Reeca blinked to clear the cloud from her eyes. A dark ceiling hovered above her, slowly coming to focus the more she blinked. Her breath came in quick gasps as she stared at her hands. What happened? Why was she lying on her back in the middle of nowhere?

She shook her head to dislodge a recent memory of her with her companions inside a dark, smelly cave. She sat up, her palms brushing something soft and feathery. A frown pressed down on her mouth. That's weird. Did the cave spew out rugs while she was out? Just where on Umazure was she?

She looked around, craning her neck in all knowable directions. Darkness swallowed everything and seemed to be hungry for her, too. She glanced down and patted herself. Two legs, two arms. Ten fingers. She sighed as relief flooded her system. No missing limbs or senses. Good.

The muscles in her back flexed involuntarily. She winced at the sudden pain that crawled from her shoulders to her neck. Her wings were still bandaged—a heavy reminder of all that transpired the past few days. She braced her knee as she stood up. The wound in her leg throbbed.

How long was she unconscious? What day was it? The feathery stuff crunched under her soles as she started walking. It felt like she was walking on sacryne glass.

Her hand travelled to her hips to rest her palm against the pommel of her sword. She only grasped empty air. Reeca cursed and patted her hips, searching her belt. Her stomach turned when she didn't find anything she could use to defend herself. Did she get poached again? So much for destroying flintlocks if they keep getting stolen from her.

She stole a glance behind her. It was the same expanse of darkness.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted. Silhouettes of spindly things dangled from what was supposed to be the ceiling of this place. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up, alerting Reeca of something, urging her to run. However, her legs seemed to take her anywhere other than out.

In short, Reeca's instincts were thrown out of their loop. She moved to her left with her hands extended. Her fingers brushed a rough, stone wall. It was neither hot nor cold. She bit her lip. What should she do now?

There were many uncharted and charted cave systems in Umazure and to pinpoint which of them had walls that was the right temperature and didn't have animal feces would be as impossible as finding the Fountain of Youth. Reeca craned her neck to stare balefully at the ceiling of darkness. For all she knew she's stuck somewhere in Ansevir.

Reeca took a deep breath, taking in the thick air that smelled a bit like orostachys in her mother's miniature garden. There must be vegetation nearby.

She strained her ears for any sound but nothing reached her save for her own breathing and the cackle of her soles against the feathery floor. She reached out in front of her as she walked and her fingers snagged brittle leaves. She withdrew her hands to her chest. Her heart pounded in her temples. What was that?

"Xanthy?" Reeca called into the dark. As expected, no one replied. She was met with echoes and then silence.

Reeca squinted, the frustration of not being able to see anything beyond five paces creeping into her throat. What if there's something in there? It could kill her before she even sees it coming. Not an ideal way to meet Pidmena.

She raised her hand and summoned her magic. Her fingers came away empty. There's no warmth to her fingertips, no rushing sensations in her veins. Reeca cursed. At least her voice still worked. Just what was going on?

She tried again, squeezing her eyes shut to aid in her concentration. It's amazing that there's barely any difference in the darkness compared to when she had them open. She exhaled. Breathe. Focus on the magic swirling around her and inside her. With her will, tap into the magic's path. Let it come.

She opened her eyes as she called to her magic. Silence. Everything remained cold. Panic swirled in Reeca's chest; her throat constricted.

Gods, that's not possible. She couldn't lose her magic. Not like this.

The magic of the living cannot thrive in the Path of the Dead, a voice said. It's the same one as she remembered in the cave's entrance.

Reeca whirled left and right. There's nothing but darkness. Her hands floated to her belt where her sword usually lay. Her fingers grasped at air. A curse spewed out of her lips.

The voice, as Reeca had come to think of it as the Spirit, hissed.

You are no longer with the Living, the Spirit seemed to be floating somewhere from above Reeca. You crossed away from that Path the moment you became Pilgrims. Now, as a living soul among the Dead, you must be strong. We start your test. Take water from Jolraim.

Reeca clenched her hand and almost dropped a sword. She knitted her eyebrows. What...?

Lights exploded in one smooth sweep across the cave. Reeca shielded her eyes with an arm. Gods, that hurt. Slowly, she lowered her arm to reveal a domed cave filled with color. Dramposie vines hung from the ceiling, glowing in their pale blue light that seemed to add to the ambience of the cave. Reeca glanced down at the feathery things she felt earlier to find them to be ankle lilies glowing in faint pink light.

Her jaw dropped.

Reeca shook her head. This was no time to be gawking at glowing plants. She whirled around. There still weren't any exits present as far as her eyes could reach. She nodded with a sigh. Okay. Forward, then. Maybe if she walked, she would eventually arrive somewhere.

Reeca stuck to the walls, following it as it sloped and dragged into the unforeseeable horizon. She scanned the ground, past the glowing lilies. Was there any pebble she could use to mark her journey?

Huge tree-like plants sprouted from between cracks in the cave's rocks in small intervals, towering above Reeca with their drooping stems and naturally-weaving leaves. Her hand must have caught in one of its blades.

The leaves reminded Reeca of baskets crafters weave and sell in the markets. Small fruits emerged in bunches at the base, also glowing with a faint yellow light. Reeca pursed her lips as she recalled a painting of it in one of her educational tomes. If she remembered correctly, these were called shrows.

How many hours has it been? Has a day passed by? The Spirit had gone quiet. Reeca's feet continued crunching against the lilies. Fungi with colorful caps as big as Reeca's head grew from the moist sections of the wall. Sphy, with their multiple legs skittering against the rocks, regarded her with their ten eyes bunched at the head of their finger-length bodies. Nothing attacked if one discounted the occasional shrow leaves that Reeca's hands would get stuck on a number of times.

Purple ferns that Reeca wasn't familiar with unfurled as if giving her access to a new hidden room as she prodded them with the sword in her hand. It was amusing, at the least.

Still, why had the cave taken her magic and her usual weapons but gifted her with a sword too heavy for her taste? Her hand tightened at the hilt of the sword. If the magical voice in the cave gave it, it meant that Reeca would have to use it sooner or later.

It's the waiting that sent stones of dread in Reeca's gut.

Reeca exhaled as she drove back another bout of dramposie vines with her sword before they slammed into her face. The Spirit had said something about a waterfall. What was it called again?

Jolraim. The Blue Waterfall. Reeca chuckled to herself. How original.

Reeca stilled. She listened. Besides the snapping claws of the sphy, there's nothing.

But seeing how the cavern provided her with a sword, it can only mean she will have a use for it sooner or later.

"You shouldn't be here," a familiar voice said somewhere to her left.

Reeca whirled and came face to face with Corym Cerenuri. She took a step back, her throat constricting. No. What was he doing here?

The Narfalk Council adviser edged off the shrow he was leaning on and strode towards her. His crimson robes shuffled against the silence of the cave. A pendant bearing the sigil of the Narfalk throne caught some of the blue light as it glinted.

Reeca gritted her teeth. His paunchy frame and his tawny wings weren't something she'd ever forget after all that he had contributed to her life. How dare he show himself now?

Corym strode closer and came to stop just as the tip of Reeca's sword pressed into his bulging stomach. Reeca's breath shook. It's too easy...

"Where should I be?" Reeca growled. Her hold on the sword tightened more than she thought was physically possible.

Corym didn't move. His magenta eyes glazed against Reeca's own as if there was no sword poised to ram him through the gut. His hands remained folded by his stomach like how Reeca remembered these advisers carried themselves. Reeca edged back and he stepped forward after her.

"In prison," Fanala Varalei stepped out from behind another shrow to Reeca's left. The same crimson robes covered the adviser's body. Her cold stare drove knives into Reeca's back as the adviser took Corym's side. "You've had your freedom long enough."

The memory of the day of the trial resurfaced against Reeca's will. Fanala's hard, gray eyes were the same now as before. Corym slapped Reeca's sword off his body. The sword clattered to the ground. What...?

Corym rubbed his belly as if he had just finished eating. "Pointing a sword at a Councilman is hardly a forgivable crime."

Reeca gritted her teeth as she stepped further back into the darkness. The Council advisers stepped closer in an attempt to follow her. Reeca shook her head. No. None of this was real. There's no way these potheads would travel all the way to Carleon just to corner here in this smell cave. They wouldn't even stand up from their seats during Council meetings.

Just because something is not real doesn't mean you shouldn't listen. the Voice said. A gasp escaped Reeca's lips as the sword reappeared in her hands once again. Why...?

"We represent something inside you," Fanala took one step ahead of Corym and spread her hands despite the stone that was her expression. "All these years you've run, where do you think your legs carried you? You're no farther from your guilt."

"Shut up," Reeca snarled, hefting the sword once again. This couldn't be real. These idiots knew nothing about her. They knew nothing of the truth. "The prison will not be my home."

"Don't you think you've run enough?" Alain Alfaren materialized beside Fanala. The lean-faced adviser drew the vines away from his face with the back of his hand as he trailed after Fanala. Garnet eyes that Reeca had glimpsed off once in the trial met hers for the first time in years.

Alain apprehended her with his signature smirk. He must have thought it looked good on him. In truth, it only showed off his crooked, yellowing teeth to rival the Banshees. He joined Fanala and Corym, forming some sort of Council wall barricading Reeca from where she came from.

"Your guilt is eating you alive," Alain said.

"I don't have guilt," Reeca hissed as she stepped back once more. Her arms suddenly felt heavy. She felt sleepy. "It's not my fault," she rasped in a weak voice.

"Not your fault?" A man with purple wings with black linings and shoulder-length, copper hair appeared behind Reeca. She narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. Kadfel Rilaneth. He had voted for Reeca's release. "Whose was it?" Those eyes held judgement despite the kindness in his tone.

"No one," Reeca gripped her sword with both hands now.

"There is always someone to blame," a woman with a ring in her nose and a dozen piercings in both ears, stepped from behind Corym. A growl rose in Reeca's throat. Reyhana Katar, the martyr in the Council.

Her golden eyes bore through Reeca. "In yours, who is?"

"Why do you keep asking me?" Reeca stepped back as Reyhana joined the others who now closed in.

Reeca swallowed against the dryness in her throat. "You know the truth."

How pathetic that her voice had turned pleading. Please. Anything but this. Not again. She couldn't go through this again. Gan Ayas, the adviser known for his biceps, materialized and inclined his head at Reeca. "You assume that we believe you because of what you have told us. The truth isn't all flowers and fruits. We struggle to believe."

Reeca slashed with her sword with a scream akin to a cornered animal. She hated this. "So you condemn a child? You sentence her to a lifetime in prison because you struggle to believe?" she screamed at the stone-faced advisers. It was just like before. Nothing changed. "Witches," Reeca rasped, acid dripping from her tone.

"As Council members," a woman replied with a stern voice Reeca knew. What was her name again? Reeca took in the bouncy, blond hair and the voluminous number of rings on her fingers. Something about a fruit...?

Fruit-woman continued, "We base the truth we believe in on concrete facts verified by witnesses. We do not lean our judgement on extraneous facts like parentage and wealth."

"Tyrael is correct," another woman stepped into the circle, brandishing a knife to counter Reeca's sword. Reeca gritted her teeth. Jandra Balran, the only warrior in the Council. She's the one who handled Reeca's case of "murder". Her specialty. "Who is to say that you did not kill your mother? Your guilt tells us everything."

"Nothing tells you anything," Reeca glanced behind her as far as her periphery let her. She had to get that stupid cup of waterfall water. She didn't have the time to face these people again, to say the same words again, to beg for forgiveness again.

"So you run?" A deep voice rang in Reeca's ears. Her breath turned hollow in her ears as man who claimed to be the King's ally joined the wall of Council advisers hogging Reeca. Hafarin Roni. The other one who voted for her innocence.

"How many years has it been, Rikavien?" Hafarin made it farther than anyone before Reeca slashed her sword again to drive him back. "Surely you wanted to come home. What's stopping you except your guilt?"

Reeca stilled. She shouldn't agree with everything they said.

"You wished you didn't climb up that tower that day," Sarfir Warro, the adviser who fetched Reeca from the dungeon on the day of the trial. Those green-and-yellow wings reminded Reeca of how she emerged into a public condemnation after a week in the dark, musty prison. "You wished your mother didn't die. You wished you were stronger."

"But you are not," Edal Araris, the man who urged the whole Council to vote for her imprisonment, appeared at the edge of Reeca's vision. His golden words won even the King. Even now, he was mocking her with his haughty smile. "You're a little girl. It's impossible to save her. You killed her instead."

Reeca's sword dipped from her grip. She gritted her teeth. "Stop," she whispered to no one.

"Why should we?" The last Council member, Royra Elsina, the pride of the Council, said. Reeca narrowed her eyes at the woman's narrow, sapphire eyes, curly blond hair, and lithe frame. This was what was considered beautiful in Narfalk? Pitiful. The woman was as vicious as a graspel. "You do this to yourself everyday."

"It's you who's to blame," Corym said to which half of the advisers nodded their heads to. Reeca felt tears pricking her eyes. "It's because you're too weak."

"Weakness is a trait you hate. Is it because you hate yourself?" Alain followed Corym in stepping closer to Reeca.

Reeca resisted the urge to cover her face. She would not be defeated here. Kadfel approached her with a kind smile that turned into a menacing smirk in Reeca's eyes. "She couldn't accept things the way they are," the adviser said to his contemporaries. "The blood in her hands is too great."

"I didn't do it," Reeca's voice built up in her throat. She stepped back once more only to have her back slap against a shrow's trunk. Damn it. "I didn't kill my mother."

"But you did," Sarfir moved to Reeca's left with the Council slowly forming a circle around her. Reeca was cornered. "You forced her to dive into that mirror. She wouldn't have if the Presence hadn't sniffed you out. You left her with no choice but to let you survive. The fault is yours."

"Having no guilt?" Gan scoffed, crossing his arms as he took his place behind her. "That's the words only the guilty say. If you truly have no guilt, you would have forgotten her already. You wouldn't carry her song in your blood. You will not be going back here. You will not seek her out."

"I have something to ask her," Reeca clamped her jaw shut. Stop talking! Why was she defending herself from people she owed no explanation to? "She knows something important and I intend to find out."

"That's all she is to you?" Reyhana chuckled with no humor. "A holder of secrets? A vessel of information? You may be without guilt, but you're more shameless than I thought."

"The Dead are at rest," Corym waved his hand the same way he did when it was his turn to speak at Court. "Their memories are to be respected and not tainted with the very hands where their blood still runs cold."

"I already told you," Reeca's voice cracked as a lump formed in her throat. She swore she would never let these people trample over here yet here she was again. "I did not kill her. Her blood is not in my hands."

"We keep asking you to point the blame to others," the circles in Fanala's wings seemed to be burning brighter as the adviser spoke. "Yet you never do. Give us a name."

Reeca swept her sword in a wide arc, barely slashing Corym's protruding stomach. The advisers barely flinched. "Begone," Reeca snarled. "You're just in my head."

"Maybe," Hafarin closed the circle as he moved in front of her. "Are you going to just let our words fade to nothing? Will you carry that guilt to Pidmena's realm?"

"You can fade with your words," Reeca stepped forward and rammed her sword straight into the nearest adviser. There was simply smoke from where Corym Cerenuri was. Reeca whirled. What...?

Fanala smiled at her— a thing the adviser never did. As Reeca charged at Fanala with a scream, the adviser spread her arms wide and asked, "Which is it, Rikavien Torlin? What are you?"

Reeca froze just as Fanala and the other advisers were snuffed out by a huge gust of wind, blowing the hair off Reeca's forehead at the same time. She was alone again.

Reeca's hands shook. How easy it was to drive a sword into the people who ruined her life. Her stomach swirled at the delight of just thinking about it.

Cold dread swirled in her gut. She needed to get to Jolraim. She needed to reach Drodham to see her mother one last time. Without knowing the things Phiaris knew,their plan could crumble.

You wanted to achieve, the Spirit roared in Reeca's ears along with the rush of her blood. But you cannot see what you leave behind. Answer the question, Pilgrim.

What question? Reeca wished to ask but she pursed her lips. There's no use speaking to a spirit who spoke when it only wanted to. The faces of the people that ruined her life flashed into her memory. How had she dreamed of exacting vengeance upon them.

What a waste. The Court used her as a political tool to get into the King's good graces. They didn't have anything to do with Reeca's mother's death. Meanwhile, Reeca has everything to do with it.

Reeca had seen the Queen dive into that mirror. She knew her mother did that to protect her. If she wasn't in that tower the day it happened, her mother wouldn't even need to sacrifice herself. Fanala's question echoed in Reeca's head. Which is it, Reeca? What are you?

What am I? Reeca wanted to answer that question for a long time now. If this was the test, then she must have failed. What the advisers said were nothing but a mirror of what Reeca has been saying to herself for years. She was innocent. She didn't kill her mother.

Still, Reeca should have stepped in and helped her mother. She could have done something to ensure that the Queen would have a chance in fighting off that strange presence. But she didn't do anything. She froze as fear gripped her limbs. It was her fear that doomed both her and the Narfalk Queen she called her mother.

That's where the guilt stemmed from. Years of running from it turned it to anger. Anger bred hate. The next thing Reeca knew, she was a new person altogether, a fairy powered by resentment. It was her hate that kept her alive all these years.

What am I? Reeca had spent countless nights awake while racking her brain for the answer to that question. The words that floated back were the words she never wanted to hear. Rhys would never approve of them. Reeca would never approve of them. Those words would not define her. She had to keep running until those words wouldn't even be associated with her name.

A sigh ripped off Reeca's dry lips. Then again, the past bit back in the most unconventional times and places. Reeca knew that when she had to face herself again, she would lose.

She failed the test.

It is not too late to redeem yourself, the Spirit spoke once more. The Path searches your soul and brings out what you really wanted.

Reeca gritted her teeth. Rhys would kill her if he heard her now. She would have proved her father right if she admitted it. She exhaled. It's time to face it.

She was Rikavien Torlin. The disgraced Heir to the Narfalk throne. The daughter of Phiaris Torlin who made a mistake a long, long time ago.

Reeca was done running.

Failing is not loss, the Spirit said, each word sending shivers down Reeca's spine. Weakness is not evil. They prove that you're a person that can think for herself. Guilt, anger, and hate are emotions that you can control. Do not let them control you.

The Spirit paused. Reeca knit her eyebrows as the sound of water flowing began resonating from a distance. Blue light apart from the vines hanging from the ceiling filled the space.

Jolraim is calling to you, Pilgrim, the Spirit said. You have passed the test. Your soul is pure because you are able to withstand this battle against yourself.

A smile crept to Reeca's lips. She hadn't done that in a long time. She tried to chuckle. It came as easily as a frown. It's like a huge burden was lifted from her shoulders. Reeca broke into a run, swerving past the shrows and slapping vines out of her way. The cavern seemed to be welcoming her as she tore deeper and deeper into it.

The cavern led to a larger cavity. The roar of water was unmistakable. A wall of blue flowed to a vast pool just a few steps ahead of Reeca. Shrows grew along its banks while the ankle lilies ended where Reeca stood by the banks.

Dark blue water churned in echoing ripples, lowering the temperature a few notches colder. Reeca knelt by the lip of the water, feeling the pull. Her reflection stared back at her as she leaned over the basin. Her mismatched eyes blinked the same time as she did. Was her hair that long already? Damn, she should shear that off.

Take the cup and fill it, the Spirit said. Jolraim's waters represent acceptance. You will be rejoined with the other pilgrims to receive your final instructions.

Reeca whirled to where she sensed the voice to be. "Where's Xanthy?"

They are where they're meant to be, for now, the Spirit said.

Reeca sighed and nodded. Fine. She passed. That's all that mattered for now. She gasped when a golden chalice appeared in her hand just like how the sword did. Speaking of the sword. She looked around, past the woven leaves of the shrow and the feathery ankle lilies. Gone. Huh.

She took a deep breath before dipping the chalice into the water. The cold shocked her hands, sending vibrations up her arm. The dark blue water sloshed inside as she brought the chalice closer to her chest. She did it. She was going to Drodham.

That's when the world crashed upon her in the form of a deep, dark sleep.