Mizuhara always felt like it was holding its breath at night.
During the day, the lanterns swayed in gentle breezes, the waterfalls murmured soft prayers, and laughter drifted through the terraces like silk ribbons caught in the wind. But at night, the city of glass and salt quieted in a way that made every sound sharper. Clearer. More honest.
That honesty pressed against my ribs now, heavy as a blade.
Eiran walked beside me, but I could feel him retreating again—the way he always did when the truth became sharp enough to cut him. He kept glancing at the upper terraces, at the soldiers prowling like wolves in borrowed uniforms. He wasn't breathing right. Too shallow. Too fast.
And the mark beneath my breastbone noticed.
It pulsed, faint at first—like a cold finger tapping from inside my skin.
Then again, harder.
We reached the narrow alley behind The Whispering Leaf, shielded from the lantern light. Eiran stopped there, turning away from the main terrace, shoulders hunched.
"Eiran," I said softly.
He didn't look at me.
That was the mistake.
The mark surged.
A spike of cold ripped through my chest—so sharp I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping. My hand flew to the spot instinctively, fingers splaying over leather that suddenly felt like it was freezing to my skin.
"What's wrong?" he asked, spinning toward me.
I tried to speak. "The—mark—"
The words broke into a hiss. I staggered against the stone wall as frost spidered across my collarbone beneath my clothes. My breath fogged in front of me.
Eiran reached for me. "Auralia—!"
"Don't touch me," I snapped—not out of anger, but fear he'd burn himself. "It's—it's cold."
He froze in place. "Cold?"
"Like ice," I whispered. "Inside my ribs."
Another pulse tore through me. My armor creaked—an awful cracking sound—as thin lines of frost webbed outward from where the mark sat beneath the leather. I could feel the shape of it now: a sigil carved in some ancient place, crawling across my skin, awakening.
Eiran's eyes widened with real fear.
That made two of us.
Before either of us could say another word—
Soft footsteps approached.
Master Rin emerged from the shadows like a man who had always known exactly where we'd stand. His usually serene face tightened, barely perceptibly, but enough for someone trained like me to see the crack in the mask.
"Inside," he said quietly. "Now."
He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't hesitate. He simply ushered us through a narrow door at the back of the tea house that I hadn't noticed before. It led down a short stairwell, lit only by faint, pale-blue stones embedded in the walls.
The air changed instantly—cooler, clearer, tinged with ancient magic.
We stepped into a cavern.
Not a natural one—a shaped one. Carved deliberately from the canyon stone, lit by suspended lanterns whose flames burned in soft blues and greens. Moss glowed faintly on the walls. Water trickled down a lattice of runic grooves, pooling in a shallow basin that reflected the lantern light like broken stars.
"The Night Garden," Rin said. "A sanctuary. Old as Mizuhara itself."
Eiran stared. "This is… beautiful."
"Practical, more than beautiful," Rin corrected gently. "Once, Wardens came here to rest. To heal. To remember what they fought for."
Eiran stiffened. "Wardens?"
Rin turned to him fully. "Yes. You carry their echo."
Eiran didn't deny it.
"I knew it," Rin murmured. "The stone—the flames under your skin—your presence… you bear power meant to guard entire nations, not haunt their shadows."
He shifted his attention to me.
"And you," he said softly, "carry a mark that does not belong in this world."
I swallowed. Hard. "What do you know about it?"
"Enough to fear it," Rin said plainly. "Enough to know it burns cold because its master dwells where warmth cannot reach."
The mark pulsed again beneath my clothes, but this time the cold didn't hurt—it hummed, almost pleased.
That terrified me more than the pain.
Eiran stepped between us, protective. "Can you help her?"
Rin shook his head. "Not alone. But there are answers beyond Mizuhara. You cannot stay here."
As he said it, one of the lanterns above us flickered—then dimmed until its flame was a thin blue thread.
Rin's eyes narrowed.
"They're here."
My heart stopped.
"The soldiers?" Eiran asked.
"No," Rin said quietly. "The lantern network. It responds to magic. And your mark just screamed."
Ice crawled down my spine.
Above us, the muffled sound of wood splintering echoed from the tea house.
Soldiers.
They weren't knocking anymore.
Rin moved with sudden urgency. "Follow me. Quickly."
He led us to the far end of the cavern, where a thin sheet of water cascaded from a crack overhead. At first, I thought it was a dead end, but Rin pressed his palm to the stone beside it and whispered in the old Mizuharan tongue.
The waterfall parted.
Behind it, a narrow tunnel glimmered.
"This leads to the lower ravine," Rin said. "You'll be out of the city before they can lock down the terraces."
Eiran grabbed his hand. "Rin—thank you. For everything."
Rin smiled that knowing, gentle smile. "A Warden thanks no one. But a man should."
He turned to me next, eyes glinting.
"And you, girl of shadows… control that mark, or it will control you."
I nodded tightly. My chest ached—frost crackling faintly beneath the fabric.
Above us, boots thundered across the floorboards of the tea house.
"We have to go," I whispered.
Elya was already clinging to Eiran's cloak, eyes wide but brave. She trusted us more than the world deserved.
Rin held her shoulders for a moment. "Stay close to them, little star."
She nodded.
We slipped behind the waterfall.
Cold water misted against my burning skin—oddly soothing. The tunnel beyond was narrow and dark, but Eiran's runes glowed faintly, illuminating our path like molten veins in the stone.
Behind us, soldiers crashed into The Whispering Leaf.
"Search everywhere! Tear up the floors if you have to—Lord Calgrace wants them alive."
My blood turned to ice at the name.
Silas.
Again and again, he came for us.
Eiran tugged me forward. "Auralia—come on."
The tunnel opened onto the ravine—moonlit, jagged, breathtaking.
But wrong.
The air smelled of earth and silk.
Elya stiffened. "Something's out there."
I heard it a heartbeat later—a low, chittering click, echoing through the canyon. Not human. Not animal.
A silhouette moved in the dark—long legs, too many joints, glinting eyes reflecting moonlight like cold beads.
A Gorrach.
One of the giant spiders the Rask'Vul goblins rode like war-beasts.
It turned toward us, antennae twitching.
It had our scent.
Eiran drew his sword, runes flaring. "Looks like the Rask'Vul got here before we did."
The mark under my breastbone pulsed again—ice crawling down my ribs, my arm, my fingertips, begging to be used.
Hungry.
I clenched my jaw.
"We don't have time for a fight," I said. "More soldiers will come."
"Then we run," Eiran growled.
The Gorrach skittered toward us with terrifying speed.
We ran.
And Mizuhara, the city of glass and salt, finally stopped holding its breath.
It exhaled us straight into the jaws of the ravine.