Chapter 79: Embracing the Light
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. She wasn't sure what she was out to find in this part of the palace; she just knew something about it had called to her. The forgotten wing had to be among the oldest parts of the palace; it was closed off decades ago. Dust filled the air, and even the precious ornate carvings once found upon its surface disappeared behind layers of dust. The palace had its secrets. Many of them lay here in the forgotten corners. Elara had come to search for answers here, and yet it somehow felt as if she'd stumbled deeper into a mystery-worse, one she wasn't sure she was ready to face.
In deeper steps along the deserted halls, that silence is the perfect isolation. Killing silence as if unnatural. Only sound, the soft shuffle from the soles of her boots against stone floors, grew louder with the speed of her heart. It felt like the walls were closing in on her, as though the palace itself was watching, waiting for her to step wrong. The forgotten wing is never-kind. It is left to decay, to be forgotten with reason.
And then, a sudden sharp noise broke the silence-something scraping against the stone. Elara froze, the pulse from her heart leaped into her throat. For a moment, she thought she imagined it, but the sound came again, loud this time. From further in the wing, deep down one of the darkened hallways ahead of her, it came.
She crept toward the noise cautiously, with every sense alert. The hall stretched onward, the shadows creeping across the floor as if alive. Each step felt heavier now, as if the anticipation was thickening the very air. She had to know what was in front of her, even if fear gnawed in her insides and threatened to swallow her.
At the end of the hall, she could see a door slightly ajar, as though inviting her in. The scraping noise had abated, yet Elara felt something—someone—was still watching her. That feeling wouldn't be shaken off, nor could the gnawing unease in her stomach be ignored.
She reached for the door, hovering her hand just above the handle. She hesitated momentarily, but then, with a deep intake of breath, she gave a shove.
The room was dark and smelled of mold and old age. It looked like an ancient library, filled with neglected books, under a thin layer of dust. There were cobwebs and dust, and the place was dripping with stories forgotten and neglected by time. A single flickering candle was casting long shadows across the walls while not much illuminated the room. The shelves seemed to go on in eternity, and Elara felt a strange, almost whimsical dread, for in those books, in those scrolls, could lie the answers to questions she had yet to consider.
She noticed something peculiar as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. In one corner of the room sat a small, ornate chest atop a wooden pedestal. It was out of place in this dusty, decaying library. The highly carved chest bore on its surface symbols, and Elara found not any understanding in them. And it has an almost dull shimmer like it is alive, calling her towards it.
It felt really tempting, almost like a magnet pulling her forward. Even though she felt unease gnawing in her gut, she made an approach to the pedestal, hand quaking when reaching for the chest. The instant her fingers brushed across the cold wood, an explosion of energy coursed through her, the strongest she's ever felt. It felt as if the box, too, was awakening, recognizing her touch.
A sudden bang went through as the door slammed shut behind her, and Elara whipped around, heart racing. Panic gushed through her chest, but she fought to keep calm. She was here for the answers, and fear could not lead the way now. The room was once again eerily silent, save for the soft creaks of the chest, almost as though it were waiting for her to open it.
Thus took a long breath for Elara as she hoisted the lid of the chest.
As the chest opened, the room was flooded with a blinding light. Elara gasped, shielding her eyes with her arm, but the light was too intense, too powerful. It was almost as if the air were alive with energy, vibrating around her. The light seemed to pulse, warm but not comforting. Overwhelming.
Then, as fast as it had begun, the light flickered. Elara lowered her arm, blinking against residual brightness. But then, when she opened her eyes again, she found that she was looking into the innards of the chest.
Inside there were just one object: a kind of lavish mirror, very different from the kind of mirror she'd ever seen before. Gold-frame, thrice intricately carved with symbols she recognized from seeing them in her visions through the other mirror: the one she'd seen in the other part of the forbidden wing. The glass was like that of smooth crystal-made, perfectly maiden-clear. The strange one was the reflection it showed.
Instead of reflecting Elara's face, like every common mirror, the glass reflected something completely different. It reflected a scene—an image of the palace, except that it was not the palace as she knew it. This was the palace in ruin, with its towers crumbling and walls broken, as if it had not been visited for centuries. The landscape surrounding it was desolate, with cracked earth and nothing to show it was barren of life; nothing stirred—a prickly, haunting stillness that chilled Elara to her very core.
But among the ruins in the very palace stood something else. A figure—dark and imposing, standing all alone amidst the destruction. Elara could not make out the figure's face, but she could feel its power, its presence, for it was almost as if the figure was actually peering straight into her eyes, quietly musing over everything she did.
"Huh!" her breath hitched. "What is this?" she whispered, her voice quaking.