The magnificent caverns, their walls alive with a brilliant, unearthly light producing strange reflections over the lake, preceded them. As they dropped, the brightness began to shift to produce wonderfully beautiful twisting and throbbing patterns. But Seraphine was growing increasingly uncomfortable—a test of her soul, a silent invitation, more than it seemed.
The light gathered into forms without notice, reflecting back her along the cave's walls in mirror fashion. But there were other faces, other individuals hiding in the mirrors, their features distorted with suffering and hunger, not just her face. Their eyes sunken.
Her heart jumped as Seraphine noticed one of the figures—the recognizable lines of his face—the frightened look in his eyes. Her father was before her; his face was pale and his picture was foggy. She yearned to reach back, to touch the memories that seemed so clear, so alive as he held his hand against the mirror.
"Seraphine," his voice hushed with dreadful intensity around her. "Why do you have decided on this path? You will fight nonstop and die the same death.
Her palm faltered in front of the mirror as her heart hurt with a mix of love and dread. She stopped. Her own doubts hung thick in the air as the tunnel seemed to shut in around her. The walls pushed down. Was she truly strong enough to continue her father's legacy and satisfy the responsibilities ahead?
Rowan was standing next to her, his hand resting on her shoulder; his presence balanced the pandemonium. "Seraphine," he whispered, his voice soft yet understatedly powerful. " These concepts are not real. They are just shadows, illusions meant to try your will. Never let them to control you.
She struggled to shift away from the horrible image of her father and focus on the warmth of Rowan's palm, the force of his presence. She inhaled shakly. Still, the illusion persisted; her father's voice got louder, more forceful, each sentence filled with an intensity that seemed to reach into her very core.
The hallucination mocked, "You are not strong enough, Seraphine," its voice thickening and distorted. "The Crown would eat you exactly like it did me. Turn around now before it is too late.
The words struck her like a physical blow, and the weight of the uncertainty bit her erasing her confidence. Her will is gone. But Amara's voice cut over the evening, clear and strong, a lighthouse of clarity among the shadows.
Amara said, "Do not listen to it, Seraphine," her eyes piercing and her voice rang with a force over the lake. "Nothing more than these sites reflect in your worries. The sea will test you; it cannot control you. You can negotiate this with your will alone.
Breathing deeply, Seraphine rooted herself in Rowan's steady presence next to her and in Amara's words. She made herself turn away from the illusion and focus on the road forward—that which had brought her here. Her father's voice faded, then a quiet resolve—a force building inside her to battle against the shadows—came front stage.
As they descended down into the cave, the reflections altered and twisted, each one providing a fresh challenge of her will. She saw herself trapped in the Crown's power, her body bound by chains of shimmering coral, her eyes hollow, her soul eaten by the will of the sea.
She continued, though, every step a protest of the fears that tortured her, a rejection to let the darkness control her. Rowan and Amara's presence kept her always aware that she was not alone and that she had the determination to meet whatever lay ahead.
The road shrank as the walls closed in on each side and the reflections grew, each one parading her with images of loss and failure. Her pulse quickened, her breath grew shallow, gasps, and the illusions drew close their voices a chorus of doubt flooding her thoughts.
One voice stated, "You are weak," in a sarcastic, condescending tone. "You will never perfect the authority of the Crown."
Still another voice pierced and mercilessly joined in. " You are not your father. One cannot have his legacy weighing him.
Seraphine held her hands, her mark glowing with enormous light resisting the darkness. She looked at the illusions, her voice gentle but surely forceful. Her gaze was steady.
Her words cut across the clamor, silence the murmurs, "I am not my father," she said. And I have no obligation to be. I am here for my own trip and for my own objective. The Crown does not help me to underline control. I decide where I will die.
The illusions danced, their forms flickering, their voices lost into silence. Her mark's brightness banished the shadows and lit the path forward from the cave. Calm crept over her and she felt a quiet assurance full of a strength she had not known she had.
Rowan smiled a little, muted, proud smile that warmed her heart; his voice communicated calm respect. "you did it, Seraphine." Facing your anxiety helped you overcome it. The sea notes your strength.
Amara nodded, glancing respectfully. "The Crown calls for will, Seraphine. You have proved, nonetheless, that your will is unique. The answer to really using its strength is
Gratitude flooded Seraphine, a sense of kinship surpassing language. She came to see then that her path was about forging her own pathway, embracing the strength inside her, not merely about exposing her father's past.
They moved across the cave, the road now clean and the walls alive with a warm glow seemed to guide them ahead. The reflections disappeared, and as though the ocean itself knew her triumph, her might, a quiet, almost reverent hush occurred.
Emerging from the mirrored tube, the tunnel opened onto a vast cavern bursting with bright coral forms pulsating with an alien light. At the middle of the chamber stood a massive, coral-encrusted monster whose body whirled from ancient coral under the will of the water.
The creature focused on Seraphine, as though spotting her as the one coming hunting for the Crown, eyes gleaming with a sentient intelligence.
Rowan stood stiffly next her, his gaze doubtful. Here lies it, Seraphine. the last keeper.
Amara spoke deliberately yet cautiously. "The behemoth will find rest at the Crown finally. It will not let us pass unless you prove your worth.
Deeply breathing, Seraphine felt her will hardening as she got ready for the last test. She knew now from her inherited past that the road was about trust rather than power—about recognizing her relationship with the water.
She glanced at her pals one more time and then onward, her mark blazing with a ferocious, constant brightness anxious to show herself to the final protector of the water.