Asharat's smirk widened, but there was something unreadable in his expression. "You still don't understand what this place is, do you?"
I glanced at the empty stone sarcophagus and the unmarked walls and took in the chamber's eerie silence. "This isn't a tomb."
"No," he agreed. "It never was."
Roweena looked between us, unease emanating from her entire being. "Then what is this?"
Asharat stepped forward, his boots echoing in the stillness, and placed a hand against the farthest wall. For a breath, nothing happened. But then we heard a resonant click as the stone groaned and dust drifted from the edges as an unseen mechanism locked into place. Right before our eyes, an entire section of the wall shifted, revealing darkness on the other side. A hidden passage.
Roweena let out a slow breath, and her pulse thrummed so loudly I could hear it.
Asharat turned back to me, his expression dark with knowing. "This is what she left behind," he said. "What she built beneath the sands. And now, it's time for you to see it."
The air grew heavy with expectation, and the weight of Vaelora's will pressed down on me. The hidden door yawned open, revealing darkness beyond the threshold. Roweena hesitated for the briefest moment before stepping forward. I followed. Asharat led the way, his steps steady, as if he had walked this path a thousand times before.
The passage was narrow, its smooth walls lined with torch sconces, though none were lit. The only light came from thin, glowing lines carved into the stone, pulsing faintly—not from fire, not from the sun, but from something deeper, something older.
The floor underneath our feet was slanted, leading us down. With every step, the air grew warmer and thicker with moisture, something I hadn't expected. I should have been able to hear the heartbeat of the desert above us, the weight of the sand pressing down—but there was only silence.
And then, as we stepped through the last passage, the corridor opened up into something vast. Roweena sucked in a sharp breath, and I froze right at her side.
Before us stretched an impossible city, hidden beneath the earth, teeming with light, movement, and life.
The space was colossal, a vast cavern that should not exist, held up by massive stone pillars carved with symbols from Vaelora's and my time. The walls stretched so high that they disappeared into shadows. Angled shafts pierced the ceiling, allowing light to filter down in beams that illuminated sections of the underground world like divine torches.
And the people. Hundreds—thousands—moving through the streets, tending to crops that should not grow here, drawing water from an underground river that wound through the city like a serpent. The structures were smooth, carved from pale limestone, marked with glyphs of worship.
Roweena stepped forward in awe, "This... this isn't possible."
She was right. This shouldn't be possible. But this was Vaelora's true city, the one she had hidden away beneath the sands.
Asharat strode ahead confidently; the people noticed his presence immediately and bowed. Then their eyes shifted—tome. And they dropped to their knees. My pulse thundered in my ears. They had not forgotten me. They were worshipping me.
Roweena let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "I—Vardor, they know who you are."
I swallowed hard because my throat was suddenly dry. Vaelora. She had done this. She had kept my memory alive. Keptmealive. "They've been waiting."
She turned to me, eyes wide with understanding. "They've never been to the surface, have they?"
Asharat shook his head. "No. They are the last of her chosen. The people she saved, the ones who swore to remain until she returned. They have lived here for thousands of years."
Roweena looked back at the people kneeling before us. "Then they're waiting for me, too."
I studied the crowd, noting the way some murmured prayers, while others simply stared, eyes full of silent hope. Waiting for Vaelora to return to them. Waiting for me to lead them.
Ifelt it before I saw it—a pulse, a steady rhythm that wasn't my own, but something older, something woven into the stone and water beneath us. The air shifted, thick with something ancient, waiting. And then, as we stepped forward, the passage opened into a vast space, and the underground river spread before us like a black ribbon of liquid glass.
I stumbled to a stop, and my breath caught in my throat. It was beautiful. Impossible. And at the same time, familiar.
The river twisted through the city. Its waters gleamed and reflected the shafts of light filtering from the ceiling above. The same light touched stone bridges arching over the water, the limestone structures carved with glyphs that felt like whispers in my head.
Even though I had never been here before, I felt like I knew this place. Somewhere, buried deep within me, Vaelora recognized it too.
The people lining the streets turned toward us. The moment they saw Vardor, their expressions shifted from curiosity to awe, reverence, and worship. They bowed to Asharat, fell to their knees for Vardor, and when their eyes found me, they bowed their heads to the ground.
My head lifted of its own accord, my shoulders moved back, and pride filled every pore of my body. I should have feltembarrassed. Part of me wanted to scream at them to get up. But I didn't.
Because deep inside me, Vaelora stirred like a whisper in my bones, and that part of me knew I deserved it.
