Alora ran, her breath ragged, her heart hammering like a drumbeat of panic in her chest. The trees tore at her arms as she fled through the forest, guided only by instinct and desperation. When she reached the bed of the lake—the sacred place where her brother had vanished—she dropped to her knees and plunged her hands into the water.

  "Dauntice," she gasped. "Please... hear me."

  The water shimmered, then broke as Dauntice surfaced. His eyes widened when he saw his sister, tear-streaked and trembling.

  “Alora?” he said. “What’s happened?”

  Her words spilled out in a torrent—Onicent's attack, her escape into the night, the fear that still clung to her bones. Dauntice listened in silence, his expression darkening with every word. He had always known Onicent to be prideful, even cruel—but to raise a hand against a guest under their mother’s protection? He was shaken to the core.

  “I… I don't have words,” he murmured, shame and fury battling in his voice. “I never thought—”

  She stepped back from him, wary. “I want to go home,” she said. “To Mother. To the Void.”

  Dauntice hesitated. “She cannot reach you from here—not directly. But there is a way.”

  He told her of a deep cave, hidden in the underworld's folds, where her voice might echo into the old places where their mother still listened. Alora was reluctant, watching him with quiet distrust, but finally nodded. She followed him at a distance through the tangled roots and stone, until they reached the mouth of the cave.

  “There,” he said. “Follow the tunnel to its end. She will hear you.”

  Alora thanked him quietly and stepped into the dark. Dauntice dove back into the lake, a heavy weight in his chest. The image of his sister’s terrified face clung to him, and he felt—truly—for the first time, horror at what his brother had become.

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  Alora wandered for days in the dim tunnels, her brother’s instructions long behind her. The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the sound of her own weeping. She had tried to be strong, but she could no longer hide the truth, even from herself.

  She was with child.

  At last, weak and exhausted, she stumbled into a chamber lit by a low, flickering glow. Three grass-covered blocks stood like ancient altars at the edge of a lava pool. Alora sank to her knees, trembling.

  “Mother,” she whispered. “Please... help me.”

  The lava hissed—and then, from deep within the earth, a slow, yawning voice rose like smoke.

  “My dear, sweet daughter... what has become of you?”

  Through tears, Alora told her everything. Of Onicent, of her flight, of the life now growing within her.

  The old goddess was silent for a long time.

  “You cannot give birth here, in the Void,” she said at last. “And it is not safe in the overworld—not while Onicent walks it.”

  “Then where can I go, Mother?”

  The goddess spoke again, gently. “Lean over the lava. Let your tears fall into it.”

  Alora obeyed. Her tears struck the molten surface—and in their wake, deep violet blocks rose from the lava, smooth and cool.

  “Take them,” her mother said. “When the child is born, build a frame and strike it with flint and steel. It will open a way back to the overworld—but not the one Onicent knows.”

  Alora gathered the strange blocks, her hands trembling.

  “Follow the tunnels. Seek the portal that reminds you of the Void. There, your brother Maiguh lives with his daughters. They will shelter you.”

  Alora turned to go, but her mother’s voice called her back one last time.

  “Tell no one the child is Onicent’s. No one. He must never know.”

  Alora followed the dark, winding path until she reached a portal unlike any she had seen before. Its surface shimmered with glittering stars, a mirror of the Void’s sky. She stepped to the edge, and, sensing a peace she hadn’t felt in days, stepped through.

  Maiguh had already received word. Their mother’s message had been brief, but enough. He and his daughters—Dinetee, Endra, and Nevlin—welcomed Alora without question. She did not tell them the full tale, careful to heed her mother’s warning. They saw the pain in her eyes and asked nothing more.

  They gave her a room in the small stone castle they had carved together, a quiet haven far from the overworld. For the first time since she had fled, Alora felt warmth. Safety. She surrendered to sleep, and dreamt of silver rivers and fields untouched by flame.

  Back in the overworld, the lava pool where Alora had wept hissed and spat.

  The surface bubbled—then split.

  And from its depths, something began to form.