Chapter 25
Finn
The stairs spiral down forever.
Or at least it feels that way — step after step carved from pale wood, descending into the earth beneath the impossible tree. Lanterns flare to life as we pass, soft pink light blooming like flowers waking up, and I can’t shake the feeling that the walls are watching us.
Definitely creepy.
I trail my fingers along the wood as we descend. It hums faintly beneath my touch, warm despite the frost that edges everything, and my chaos magic stirs in response. Not the usual “you’re about to explode something” feeling. Weirder. Like my magic is wagging its tail.
I pull my hand back.
Nope. Don’t like that.
Ahead of me, Aspen leads like he’s being pulled by an invisible thread. He hasn’t hesitated once since we entered the tree — just keeps moving forward with that quiet certainty that makes the rest of us follow without question.
Must be nice, having instincts that don’t mostly get you in trouble.
Kaia walks near him, her shadows gliding alongside her like purposeful pets. Bob is on high alert, but even he seems… calmer here. Less murder-y. Like the tree convinced him we’re not all about to die.
Torric and Malrik carry Callum between them, his unconscious body slack and too light. Kieran hovers close, jaw tight, eyes never leaving Callum’s face.
The rest of us just follow. Story of my life, really.
The stairs end.
We step into a wide hallway, the walls curving gently ahead so I can’t see where it leads. The air is different here — cooler, cleaner, like winter without the bite.
And the walls are covered in carvings.
Berserker warriors etched in glowing frost-lines, caught mid-battle, mid-ritual, mid-transformation. The detail is insane. I can see individual muscles, individual expressions, individual moments of “I’m about to ruin someone’s day.”
The tree’s already picking favorites, apparently.
Aspen stops dead.
His breath catches — a small, sharp sound that makes everyone freeze. He’s staring at the carvings like they just spoke his name.
Torric almost walks into him. He shifts Callum’s weight, mouth opening to say something — and then he sees the walls.
His face goes slack. Eyes wide. Jaw loose.
I’ve never seen Torric look like that. Like the ground just disappeared under his feet and he’s still falling.
“I got him,” I say, moving forward before I can think about it. I duck under Callum’s arm, taking Torric’s place. Malrik adjusts without a word, and suddenly I’m half-carrying an unconscious traitor through a magic tree.
Not how I saw today going, but fine.
Torric doesn’t even notice. He’s already at the wall, one hand reaching out like he can’t stop himself.
The carvings glow brighter where his fingers touch the wood. Gold threads through the frost-lines — fire meeting ice.
Aspen moves to stand beside him. They don’t speak. They don’t have to.
I watch them trace the carvings with their eyes, with their hands. Watch Torric’s shoulders shake once before he locks them down. Watch Aspen press his palm flat against a carving of two warriors standing back to back — twins, I realize. Twins like them.
And then Aspen goes still.
“Torric,” he breathes. “Look.”
He’s pointing at a larger carving near the end of the hall. Berserkers in formation — dozens of them — flanking a central figure. A woman with wings spread wide, something that looks suspiciously like shadows curling at her feet. A Valkyrie.
The berserkers aren’t just warriors. They’re protectors. Shields. Standing between the Valkyrie and whatever’s coming for her.
“We were her guard,” Torric says roughly. His voice cracks on the words. “That’s what we were. That’s what berserkers were for.”
“Our father never told us,” Aspen adds, quieter. “He branded us with runes we didn’t understand. Trained us like weapons. And he never—” He stops. Swallows. “He knew. He had to have known what we were.”
Torric’s hand finds his brother’s shoulder. Grips hard.
“Maybe he was afraid,” Aspen says quietly. “Of what we’d become if we knew the truth.”
“Then he was a coward.”
Aspen doesn’t argue. He just stands there, steady and solid, while Torric breathes through whatever’s breaking inside him.
Kaia moves closer. She doesn’t touch them — doesn’t intrude — but she’s there. Present. Her shadows curl around the edges of the hallway like they’re standing guard.
“This is your history,” she says softly. “Not his. Whatever he did with it, whatever he kept from you — this belongs to you now.”
Torric’s jaw works. He doesn’t look at her, but I see his shoulders drop. Just a little. Just enough.
“No,” he says roughly. “It belongs to us.”
She smiles softly, but it doesn’t meet her eyes, like she doesn’t know what to do with that idea.
“Of course you two get the murder-hallway,” I mutter, because someone has to break the tension before we all start crying.
Aspen’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
Torric snorts. “Shut up, Finn.”
Good enough.
We keep moving.
The hallway curves once more, and then the world opens up.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
The cavern is massive — bigger than anything I expected, bigger than should be possible beneath a single tree.
The ceiling arches overhead like the inside of a cathedral, studded with glowing stones that pulse like heartbeats.
Bioluminescent plants climb the walls in soft blues and pinks and silvers, their leaves unfurling toward some invisible light source.
A bathing spring dominates the center of the space, crystal-clear water swirling with pink and white motes. A smaller pool feeds into it — drinking water, maybe. Fresh and clean and impossible.
Fruit-bearing trees cluster near the edges, their branches heavy with things I’ve never seen before. Probably shouldn’t eat those until someone confirms they won’t kill us. My stomach growls.
Please don’t kill us.
Soft wind stirs from nowhere, carrying the scent of winter and growing things.
And everywhere — everywhere — motes drift like fallen stars.
Everyone goes silent. Even me. That’s how you know it’s serious.
Five tunnels radiate outward from the cavern walls. Dark. Silent. Waiting.
Behind us, the Berserker hallway glows softly — the only one lit.
Kaia is wide-eyed, her hand pressed to her chest like she’s trying to keep her heart inside her body. Carl tumbles past her ankles, fascinated by the glowing plants, while Linda drifts toward the spring like she’s checking if it’s safe.
“Over here,” Malrik says, nodding toward the warm side of the spring.
We lay Callum down gently. He doesn’t stir — still unconscious, still broken, still a problem we don’t know how to solve. Kieran kneels beside him immediately, one hand hovering over Callum’s chest.
The rest of us gather near the center, catching our breath. Shadows drift to the perimeter — Bob taking point, Mouse pacing a slow patrol. The Eds cluster near Kaia like nervous puppies.
For a moment, nobody speaks. We just… exist. In this impossible place that shouldn’t be real.
“What is this?” Kaia finally asks. Her voice echoes slightly in the vast space. “How can any of this exist?”
“It shouldn’t,” Malrik says quietly. “But it’s beautiful. I thought they were myth. Something my mother made up to make me feel better when my father traveled.”
“Clearly not,” Torric mutters.
We all seem to focus on the dark tunnels. They’re spaced evenly around the cavern walls. Waiting for something. Waiting for someone.
“Should we…?” Kaia gestures vaguely.
“Carefully,” Kieran says, rising from Callum’s side. His voice is rough. “We don’t know what else might be—”
He stops mid-sentence.
His head turns toward one of the dark tunnels. Slowly. Like something is pulling him.
Kieran moves before any of us can react.
He drifts toward the tunnel on the far side of the cavern, his steps slow and measured, like he’s walking through a dream. Like he can’t stop even if he wanted to.
“Kieran?” Kaia calls.
He doesn’t answer.
The moment he crosses the threshold, gold light floods the passage.
Dragons.
Etched into every surface, circling carved mountains, breathing fire that streaks through the wood like living flame. The craftsmanship is breathtaking — individual scales showing, wings spread wide, eyes that seem to track you as you move.
Kieran stops in the center of the hall. His whole body goes rigid.
Kaia is already moving. She crosses the cavern quickly, shadows trailing behind her, and stops at the entrance to his hall. She doesn’t step inside — doesn’t intrude on whatever this is — but she’s close enough that he knows she’s there. We all follow, hanging back.
“Kieran,” she says softly. “What do you see?”
His voice comes out broken. “The dragon riders. My mother used to tell me stories about them. I thought…” He presses his palm flat against the wall. The dragons glow brighter under his touch. “I thought she was making them up. Fairy tales to help me sleep.”
He traces one of the carvings — a massive dragon in flight, wings spread wide, scales etched in golden light. And on its back…
A figure with wings of her own. A Valkyrie.
Kieran goes very still.
“They were real,” Kaia breathes, stepping closer. She sees it too.
“They were real.” His voice is barely a whisper. “And they… we…” He can’t finish. His hand trembles against the wall.
Kaia stares at the carving. At the Valkyrie astride the dragon. At the ancient partnership etched into the wood.
Her shadows curl around her ankles, restless.
Neither of them says what we’re all thinking. But the implication hangs in the air like smoke.
Kieran isn’t meant to carry a rider.
He’s meant to carry her.
His fist clenches at his side. His jaw works like he’s fighting something.
Kaia reaches out and touches his arm. Just that. Just a touch. But I see his shoulders drop. See some of the tension bleed out of him.
“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” she says. “We’re here. Whatever this means, you’re not carrying it alone.”
Kieran doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t pull away either.