The silence that followed the Queen’s disappearance wasn’t peaceful—it was expectant.

Sebastian stood still, one hand hovering just above the scorched circle etched into the stone floor. The rough surface beneath his fingers pulsed with a slow, steady rhythm—too deliberate to be natural—like the measured breathing of something ancient, sleeping far below.

Another boom echoed from somewhere deep beneath them. It wasn’t loud, but it resonated like a distant drum you could feel in your chest.

Nick flicked dust from his ear, casting Sebastian a sidelong glance.
“You hear that, right?”

Sebastian stepped to the edge of the newly opened stairwell, peering down into the dark. A cool, clean draft drifted upward—dry, untouched by time, and carrying the faint scent of something old and forgotten. Yet despite the chill, Sebastian didn’t take the first step down.

Not yet.

Behind him, Nick exhaled slowly and dropped onto a jagged piece of broken masonry.
“Alright,” he said, rubbing his temple with a tired paw, “before we dive headfirst into what is absolutely going to be some spooky underground nonsense, I need a minute.”

Sebastian turned to see Nick reach into his belt pouch and pull out a small glass marble. With a casual flick of his wrist, the marble struck the stone floor and cracked. Instantly, with a soft whoosh like air folding on itself, Nick’s leather satchel unfolded and appeared as if from nowhere.

“I still don’t understand how that works,” Sebastian muttered, lowering himself down with a wince.

“That’s the idea,” Nick grinned, rummaging through the satchel. “You know what else doesn’t make sense? Not having tea after nearly dying.”

Nick pulled out a tiny, battered kettle, a foldable tripod, and a square tin filled with loose leaves. Within moments, a small fire sparked under the pot, and the gentle, calming aroma of chamomile and mint began to cut through the lingering smoke and ash.

Sebastian leaned back against a collapsed pillar, closing his eyes. The silence now felt different—not hollow or tense, but quietly watchful.

“You alright?” Nick asked after a while.

Sebastian opened his eyes slowly. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t think I’d still be breathing.”

Nick handed him a chipped enamel cup filled with the steaming tea. “We never do. That’s the trick.”

The tea was hot and slightly bitter, but it settled something in Sebastian’s chest—the weight of the Core’s fading glow, the ache in his limbs, even the lingering presence of the Queen beneath the ash—all dulling just enough to let him think clearly.

“What was that power?” he asked after a long sip. “The blue light. The screen.”

Nick stared into his own cup for a moment. “Don’t know,” he said quietly. “But whatever it was, it liked you.”

Sebastian chuckled weakly. “That’s not very comforting.”

Nick lifted his cup in a mock salute. “Welcome to Oakenstar.”

When the tea was gone and the fire flickered out, they stood and began their descent.

The stairwell spiraled downward in a slow, perfect coil. The stone steps were polished smooth, free of dust or cobwebs, as if someone still tended this place. Their footsteps echoed too clearly—too far behind them—like sound trapped in a cavernous vault.

At last, the stairs ended.

They stepped into a vast, impossibly large chamber. The lantern’s warm glow was swallowed by shadows that bent and twisted unnaturally. Sometimes the light stretched farther than it should, illuminating distant corners; other times it barely reached the floor beneath their feet.

The chamber bore the marks of purpose long forgotten: arched halls, empty pedestals, shattered display cases. Shelves lined the walls—carved from stone, wood, even bone. But there were no books. No scrolls.

Just absence.

“This place is giving me a headache,” Nick muttered. “It’s like something half-finished, trying not to be noticed.”

Sebastian approached one shelf and lifted what looked like a thin book—or perhaps a box. It crumbled in his fingers—too soft to be paper, too brittle to be anything alive.

He whispered, “Is this a library?”

Nick jumped up onto a fallen column. “More like a ghost of one.”

They moved deeper into the ruins.

The first room was tall and narrow—a library, but a strange one. Thousands of blank books lined the walls, their spines pale and brittle. Sebastian pulled one free; the pages fluttered softly—then turned to dust in his hand.

Nick sniffed the stale air. “This isn’t paper.”

“What is it then?”

“Skin,” Nick said flatly. “Old. Tanned. Used.”

A soft creak echoed from somewhere above. They didn’t wait to find its source.

The second room was cold—frozen, almost. A great hall rimed with frost, the floor slick beneath their boots. Dozens of faceless mannequins stood silently along the walls, dressed in strange cloaks and armor. Some looked oddly familiar.

One wore a jacket like Sebastian’s—but aged, threadbare, stained. Another bore Nick’s satchel, but larger—as if meant for a wolf or hound instead of a cat.

Nick walked stiffly through the frost. “Do not like this,” he muttered.

They crossed the hall quickly.

The third room was circular, dim, and utterly silent. At its center sat a single object: a mirror no larger than a dinner plate, resting gently on a black stone pedestal.

Sebastian stepped forward. Nick hung back.

He lifted the mirror.

It did not show his reflection.

Or rather—it showed a version of him: older, pale-eyed, marked by a thin scar across his temple. The reflection stared back—calm, certain. Behind it stood a shadowy figure, too tall to be Nick, cloaked in shifting colors. Watching.

Then the mirror vanished from Sebastian’s hands. No sound. No flash. Just… gone.

“I hate this place,” Nick said quietly. “Do you get the feeling it wants something?”

Sebastian nodded slowly. “But it doesn’t know what.”

One more passage opened ahead.

The walls behind them sealed tight—no going back. The hallway ahead was smooth, with gentle steps leading downward. At its end waited a white door, glowing faintly. No hinges or latch—just open.

Sebastian stopped before it.

It didn’t pull at him with fear—but with familiarity. Like walking toward something long buried in memory.

Nick glanced up. “If this turns into a glowing pit of screaming teeth, I’m blaming you.”

Sebastian managed a tired smile, then stepped forward.

The light swallowed them whole.

They emerged—not in Oakenstar.

But in morning mist.

A breeze rustled soft grass beneath their feet. The ground was spongy with dew. Birds sang in the distance. Trees lined a worn trail that curved down toward open fields, where broken fences and crumbled stones dotted the land.

Sebastian turned slowly, heart sinking.

Nick turned with him. His ears lay flat. “No,” he said quietly. “No, this isn’t… how?”

The trail was familiar. So was the line of hills, the soft rise to the west, the sound of a creek they couldn’t yet see.

They were standing just outside Ashgrove.

Not as it had been when they left. Not quite as it had ever been.

But undeniably, impossibly... Ashgrove.

Sebastian felt his mouth go dry. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

Nick flicked his tail nervously. “And yet... here we are.”

They stood for a long moment in the golden morning light, unsure if they had returned to the world—or stepped even deeper out of it.