded, kept like so twisted secret.
It did not matter now. None of it did.
Her attention snapped back to the woman on the platform, and without thinking, she stepped forward. Her hand lifted, trembling slightly as she reached out, desperate to touch her, to confirm that this was not so cruel illusion conjured by the cave.
But the mont her fingers brushed against the space above Thalora’s body, a faint shimr rippled outward. Circe’s hand stopped abruptly.
There was sothing there.
She pressed forward again, more firmly this ti, and felt it, a smooth, unyielding surface. It was like glass, curved and seamless, forming a transparent do over her mother’s still form. The barrier flickered faintly at the point of contact before pushing back against her hand with a sharp, rejecting force.
Circe jerked slightly at the resistance, her brows pulling together. "No..."
She tried again, this ti with more strength, but the result was the sa. The barrier did not budge. It only shimred in quiet defiance, as though mocking her efforts.
Her teeth clenched.
There had been no such barrier over the third Liraelith. She would have noticed sothing like this. Which ant this had been placed here deliberately.
And there was only one person who could have done it.
Dena.
A cold anger settled into her chest. Even in death, she had made sure this would not be easy. Circe exhaled slowly, forcing herself to remain calm. Frustration would not help her now.
She beca aware of the wards almost imdiately after.
They pressed in on her from all sides, heavy and suffocating, like an invisible weight bearing down on her very existence. The air itself felt hostile, thick with ancient magic that coiled tightly around the chamber.
If she had been in her physical body, she was certain it would have torn her apart the mont she stepped into this place.
But she was not.
And that was the only reason she was still standing.
Circe lifted her hands again, this ti stopping just short of the barrier. For a brief mont, she hesitated. She was not even certain her magic would answer her in this state. Still, she tried.
She reached inward, calling on that familiar well of power.It responded instantly. It rose up, flowing through her as easily as breathing, as though this form had done nothing to weaken her connection to it.
Without wasting another second, she let it spill forward.
Her magic spread over the surface of the barrier, wrapping around it in a thin, controlled layer. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then— A crack.
It was small at first. Thin. Barely visible.
Dark lines began to form where her magic touched, delicate fractures that resembled hairline splits. They spread quickly, branching outward in jagged patterns, crawling across the barrier’s surface like vines
More cracks followed, multiplying. Within seconds, the entire do was laced with them. The once-transparent surface began to darken, turning opaque as the structure weakened under the strain.
The wards reacted imdiately. The pressure around her intensified, slamming into her from every direction as if trying to crush her where she stood. It grew heavier with each passing second, pushing against her magic, fighting to preserve what had been placed here.
Circe held her ground. The strain was uncomfortable, more than that, it was suffocating but she refused to let it break her concentration. Not when she was this close.
She stepped back slightly, drawing in a steady breath as she gathered her power once more. This ti, she did not hold back.
Her magic slamd into the barrier with violent force. A loud crack split through the chamber as the crack deepened, one jagged line tearing straight down the do’s center.
Circe did not stop.She struck it again.And again. Each blow landed harder than the last, sending sharp, echoing cracks through the air as the barrier began to give way. The darkened surface trembled under the assault, pieces of it splintering apart.
One final strike and it shattered. Fragnts of magic dissolved into nothingness, leaving the space between her and her mother completely unobstructed.
The pressure from the wards eased just slightly.
Circe barely noticed. She was already moving forward. There was nothing separating them now.
She stopped at the edge of the platform, her gaze fixed entirely on the woman before her.
"Mother?" The word left her lips as little more than a whisper, fragile and uncertain.
Thalora did not move.
She lay exactly as she had before, her expression peaceful, untouched by the chaos surrounding her. No sign that she had heard her daughter calling out to her.
Circe swallowed, a faint crease forming between her brows.
For the first ti since breaking the barrier, uncertainty crept back in. Her hands hovered slightly at her sides, as though unsure what to do next.
How was she supposed to wake her?
Circe stood frozen beside the raised platform, her breath shallow as she stared down at her mother’s unmoving form. The weight of it all pressed heavily against her chest, threatening to crush the fragile hope that had only just taken root.
After all these years, she had found her and yet, Thalora remained just out of reach.
Circe forced herself to think past the storm of emotions clouding her mind. Panic would not help her now. Desperation would not wake her mother. She needed sothing more, sothing stronger.
Then the cave’s words returned to her.
It promised to grant her access to the part of herself that has remained locked away.
mories. Lives that she had supposedly lived. But most especially, she would be able to draw more power from it and that was what she needed now more than anything.
She closed her eyes and searched for the connection she shared with the cave and it answered, sending mories crashing into her all at once.
Circe staggered,as her mind was flooded with fragnts that did not belong to this lifeti. She saw endless skies that were not of this world, cities long reduced to dust, and countless bodies left in her wake. She felt power, vast and imasurable, flow through her in ways she had never understood before.
She had been many things. Taken many forms. But beneath all of them, there had always been one constant. Death.
She was what existed between life and the existence that ca after. The beginning and end of all things. The knowledge settled into her bones with a quiet certainty. And with it ca understanding of her mother’s situation.
Thalora was not gone, her soul had simply drifted. Displaced. Trapped sowhere beyond reach, held away from her body by delicate ancient magic.
She opened her eyes and pulled from the cave’s well of power. It rose within her like a tide answering the pull of the moon, smooth and controlled. She felt its power coil around hers, rging it with her own.
A faint glow began to gather around her hands.
She lifted her hand and placed it gently against Thalora’s forehead. This ti, there was no barrier to stop her as she let the power flow. But she did not direct it at the body. She reached beyond it. Her mother’s soul.
It drifted sowhere far beyond the physical world, untethered and wandering, as though caught in a current it could not escape. The mont her power brushed against it, resistance surged back at her.
The wards.
Even now, they fought against her interference, pressing down with a crushing force ant to keep things exactly as they were.
But the magic she wielded was chaotic and wild, much more powerful than the wards.
Circe grabbed hold of that wild magic and spun it into a tether. She cast her consciousness outward, plunging into the cold grey mist where her mother’s spirit wandered. It felt like reaching into a frozen lake, but Circe didn’t flinch. She found the flickering spark of Thalora’s mind and wrapped her own power around it, anchoring it.
"Co back," Circe commanded wordlessly.
Then she pulled.
The tether tightened, dragging Thalora’s drifting consciousness back toward the physical realm. The air in the crypt began to howl as the vacuum of the void resisted, but Circe used the cave’s power to stabilize the connection. She acted as a bridge, a conduit between the living and the lost.
Slowly, the pale, waxen color of Thalora’s skin began to flush with a faint pink hue. The stagnant air around the altar stirred. Circe poured the last of her borrowed strength into the link, forcing the soul back into the vessel.
Thalora’s chest hitched. A sharp, ragged gasp echoed through the silent chamber.
Circe watched, breathless, as her mother’s eyelids flickered. The vacant, peaceful expression vanished, replaced by the confusion of soone waking from a nightmare that had lasted years.
"Circe?"
The voice was thin and raspy, barely audible.
Circe felt sothing in her chest crack open at the sound of it. Before she could answer, she felt a violent tug on her own spirit. The mission was complete, and the cave was pulling its new guardian back to her own body.
"I’m coming for you, Mother," Circe promised, her form beginning to dissolve into the blue light. "Just stay there. I’m coming."
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