Chapter 7: Broken Mirrors: Sightseeing part 2

Alexa:

Alexa stirred, her fingers brushing against the cold, unyielding floor. She pushed herself up slowly, dazed, as if hit in the head. The world around her was cloaked in a strange stillness—a silence so dense it felt like sound had been erased entirely.

She was in what looked like a laboratory, though everything around her was in ruin. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered weakly, casting brief flashes of light that stretched and twisted shadows across the walls like nervous phantoms.

Two bodies lay nearby, unmoving. She couldn’t see their faces—either the darkness concealed them or her mind refused to register the details. Broken glass crunched under her as she shifted—shattered beakers, splintered tubes, cracked instruments, scattered like remnants of some violent storm. The floor and walls were streaked with a thick, glistening violet substance, pooling around her like spilled ink. It gave off a cloying, metallic-sweet scent, foreign and suffocating.

And then she saw it.

Opposite her, something was sliding across the cold tiles—slow, deliberate. A shape. Alive.

She froze.

It moved like a slug, massive and boneless, dragging itself along the floor with wet slaps. But it wasn’t a slug. No. This thing had a head—nearly human in shape, if a human were stripped of eyes and a nose, and its mouth stretched impossibly wide, filled to the brim with long, needle-like teeth. From either side of its grotesque body sprouted thick, glistening tendrils, which it used to push and pull itself forward in a nightmarish crawl.

Alexa couldn’t move. She watched, paralyzed, hypnotized by the grotesque rhythm of the creature’s motion.

Then—swift as a whip—one of the tendrils lashed out, slicing through the air and wrapping around her torso. The touch was icy and slick, sending a jolt of terror through her chest.

But then—light.

Her dress ignited.

Not in flames of destruction, but in a living, pulsing blaze that danced across the fabric without burning it. It flared like molten silk woven from fire itself. The tendril recoiled instantly, shuddering as though seared, and withdrew with a shriek of pain.

Before Alexa could react, another tentacle—a thicker one, barbed at the end—struck her across the side of the head.

The world shattered into black.

She awoke with a scream, bolting upright, breath ragged, heart pounding like a war drum. Her hands gripped the soft blanket beneath her, eyes wide and searching. But she wasn’t in the lab.

She was in her bed, inside her own Domain.

Alexa rose slowly, trying to push the strange dream from her mind. After her morning stretching and exercise, she glanced around her Domain. As soon as she had woken up, the ceiling had shifted once again, now displaying a flawless blue sky. The warmth of the sun seemed to pour in from it, filling the room with an unexpected softness. The crystal heart at the center of her Domain had begun to glow brighter as well, its light pulsing with quiet energy.

She took a deep breath, determined to prepare herself the best she could for the upcoming journey with Phillip.

Reaching into her backpack, Alexa pulled out a few baseballs and, without hesitation, sat down at her painting station. The idea had come to her just before she fell asleep, and she was eager to bring it to life before it slipped from her mind. She dipped her brush into vibrant paints, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she began to carefully coat the smooth white surfaces with bold strokes of color.

In addition to the baseballs, she set to work on several sheets of paper. Some were adorned with the imprint of a portable hole—her signature creation—and others, she coated in spiny, sharp shapes that seemed almost like they could prick her fingers if she wasn’t careful

Afterwards, she stripped down nearly to nothing, her fingers running over the brush as she dipped it into silver paint. It might become a ritual of sorts when she is in here, a way of transforming her body into something more—a second skin that clung like armor. She carefully painted the silver onto her form, ensuring the coat felt seamless and smooth, as though it were a delicate exoskeleton perfectly molded to her. On her legs, she drew a gray pattern of fur, resembling the sleek, powerful limbs of a rabbit. She loved the mobility and flexibility the design gave her—almost as though she could leap and twist through the air without restriction. Finally, she painted a small dog’s nose at the tip of her own and put on her Cat Ears.

Her morning painting session complete, Alexa dressed swiftly and moved toward the wall where John Legend’s poster hung. Within her mind, she reached out with her authoity and she made him return to his form as a simple poster, revealing a hidden door behind him.

Rolling the poster up, she left it leaning against the wall next to the door, then returned to her backpack. The painted baseballs and sheets of paper slipped back into the bag, which hung from her side, its single strap resting comfortably across her shoulder like a casual purse.

Prepared for the journey ahead, Alexa descended the stairs into the living room, where she found Phillip sitting on the couch, his attention absorbed by one of her mother’s thick books. The dim light of the morning filtered through the windows, casting long shadows on the walls. He glanced up at her, not surprised to see her in such a state of readiness.

“I took the liberty of preparing some breakfast for you, Alexa,” Phillip said gently.

“Thank you, Phillip,” she replied, walking toward the kitchen counter where a small plate of sandwiches awaited her. They looked delicious—stacked neatly, with crisp lettuce peeking out between golden slices of bread, and a drizzle of something tangy that made her mouth water at first glance.

She picked them up and took a seat at the table, savoring each bite slowly, as if she were cataloging flavors for future memory. The textures were perfect, the balance of sweet and savory spot-on. It wasn’t just food—it was care, thoughtfully prepared and subtly seasoned with affection.

Once she’d finished, she set the plate aside, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and rose without a word. Calm and focused, she made her way back into the living room, where Phillip was still waiting. He looked up from his book, and she gave him a nod of quiet appreciation before settling beside him.

“I see you’re ready,” Phillip said, closing his book and rising smoothly to his feet. “If you have no burning questions, we can depart immediately. The journey will take about an hour—not far in terms of physical distance, but we’ll need to cross into a domain that’s grown vast enough to be considered its own world.”

“A separate world?” Alexa asked, eyebrows lifting. “Even more separate than this one?”

“Not quite, Alexa. Let me start here: the world we’re currently in is known to most of its inhabitants as either the Shadow World or the World of Ideas—Ideworld, for short.”

“I see,” she nodded, listening intently.

“As I mentioned before, Ideworld is a physical reflection and distortion of your own world. Most places from your reality exist here too—in one form or another. The place we’re heading to began as a Domain within Ideworld, long, long ago, when your world looked very different. That Domain eventually gathered enough power for the crystal to sever it entirely, creating a distinct space, connected only by gateways. It no longer has a counterpart in your physical world. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Phillip. Like a painting depicting a historical scene hanging in a larger gallery?”

Phillip smiled, clearly pleased. “A good analogy.”

“Such Domains rarely have rulers anymore, because they’ve grown too large and too wild to be governed. But within those domains, smaller ones can still exist—inhabited by the beings that call them home. More importantly, these separated worlds—that we call Splinters—can follow entirely different rules from Ideworld. And while Ideworld mimics the laws of your world’s god—Reality—these Splinters are not always bound by such imitation.”

Alexa nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of his words. “You’re telling me this now because the splinter we’re about to enter has its own set of rules?”

“I’m telling you this because it’s good knowledge to carry, especially if you plan to return here often. Sometimes, getting out of a splinter can be trickier than getting in. That won’t be the case with this one, but still—you should be aware.”

Phillip’s gaze scanned her silver-painted skin and stylized limbs. “Also, you’re definitely overdressed for the climate. I hope that body paint of yours can handle extreme humidity.”

Alexa blinked, momentarily thrown off. “I’ll pack something lighter, just in case. And don’t worry—I used the waterproof stuff,” she added with a grin. “I can’t wait to see where we’re going.”

Alexa made a quick stop at the bathroom before the journey, then packed a change of lighter clothes—a short skirt, a fitted top, and breathable summer trekking shoes. She also grabbed a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses, just in case. With her backpack slung casually at her side, she stepped out of the house with Phillip.

They walked together through the crisp, golden glow of an autumn morning, heading north toward the forest, which lay about half an hour from her home. Alexa knew this path well—she’d often camped there with her father and Lucas, roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories late into the night. The thought made her smile.

That’s also where her family and friends believed she had gone—off on another familiar camping trip. So in a strange way, she hadn’t really lied to them. The realization brought an odd sense of satisfaction, a little secret victory she clutched to herself with a quiet giggle.

Leaves crunched beneath their feet as the trees ahead swayed gently in the breeze, their fiery foliage rustling like whispers.

At last, they reached the wall of trees—but here, in the Ideworld, the forest felt far more imposing. The trees loomed higher and denser than Alexa remembered, their gnarled branches tangling like skeletal arms overhead. Strange animal cries echoed from somewhere deep within—dry, sharp, guttural sounds that sent a shiver crawling down her spine. The forest she knew had never felt like this.

“We’re not going in there, are we?” she asked, her voice smaller than she intended.

“No,” Phillip replied calmly. “We just need to find a proper tree for me to open a portal to the Splinter.”

He stepped toward one of the nearby trees, where the surrounding canopy had thrown them into near-darkness, as if night had suddenly draped itself over the world. From the folds of his long coat, he drew a small obsidian sphere and set it gently on a tree stump. Pressing his fingers against it, he rubbed it in slow, deliberate circles, then whispered something too softly for her to catch.

Suddenly, on the trunk of the tree beside him, a faint outline appeared—an arched doorway etched in blue light, pulsing slightly in the dim.

“This crystal emits a special light,” Phillip explained, “invisible to us. Elves paint doorways into their realms using ink that can only be seen in its glow.”

“Ultraviolet, maybe,” Alexa said, narrowing her eyes at the intricate frame shimmering on the bark.

“I don’t know that word. But perhaps,” he replied with a faint smile. “Now that the doorway is visible, all you need to do is press your hand to the center and give it a gentle push.”

Phillip did exactly that. The bark rippled like water, and then—shhkkk—a portion of the tree opened inward, revealing a passage into another world. A rush of humid air spilled out, heavy and fragrant with foreign blooms. From within, strange birds called out in rough, throaty tones, so unlike the ones in her world.

“After you,” he said, stepping through.

As Alexa stepped through the tree’s threshold, the air changed instantly—thicker, wetter, humming with a deep, earthy warmth that clung to her skin like dew. The world that greeted her on the other side was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Towering trees reached up into a sky veiled in gold-tinted mist, their trunks so wide they looked like ancient pillars holding up the heavens. Enormous ferns unfurled like green fans across the jungle floor, and vines twisted between branches like serpents frozen mid-dance.

The ground was soft beneath her feet, packed dirt laced with tangled roots and scattered with smooth stones that glistened faintly, almost like they were alive. All around them, the forest pulsed with sound—not silence, not even typical birdsong, but something older and stranger.

Then, something darted past.

It was small—no taller than her knee—with smooth, glistening scales the color of moss and rust. Its long tail whipped behind it for balance as it zipped between the ferns, chirping in a tone startlingly melodic. Another followed, and then another, weaving through the underbrush like playful children in a game. Their limbs moved with precise grace, clawed feet barely making a sound on the damp earth. Their heads were narrow, their eyes alert and intelligent, crowned with soft feather-like ridges that flicked with every motion.

Alexa blinked. “I thought dinosaurs were supposed to roar.”

Phillip chuckled quietly beside her. “No, most of them sing.”

Indeed, the little creatures weren’t growling or hissing—they were singing. The sounds they made were high-pitched and harmonic, rising and falling like flutes played by the forest itself. One trilled a complex tune before leaping onto a log and vanishing into the thick foliage beyond.

But one lingered.

It stood just a few paces away, tilting its head curiously at Alexa. Its scales shimmered faintly in the humid light, and its eyes—dark, glassy, and full of curiosity—locked with hers. Alexa slowly knelt down, extending her hand. The creature chirped once, lightly, and stepped closer, sniffing at her fingers with its narrow snout.

Its breath was warm and sweetly herbal, like crushed mint. Then, gently, it nuzzled against her palm.

A breath caught in Alexa’s throat. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered, completely enchanted.

The creature blinked once, then let out a short sequence of chirps—an almost conversational rhythm—before bounding back into the ferns, its feathered back flicking once like a farewell wave.

Alexa turned to Phillip, wide-eyed, grinning. “Okay… this place is amazing.”

Phillip gave a satisfied nod. "Welcome to this Splinter. People call it Pangea; the locals refer to it as 'Mother’s Egg' in their native tongue—but neither you nor I can pronounce it, so I won't even try. Luckily for us, they’ll have translation stones when we meet them."

She finally turned, taking it all in, and spotted the gate from this side: a large archway built from ancient stone, nestled between tree roots. One of the stones in the arch was darker than the others.

Phillip pointed to it. “If the passage ever closes, place your hand on that stone and push it—in your mind. It will reopen the way to the corresponding tree in our world.”

"Come, let's go," Phillip said, his voice calm but purposeful. "The village we're heading to is only a few minutes down that path." He gestured toward a trail just barely visible—softly trodden earth winding between towering ferns whose fronds arched overhead like emerald umbrellas.

Alexa fanned herself lightly. “Let me change first—you're right, it's really hot here.” She slung her pack off her shoulder and pulled out the lighter outfit she had packed earlier: a short skirt the color of pale stone, a breathable top that clung gently to her shoulders, and featherlight trekking shoes. “If you wouldn’t mind turning around…” she added with a teasing grin, already slipping behind softly. "I was half-expecting the photo to glitch out or something… but it looks like the phone works just fine. I guess we really are somewhere else."

"The moons in the sky weren’t enough proof for you?" Peter called back as he started making his way up the stairs.

Peter had visited the May household more times than he could count—his family and Alexa’s had been close for years—so the layout of the house held no secrets for him. He limped quickly to Luke’s room—Alexa’s younger brother—opened the door, and immediately froze at the sight before him.

A lot could be said about Luke, but above all else, one thing defined him: baseball. In the real world, his room had always been a shrine to the sport. Alongside the standard teenage essentials—bed, shelves, desk, and computer—there had been posters of legendary players, a growing collection of bats, balls, jerseys, and well-worn gloves scattered around like holy relics.

Here though… everything was twisted, larger-than-life. The bats were oversized and forged from gleaming metal, almost weapon-like. The gloves and jerseys shimmered like they were made of gold, each piece completely covered in what looked like glowing autographs. The posters on the walls weren’t static anymore—players moved across them, tossing balls, swinging at pitches, sliding from one base to another as if the posters were portals to an endless, looping game.

The entire room breathed baseball. It was alive with the rhythm of a sport turned myth.

"Lex! You have to see this!" Peter shouted, lifting one of the bats and giving it a few test swings through the air. The sound it made as it sliced through the room was sharp and clean, like the air itself was parting to make way.

Despite its metallic sheen and obvious density, the bat was astonishingly light in his hands—almost eager to be swung, as if it had been forged not just for hitting balls, but for striking with purpose. It moved like it belonged to him, perfectly balanced, almost humming with anticipation.

He grinned, wide-eyed, looking down at it. "Okay, I don’t know if this counts as a weapon or an artifact, but either way... I’m not putting this thing down."

"Say hello to the Spider-Slayer," Peter announced proudly, holding up the baseball bat like a knight presenting a sacred sword. But Alexa didn’t even glance at him—her wide eyes were fixed on the room, her breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

She stepped forward slowly, as if crossing into a dream, letting the wonder of it all wash over her.

"This is… beautiful," she whispered. "Like all of Luke’s dreams have come alive and started breathing on their own."

Her fingers glided over the now diamond-encrusted trophies, the cool, metal bats lined like weapons in a museum of childhood wishes. She brushed the moving posters with her palm, the images flickering to life under her touch—players sprinting from base to base, leaping into impossible catches, celebrating victories again and again in a loop of pure joy.

For a moment, the fear and strangeness of the world outside the room melted away, replaced by something softer—something sacred.

"Look—his favorite player’s hoodie and cap," Alexa said, opening a cabinet with a soft creak. Inside, neatly folded, were the two items—except they weren’t made of any fabric Peter had ever seen.

Both looked metallic at first glance, glinting in the room’s strange light, yet when Alexa touched them, they flexed like cloth. Smooth and pliable, but with a strength that suggested they could stop a blade—or a spider leg made of broken glass.

Peter examined them curiously, turning the hoodie over in his hands. Then, without hesitation, he pulled off his own and slipped Luke’s on. It adjusted to his form like it had been waiting for him. He grinned and plucked the cap from the shelf, placing it on his head with a tilt.

"Not bad, huh?" he said, striking a goofy pose. "How do I look?"

"Like a backup player in a post-apocalyptic baseball league," Alexa smirked, crossing her arms.

"Backup? Excuse me, I’m clearly team captain material," Peter replied, adjusting the cap dramatically. "Captain Spider-Slayer. Has a nice ring to it."

Alexa rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. In this twisted, uncanny version of the world, it was nice—however briefly—to feel a little bit like themselves.

Peter grabbed Luke’s backpack and stuffed it with as many baseballs as he could find—fourteen in total. Each one was light but firm, with a satisfying weight to it, like they’d been engineered for precision. He slung the bag over his shoulder, grinning.

"If this is what your brother’s room looks like, I can’t wait to see what treasures lie in your royal chambers, Lex."

The question snapped Alexa out of her trance-like awe. She blinked once, then suddenly jolted forward with a spark of energy. Before Peter could react, she shoved him out of the way—straight onto Luke’s bed—and bolted for her room.ng hair entirely. Some had delicate, fan-like appendages that fluttered gently with the breeze, while others bore proud, spiked crests like the crowned plumage of mythic birds. Fin-like ears, long and ridged, extended back from their skulls, twitching occasionally at the ambient sounds of the jungle.

Their clothing was unlike anything Alexa had seen—flowing garments that moved like water, dyed in forest tones and adorned with carved bone, crystals, or insect wings. The designs evoked roots, leaves, and sacred geometry, ceremonial yet practical in the dense, warm air.

She watched as one of the reptilian beings leaned down to offer a drink to a child—his sharp teeth flashing in a brief smile that was both terrifying and tender. Another stood barefoot beside a stall selling glowing fruit, conversing in a melodic tongue that lilted like wind through glass.

Alexa stared, heart pounding with wonder. The village didn’t just exist here—it breathed, ancient and alive.

“Welcome,” Phillip said beside her, his voice low with reverence. “To Razash’s Reach.”

“Who are those people?” Alexa asked in a hushed voice, her eyes wide as they followed a group of humans weaving between the towering figures of the village. “Are they shadows? Real people? If they’re real, how did they get here? And… what are those lizard-people?”

Her voice was bubbling with wonder, like a child asking about stars for the first time.

Phillip chuckled softly, folding his hands behind his back as they walked beneath a wooden arch overgrown with flowering vines.

“Alexa, more people live in Ideworld than you might imagine,” he said, his tone calm but edged with a quiet reverence. “Some arrived here long ago—wanderers, seekers, even entire families who found paths no one believed existed. They made lives for themselves, formed communities, adapted. Others live as nomads, traveling from one Splinter to another, following opportunity, memory, or meaning.”

He gestured gently to a group of humans sitting cross-legged on a hanging platform above them, laughing over steaming bowls of soup. A child leaned over the edge, pointing excitedly at something in the trees.

“And those,” he said with a small grin, nodding toward the elegant, scaled figures moving gracefully through the clearing, “are the Elves.”

Alexa blinked, caught off guard. “Those are Elves?”

Phillip's smile deepened. “Yes. Elves, as they truly are. Not the poetic echoes your world remembers through myths and Tolkien's prose. These are beings of deep time—reptilian, luminous, old as bone and rain. Their kind evolved alongside Ideworld itself. To them, you and I are just visitors in a house they’ve always lived in.”

Alexa turned back toward the village, her gaze roaming across the tall, iridescent beings.

Their movements were fluid, but not hurried—like river reeds in wind. One of them adjusted a garland of moss around another’s shoulders; another knelt by a carved basin to drink from a ladle of polished shell.

“I...” she began, then paused, swallowing a knot of awe in her throat. “This… this is all beyond anything I could have imagined. And no, Phillip—this isn’t disappointing at all.” Her smile spread wide, eyes shimmering with childlike light. “It’s the opposite. It’s everything I didn’t even know I wanted to see.”

Alexa followed Phillip deeper into the village, her steps slow, eyes wide, absorbing every surreal detail. The way the scaled Elves moved—like dancers woven from light and rain. The quiet hum of life in the air. Occasionally, a human or elf turned their gaze toward her—curious, but not intrusive—eyes shimmering, then passing on, like sunlight on a stream.

At last, they approached a structure unlike any Alexa had ever seen. It didn’t look built—it looked grown. Vast roots of an ancient tree arched upward to form walls and a roof, gnarled but elegant. Soft amber light glowed from within, pulsing gently, as though the building itself breathed.

Phillip stepped forward and opened a wide, wooden door, thick and organic, more like a curled leaf than carved timber. He gestured for Alexa to enter first.

Inside, the space was cozy and alive. The walls, ceiling, and floor all part of the living tree, radiated a quiet warmth. Pale sunlight filtered through membranes stretched over window-like openings—translucent, like the wings of some gentle insect. The walls were carpeted in patches of soft, blue moss that sparkled faintly with bioluminescent light, twinkling like dew in starlight.

The room held four seats, sculpted from a warm, golden-hued resin or perhaps polished stone—Alexa couldn’t tell. At the far end stood a low desk, fashioned from the same smooth material. Behind it, a set of closed double doors made of braided vines and bone-white wood.

Phillip took one of the seats, settling in with practiced ease, and gestured for Alexa to do the same.

She sat, the chair surprisingly warm and pliant, like it had been formed to cradle her.

“So, Phillip,” she asked in a hushed voice, glancing around, “how does trade even work here? Do you all use some kind of... I don’t know, interdimensional currency?”

Phillip gave a quiet, thoughtful chuckle.

“No, Alexa. Most currencies from your world—or any world—hold no value here. In Ideworld, and especially in places like this Splinter, people trade in favors, knowledge, and the exchange of unique goods. Trust and reputation matter more than coins ever could.”

He leaned back slightly, fingers folded.

“Andogra already knows we’re here. She’ll come soon. We wait.”

“Andogra?” Alexa echoed, intrigued. “The trader?”

“She can be called that,” Phillip replied with a faint smile.

“Is she one of the Elves?” Alexa asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

Phillip shook his head slowly. “No, Andogra is Fey. Try to remain calm when she arrives. I’ll handle the conversation. But you should know… the Fey have walked Ideworld longer than even the oldest of Elves. They are not bound by the same logic. They are powerful, unpredictable, and ancient. Like the wind before fire. Like stories before memory.”

At his words, Alexa felt a slow prickle of anticipation crawl down her spine. The air around them thickened, not unpleasantly—but as if something very old had just turned its gaze toward the room.

Then… came the faintest sound.

A rustle. Like silk dragged across stone. And the scent of wildflowers and ozone.

The doors began to open.

What emerged from behind the door was no taller than a seven-year-old child, yet it could hardly be called a "child." The creature looked like a wondrous blend of bumblebee and wasp—woven from insect dreams and ancient magic. Its body was covered in dense, black fur that shimmered softly in the light, and though mostly hidden beneath a trailing tunic—or perhaps a robe—a rounded abdomen could be glimpsed shifting beneath the fabric.

It hovered in the air, suspended by wings that beat so rapidly they were nearly invisible, creating only the faintest hum and blur. But when it glided gently down to the chair behind the desk, its wings stilled, unfolding like a delicate fan. They were breathtaking—gossamer-thin and translucent like spun glass, shaped like those of a butterfly, but painted with colors more vivid than anything Alexa had ever seen: blues fading into purples, purples into deep, radiant reds, all shimmering under the interplay of sunlight pouring through the membranous windows and the soft bioluminescent glow from the moss-covered walls.

The creature, Andogra, had six delicate limbs, each ending in claw-like hands—three finger-like appendages arranged in a triangular grip. Its large, compound eyes dominated its furred face: deep black, reflective, unreadable. Where one might expect a mouth or nose, there were only gently twitching mandibles—sharp, precise, endlessly moving. And above all this, from beneath a tightly wound headwrap, two long, thin antennae waved slowly in the air like reeds in an unseen breeze.

Without a word, she reached beneath the desk and retrieved an object: a hand-sized, oval gem glowing with warm, internal fire. She placed it delicately onto the desk’s surface and rested one of her chitinous hands upon it. The amber pulsed slightly under her touch.

Then, Andogra spoke.

The sound that emerged from her was not language in any human sense—it was insectile, rapid-fire chittering, like a thousand tiny clicks layered over each other. Alexa blinked, frozen, her ears straining to make sense of it. Her heart beat faster—both in awe and unease.

A moment later, something stirred within the amber.

The creature inside—a small, pale leech-like being, elegant in its own eerie way—twitched softly, then pulsed with a low, musical hum. A second voice filled the room, translated through the gem itself: clear, yet hauntingly toneless.

“We have found your book, Shadow.”

Alexa glanced toward Phillip, who gave Andogra a short bow of his head. Then, wordlessly, he reached out and placed his palm upon the amber, just as Andogra had.

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“Thank you, Andogra,” he said solemnly.

The amber pulsed again. The creature inside let out a new sequence of rhythmic chirps and melodic clicks, this time directed at Andogra—speaking, replying, conversing in the native language of her kind. The soft insectile cadence filled the room like an ancient lullaby played on bone and wind.

Andogra responded with a slow nod, her mandibles clicking in approval, her wings shifting ever so slightly, casting shifting patterns of color against the moss-lit walls.

From beneath her long, trailing tunic, Andogra pulled out the book. To Alexa's surprise, it looked more like a school notebook than the grand, ancient tome she had imagined Phillip was yearning for. He accepted it with ceremonial reverence, holding it delicately in one hand while the other traced a slow, affectionate line across the cover. He opened it briefly, flipping through the pages with purpose—likely to ensure he had received exactly what he had asked for. Satisfied, he looked up at the Fey and gave her a respectful bow.

Andogra then reached once more for the amber translator stone. With a soft chirr of clicks, layered with the humming resonance of the gem’s magic, a voice emerged:

“Thus, the debt of our hive is paid, Shadow.”

Phillip nodded solemnly in response. The Fey's wings began to shimmer, vibrating with dizzying speed until the air itself seemed to hum—and in an instant, Andogra zipped away, disappearing into the same corridor from which she had first appeared.

Phillip lingered a moment longer, sitting still with the book pressed to his chest, eyes closed, as though absorbing the warmth of a long-lost dream. Then, finally, he turned to Alexa and asked with a hint of a smile, “Alexa, how much time can you spare for some sightseeing?”

“I want to be home tonight, in my own world,” she replied firmly, though her curiosity hadn’t dimmed.

“Would you like to see the duels I told you about?”

“Absolutely!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing with excitement.

“Good,” Phillip said, rising to his feet. “Then let’s eat first—there’s a friend of mine who lives nearby—and afterward, around the fourth of your time, there should be a duel at the main square. If we get there a little early, we can claim the best seats.”

They stepped out of the Fey’s dwelling and made their way toward a grand staircase spiraling around the colossal trunk of some tree. The stairs were wide—easily ten feet across—and a tall balustrade lined the outer edge, partially veiled in ivy that shimmered gently in the breeze. As they climbed, reaching a height comparable to a third story back on Earth, they paused to look out over the bustling village below. Life pulsed in every direction, both strange and oddly familiar.

“Can you tell me more about the Fey?” Alexa asked as they reached a balcony on one of the upper levels, secluded and empty save for the two of them.

“The Fey are… different,” Phillip began, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “Not like you, not like me, and not even like the elves. They come from a time far more ancient than any of us can truly grasp. What’s most important to understand is that even the smallest among them—and I do mean small, Alexa, some Fey are the size of a housecat—are manifesting beings. Which means they must be treated with the utmost caution.”

“They all have their own domains?” Alexa asked, intrigued.

“No. Not quite. Fey are... unique. Do you remember how I explained that a Splinter forms when a crystal-heart’s domain expands beyond the wielder’s ability to control?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, the Splinters the Fey inhabit—places like the Summer and Winter Kingdoms—are exactly those kinds of wild, fully bloomed Domains. Unlike Pangea, where we are now, those realms have sovereigns. Fey Archqueens.”

“Like queen bees,” Alexa murmured, half to herself. “Is that why Andogra mentioned a hive?”

“Exactly. Each Fey belongs to a hive led by a queen, and that queen exerts full psychic control over her subjects. But above them, each hive queen answers to an Archqueen—immensely powerful beings who channel the strength of their crystals and distribute their talents among their kin through a psychic link.”

“That’s incredible,” Alexa breathed. Her voice was full of awe. “Have you ever visited one of their Splinters?”

“I wouldn’t know how to get there,” Phillip said with a shake of his head. “And frankly, those who have tried—well, let’s just say they don’t tend to come back. So no, young lady, I have no intention of attempting that particular journey.” His gaze drifted toward a group of elven children playing with a ball in the open air. “Some games,” he said softly, “must have been invented and reinvented over countless ages.”

He looked back at her and added, “I’ll say this—an Archqueen of the Fey, by power alone, is closer to a god than to any mortal.”

“I see,” Alexa nodded thoughtfully. “Will you tell me about the stages of Domain development sometime?”

“I will,” Phillip promised with a warm smile. “But not just now. My friend is arriving.”

He turned and bowed slightly to a figure approaching them. The elf was tall—even taller than Phillip by half a head—and shimmering with sapphire-blue scales. Upon his brow rested a ridged crest like a small hill, and from just beneath it jutted two short, horn-like protrusions. His sclera shimmered pale blue, while his irises glowed a deep amber. As he caught sight of Phillip, the elf flared his nostrils, exhaled sharply, and let out a soft, melodic whistle—somewhere between a song and a greeting.

“Rahosh,” Phillip said with a grin, “it’s good to see you again.”

The elf, whom Phillip had called Rahosh, bowed first to Alexa, then to Phillip. Then he whistled again—another brief tune, rich in tone and curious in rhythm.

“Yes, we would love to eat. That’s why I waited here—hoping you’d show up,” Phillip replied.

“Do you understand his language?” Alexa blurted out, curiosity bubbling over.

“I do, my dear. Rahosh also understands English, but neither of us can reproduce the sounds of the other’s tongue, if you catch my meaning.” Rahosh nodded in agreement and opened his mouth briefly, revealing an intimidating set of needle-like teeth—sharp as thorns.

Those teeth, Alexa thought, were what truly set the elves apart from humans. Elegant as they were, they clearly weren’t herbivores. Alexa braced herself. Whatever their host had prepared, it was not going to be vegan.

Rahosh led them along a series of winding paths suspended between the sprawling branches of massive trees. The walkways, woven from wood and living vine, swayed gently with each step. They passed many elves along the way, and Rahosh sang—soft melodic whistles and trills—to nearly every one of them. Each elf responded in kind, returning his greeting with a unique note or cadence, like a musical conversation in a language of birdsong and breath.

Most of the elves reclined languidly on wide terraces bathed in sunlight, their glistening scaled skin catching the light in iridescent patterns. What struck Alexa most was their stillness. Whether lying down, sitting, or simply standing by the railings, they didn’t twitch, fidget, or blink. They held themselves with the eerie stillness of statues—serene, unmoving, reptilian. It was both beautiful and uncanny.

Phillip, noticing her fascination, leaned closer and spoke in a hushed tone.

“Someone once told me that elves can’t generate their own body heat the way humans do. That’s why so many of them live here in Pangea. And as you’ve already noticed, they spend much of their time simply basking in the warmth of their private sun.”

Alexa blinked, suddenly understanding the quiet reverence in their sunlit poses—not laziness or lethargy, but a kind of necessity, even worship. They weren’t idle—they were charging.

Rahosh finally brought them to his dwelling—a graceful swell in the trunk of a vast, ancient tree. He placed a hand against the bark, and the fibrous membrane that served as a door shimmered and parted like parting mist, revealing the interior within.

Alexa stepped inside and was immediately struck by the room’s quiet beauty. It was nearly circular in shape, the floor padded with thick, velvety moss in calming shades of green and ochre. Ferns of various colors spilled from the walls like verdant waterfalls, and in the center stood a carved stump topped with a sphere of amber-like resin.

Rahosh approached the sphere and pressed a hand to it. At once, the wooden walls of the room grew translucent, flooding the space with honey-gold sunlight filtered through the leaves outside. The entire chamber glowed as if suspended in a dream. Alexa caught her breath.

“It’s beautiful, Rahosh,” she whispered.

The elf answered with a melodic trill, then bowed and quietly disappeared through another membrane deeper into his home, leaving them alone in the amber-touched light.

“Rahosh thanks you for your appreciation,” Phillip translated with a smile. “And he adds, you needn’t worry about privacy—the walls may seem transparent from within, but from outside, they remain perfectly opaque.”

He gestured toward a curved couch of soft moss.

“Please, sit. Your legs must be weary.”

Alexa eased onto the mossy seat, running her fingers through its plush texture.

“It’s so soft,” she murmured, “like sitting on a cloud.”

Phillip chuckled, pleased.

“Don’t worry about my legs, Phillip,” Alexa added lightly. “My paint and the power of my Domain keep me from tiring at all.”

Phillip raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

“Your Domain truly holds immense potential, Alexa. It doesn’t yet lend itself to direct combat, but with preparation, your only limit is imagination.” He paused. “Of course, you don’t have to develop it for battle… but as we both know, the world rarely asks our opinion on such matters.”

Alexa nodded, thoughtful. Her mind drifted to spiders, elves, and the fey. Even to the strange garbage collector she’d seen back home. Then her dream from last night flickered through her memory. The sunlight filtering in through the translucent walls painted her face with shifting golden patterns.

“Rahosh has gone to prepare some meat for us,” Phillip continued. “In the meantime, let me tell you a little more about the evolution of Domains.”

“Please do,” she said, her excitement bubbling up again.

“There are roughly ten stages of Domain development,” Phillip began. “The first is simply its birth—the crystal forms and begins to influence the world around it, subtly, through the Idea it represents.”

“The Idea? Like artistic creation?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Each Domain embodies an Idea. And in the second stage, the light emitted by the crystal gains enough strength to cast shadows—to manifest the Idea physically through a chosen medium.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by physically manifest an idea,” Alexa said, furrowing her brow.

“Take the Domain of Mirrors,” Phillip offered. “It once altered spiders, giving them glass-like armor. In that stage, if a Domain has a wielder, that person gains the ability to project its talents a short distance from themselves.”

“For now,” he added, “the light of your Domain is still within you—within your crystal heart—so your influence is limited to things you touch or yourself. That’s why what you did in the Mirror Domain was so extraordinary: you managed to affect both Peter and the spider from a distance by using your sketchbook as a medium. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“I think I understand,” Alexa said slowly. “Sometimes when I’m painting, I see that light—like it’s shining through me.”

Phillip smiled.

“The third stage is a unique one. The Domain creates a guardian—an intelligent shadow-being that embodies the Domain’s essence. With it, the wielder gains greater range and power, able to craft more complex manifestations at a distance.”

Just then, a breeze wafted through a natural crevice in the tree’s wall, swirling the warm scent of charring steaks into the room. The smell was intoxicating—meaty and primal, with undertones of spicy root smoke and the subtle tang of something almost floral. Alexa’s stomach growled softly, and she exchanged a small, sheepish glance with Phillip, who grinned.

“Every stage beyond that builds on the last. In short, your authority over the Idea grows.”

“I see,” said Alexa, eyes wide with fascination.

“The fourth stage,” Phillip continued, “binds the Domain’s guardian—called an Anima—to its wielder. They can communicate mentally, even across worlds. At the fifth stage, the Anima can travel outside its Domain—yes, even to your world.”

“Can it use the Domain’s power?” she asked.

“Yes, but only through the wielder. The Anima acts with the authority the wielder grants it.”

Alexa nodded, taking it all in. From behind the membrane, she could hear the distant flutter of Rahosh’s robe and a faint tune he seemed to be humming—or maybe whistling—through those strange, serrated teeth.

“Now, the sixth stage is another turning point,” Phillip said, his tone darkening. “If the Domain develops on its own, without a wielder, it begins to break away from Ideaworld, forming a Splinter—like the one we’re in now, though smaller in scale. But if it has a wielder, that person must face a great trial of self-realization. Should they fail, they lose the Domain, which breaks free and becomes a Splinter. But if they succeed… they absorb the crystal into their very soul. From that point on, the Domain exists within them, always.”

Alexa sat in stunned silence, eyes wide.

“But let’s pause there,” Phillip said gently. “The later stages are far more complex—and to be honest, I’m not entirely confident in my knowledge of them.”

“I understand,” Alexa replied. “Thank you for sharing so much already.”

“It’s just an overview,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Not every Domain follows this path. Some are born differently. Some bond with their wielder in other ways. But generally speaking—this is the pattern they follow.”

She nodded slowly.

“I think… I’m starting to see how big this all really is.”

Phillip gave her a knowing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“You’re not wrong, Alexa. And you’ve only just begun.”

After a few moments, the smells became impossible to ignore. The savory aroma of roasted meat hung thick in the air, rich and intoxicating, while hints of herbs and smoke tickled the back of the throat with a teasing sharpness. Alexa no longer just felt hungry—she had the distinct impression her stomach was breathing through her nose, demanding something real, something now.

The membrane leading deeper into the home parted again without a sound, and Rahosh entered, carrying two large boards of pale, softly polished wood. Resting on each was a generous cut of meat—a thick, sizzling steak, its edges beautifully seared, the center still juicy and glistening, crowned with slowly melting drops of herb-infused butter. Beside them, carefully arranged in intricate patterns, lay small, glistening berries in hues of deep violet, midnight green, and glassy indigo. Some looked like translucent pearls with delicate cores inside; others resembled tiny, furred fruits that seemed to hum with hidden flavor.

Rahosh sang something low and melodious, placing the boards down on a low table in front of them. With a small bow, he withdrew once more, leaving them surrounded by warmth and the mouthwatering perfume of their meal.

Alexa eyed the berries with a mix of fascination and hesitation.

“They look… incredible, but…” she began softly, uncertain.

Phillip chuckled, reaching out and plucking one of the clear, jewel-like berries, popping it into his mouth with obvious pleasure.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he chewed. “They’re perfectly edible. Delicious, in fact. The Elves aren’t in the habit of poisoning their guests.”

Alexa laughed under her breath, the tension melting from her shoulders, and reached for one herself. As she bit into it, the flavor burst across her tongue—sweet, slightly tart, but most of all, utterly foreign. It was like tasting the breath of a different world, as if the wind from another realm had settled on her tongue to whisper a story in the language of flavor.

Ranosh handed her a set of utensils crafted from some kind of resin—smooth, hard yet featherlight in her grip. They shimmered faintly in the dappled light, as though sap from an ancient tree had chosen to become something useful and elegant.

Alexa eagerly set to cutting the steak, her knife gliding through it with surprising ease. The texture was firm but tender—somewhere between grilled chicken breast and perfectly aged beef. But the taste… the taste was something else entirely. Rich, savory, laced with spices she couldn’t name but that made her heart beat just a little faster with every bite. It had the satisfying umami depth of a well-seasoned beef steak, but with an undertone of wild herbs and something smoky-sweet that clung to her senses.

“If Elves eat like this every day,” she said, half-joking as she took another bite, “then I’m starting to understand why their language is so musical. My taste buds feel like they want to sing.”

"Indeed, my dear," Phillip replied warmly.

Then, between bites of steak, he turned to Ranosh and began speaking with him. Ranosh replying in his melodic tones—those same strange, whistling harmonics that danced more than they spoke.

The conversation shifted from light pleasantries to something heavier. Phillip asked a question mid-chew, his tone changing slightly, and the name Gavolash slipped between his lips like a stone dropped into a still pond.

Alexa noticed that Ranosh paused in his singing. The corners of his golden eyes tightened. He responded with a soft, mournful melody, his voice rising and falling like the wind through dying leaves. The light from the living walls dimmed just a little, as though the room itself had heard and responded.

Phillip sighed and set down his resin fork.

“There’s trouble,” he said quietly, turning back to Alexa. “A tribe—Elves of the Gavolash bloodline—have begun raiding Ranosh’s village again. They live a few miles down, toward the ocean cliffs, and though once they were kin, they’ve turned hostile of late.”

Alexa’s brow furrowed. “Raiding? For what?”

“Food,” Phillip replied simply. “Though not in the way we usually think of it. They've started stealing from the herds of Razash Reach—massive beasts that I believe are called triceratops in your world. They're bred for meat and companionship.”

Alexa nearly choked on a berry. “Triceratopses?”

Phillip chuckled darkly. “Yes. Magnificent creatures. Massive and gentle as ships on land. But losing them is not only a blow to sustenance—it’s a wound to pride, to tradition. Each one is named, raised from hatching. It’s not just theft. It’s desecration.”

Ranosh added something—a low, bitter whistle like a song sung from the back of a throat—and Phillip nodded gravely.

“He says they no longer sing the same songs as their ancestors. That they’ve stopped listening to the trees.”

The rest of the dinner passed in a gentle, contemplative silence. The golden light streaming through the translucent walls flickered with the breeze outside, casting rippling patterns across the mossy floor. The heady scent of charred meat and sweet, tangy berries still lingered in the air, but the earlier joy had faded, like the last notes of a song that had slipped into memory.

When all the plates had been cleared and only the warmth of the meal remained in their bellies, Phillip rose to his feet with a quiet grace. He stepped around the table and reached for Ranosh’s hand, clasping it firmly. Then, with a kind of reverence that made Alexa's chest ache with something she couldn’t quite name, he pressed his forehead to Ranosh’s. Together, they hummed—a low, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate through the very air. The harmony lasted only a few moments, but it carried the weight of ancient traditions, of friendship and sorrow shared without the need for words.

Alexa found herself smiling softly. There was something profoundly moving in that simple exchange—no fanfare, no flourish, just two souls acknowledging the gravity of unspoken things.

Ranosh turned to her next. With a faint, solemn smile, he offered her a bow low and respectful, his crest flattening slightly in a gesture of humility. Alexa returned it with a slight curtsy, unsure if she was doing it right but hoping the feeling behind it would be understood.

Phillip touched her arm gently. “Come, Alexa,” he said, his voice quiet and apologetic. “My questions seem to have soured Ranosh’s mood. He won’t be joining us at the square.”

Ranosh sat motionless, his tall frame still and composed like the statuesque elves basking in the sun earlier. His amber eyes followed them as they walked away, glowing faintly in the softened light that filtered through the translucent walls. There was no bitterness in his gaze—only a quiet weight, like that of a stone resting beneath deep water. His long fingers, which moments ago had moved with such grace and melody, now rested clasped loosely in his lap.

As Alexa turned a final time to glance over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of him still seated there—crest dimmed. A figure sculpted from stillness and song. Then the membrane of the doorway closed behind them with a gentle sigh, and Ranosh was left alone with his thoughts and the fading echoes of the dinner that had stirred too many emotions.

Phillip and Alexa walked side by side along the winding canopy paths that stretched like suspended bridges between the ancient branches. The light filtering through the thick foliage above shimmered in shades of emerald and gold, creating a dappled glow on their faces as they descended toward the village’s heart. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of sap, moss, and the distant sweetness of something blooming unseen.

Below them, nestled at the center of the arboreal haven, lay the town square—or what passed for it in this realm untouched by concrete or cobblestone. A wide clearing opened in the midst of the massive trees, their trunks forming a natural colonnade around the space. There was no grass here, for there was no grass anywhere in this world, only the soft, ever-living carpet of moss that glowed faintly beneath their feet. The light was gentle, like starlight caught in green velvet, pulsating subtly as if it breathed along with the land.

A wooden tribune had been erected in an elegant spiral around the clearing, grown rather than built, it seemed—living wood coaxed into graceful tiers where dozens of elves now sat, draped in flowing garments, their faces serene and focused. They sang to one another in low, harmonic tones, each melody layering over the next in a symphony of natural resonance, a choir without conductor or script, guided by instinct and ancient memory.

On the opposite side of the clearing, where the glow of the moss was a cooler blue, a few humans had gathered—visitors or perhaps residents, watching with quiet curiosity. They looked up as Alexa and Phillip approached, taking their seats on a low platform carved into the base of a tree’s root. The moment was peaceful, charged with quiet anticipation, like the breath before a storm or a performance.

Alexa, scanning her surroundings with wonder, leaned slightly toward Phillip and pointed to the moss beneath their feet. “Is it conducting the light of the Crystal Heart of this Splinter?” she asked in a hushed voice, eyes wide.

Phillip blinked, clearly impressed. “Indeed, my dear. That’s… quite the observation. Not many visitors ever notice.”

A smile tugged at Alexa’s lips. “It reminded me of something. In the abandoned house - there were broken mirrors everywhere. Light moved in them, like a current in water. That’s what led me to this realization.”

Phillip looked at her for a moment, thoughtful, a proud glint in his eye. “You really pay attention Alexa.”

The music from the elves swelled softly, shifting as more joined in. Below, the clearing began to stir, as if the moss itself was waking up to the gathering energy. Something was about to begin.

Soon after, a group of elves dressed in vibrant robes stepped onto the center of the clearing, their presence commanding the attention of the gathered crowd. As they moved, their voices began to rise in a harmonious, melodic chant that echoed through the air, carrying the weight of age-old tradition. The elves’ voices blended effortlessly, weaving a sound that seemed to vibrate with the very heartbeat of the land.

Phillip leaned closer to Alexa, his voice low yet clear amidst the growing melody. “To the delight of the Mother Goddess,” he explained, “we are about to witness a duel.” He motioned toward the elves in the center. “The young elf, Lalolaosh, has challenged the elder Gavilash. Lalolaosh seeks to claim the domain of Gavilash.”

Alexa watched intently as the elves arranged themselves, their movements fluid and graceful. The energy around them seemed to hum, charged with a palpable tension, and the clearing held its breath in anticipation.

"Can he just take it for himself like that?" Alexa asked.

Phillip continued, his voice softer now, almost reverential. “This duel is not a simple contest. It is a fight to the death. The winner claims the domain—the heartstone, the very core of the elder’s essence. To make the challenge official, Gavilash must reveal the physical location of his domain, so that the younger elf may, should he succeed, seize the heartstone after the battle is over.”

Alexa’s gaze followed Phillip’s, and she saw Gavilash step forward—an elder elf, his face carved with years of wisdom and experience, his expression resolute yet calm. His hands, weathered by time, moved in small, deliberate gestures, as if marking something invisible in the air.

"Why would the older elf agree to this?" Alexa asked, her brow furrowing. "He has so much to lose and nothing to gain."

Phillip’s gaze softened, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ah, my dear, you're mistaken. What he has to lose is his honor, for refusing the duel would mark him as a coward. And what he stands to gain is far more than just a victory – it's the approval of the crowd, the adoration of those who thrive on spectacle. You see, duels are sacred among elves, a tradition as old as the stars themselves. It's one of the reasons I cautioned you against showing your talents too freely."

Alexa nodded, her thoughts swirling as she took in his words, the weight of them settling like a stone in her chest. "I understand now," she said softly, her eyes drifting back to the center of the clearing, where the tension in the air was thickening, waiting for the inevitable clash.

The leader of the village, an elven matriarch draped in flowing robes that shimmered like moonlight, rose slowly to her feet at the edge of the circle. With a slight nod, she confirmed the elder’s statement, her voice a song that traveled through the stillness. “I have been to the domain,” Phillip translated. “I have seen it with my own eyes.” He continued, his voice steady.

The crowd, a mixture of elves and a few curious humans, stirred in a quiet, expectant murmur. The stakes of the duel were set. Lalolaosh, the challenger, stood tall, his youthful face filled with determination, while Gavilash’s steady gaze betrayed nothing, as if he had already accepted the inevitability of what was to come.

“Once the fight begins,” Phillip murmured, his voice filled with awe and a touch of sadness, “it is not just about the winner. It’s a battle for control over the Domain—a life-or-death struggle for the very essence of power.”

Alexa’s heart raced. She felt the weight of the moment—the tension thick in the air. It was clear that, in this worlds, power was not just earned or taken; it was bound to the land, to the soul, and to the blood.

One of the elves handed Lalolaosh a spear—an elegant weapon that gleamed like amber in the sunlight, its shaft sculpted from the same glistening resin Alexa had seen used for the utensils in Ranosh’s home. The craftsmanship was exquisite, catching the light as if the sun itself had been trapped within its smooth surface.

As tradition dictated, a second identical spear was offered to the elder elf, Gavilash. But he declined with a silent shake of the head. He stood still, his expression carved in stone, eyes locked on the younger elf standing some twenty feet away. Lalolaosh leaned calmly against his grounded spear, as though the gravity of the moment hadn’t touched him at all.

“Do you know what Gavilash’s Domain is?” Alexa asked, her curiosity tinged with apprehension.

“As it happens, I do,” Phillip replied. “He’s reached the second stage in the Domain of Slowness.”

“Slowness?” Alexa repeated, clearly surprised. “That’s… that’s a Domain?”

Phillip chuckled softly, eyes twinkling with amusement. “My dear, I believe if someone is devoted enough—focused with singular intent—anything can become a Domain. Your Domain, for instance, requires boundless imagination. But Gavilash’s? It grants him something simpler… yet tremendously powerful.”

“But… slowness is powerful?”

Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Lalolaosh would wager his life in this duel if it weren’t?”

Alexa fell silent, turning her gaze back to the arena. A hush had fallen over the clearing—an almost sacred stillness. All the layered songs and whispered harmonies of the gathered elves had ceased, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. The duel was about to begin.

The clearing was silent, sacred in its hush. Even the ever-singing elves on their wooden perches held their breath. Soft, bioluminescent moss bathed the dueling ground in an otherworldly green glow, like starlight woven into earth. High above, the filtered sunlight glimmered through dense canopies, casting patterns like runes across the faces of those gathered.

Lalolaosh stepped forward first. Youthful, bright-eyed, his breath slow and steady. He held his resin spear loosely, like a natural extension of his body. His bare feet pressed against the glowing moss, as if he drew courage from the ground itself.

Opposite him stood Gavilash.

Older, heavier in presence than in body, he looked carved from ancient bark and shadow. His limbs moved with a strange deliberation, and the very air near him shimmered—subtle at first, like heat on stone, but unmistakable. A stillness surrounded him, like the world held its breath just for him.

At a high, harmonic signal from the elven choir, the duel began.

Lalolaosh moved like lightning—his spear a streak of glistening resin—but as it neared Gavilash, time bent. The weapon slowed mid-arc, its sharp edge dragging through molasses-thick air. Gavilash didn’t even flinch. With calm disdain, he raised his hand—long, clawed fingers curved like sickles—and batted the attack aside as if swatting a lazy fly.

Lalolaosh stumbled, regaining balance, then leapt back, circling, feinting, striking again. But each motion suffered. His weapon, though untouched directly, felt heavier in Gavilash’s presence, its speed robbed by the oppressive slowness radiating from the elder elf.

And then came the counterattack.

Gavilash surged forward—not quickly, but with terrifying inevitability. His own body obeyed a different rhythm, one bent and manipulated by his Domain. His clawed hands lashed out—not with wild fury, but precision, each swipe slowed only to mask its deadly intention. One claw sliced across Lalolaosh’s shoulder, drawing a ribbon of blood. Another grazed his thigh, deep and burning.

Lalolaosh gritted his teeth, dancing back, trying to regain tempo—but the moment his spear came close, the world bent again, dragging it down.

Lalolaosh gritted his teeth, dancing back, trying to regain tempo—but the moment his spear came close, the world bent again, dragging it down.

Undeterred, the young elf kept jabbing—once, twice, thrice—his strikes quick and precise, but always blunted by that creeping aura of slowness. Each thrust of the resin spear slowed to a crawl as it entered Gavilash’s invisible field of power, like flies trapped in amber. And then, with no ceremony, Gavilash struck back.

His claws came in a blur of deceptive grace—arcs of motion that seemed almost languid until they raked fresh wounds along Lalolaosh’s ribs and cheek. The younger elf staggered, blood matting his tunic, sweat mingling with pain on his brow.

Alexa leaned closer to Phillip, voice barely above a whisper. “His Domain… it really is powerful.”

Phillip nodded grimly, eyes never leaving the duel. “Yes. But notice—he cannot slow him. Only the things he touches or that come too close. The boy’s body is still his own.”

Alexa’s gaze sharpened, thoughtful.

And then, Lalolaosh made his move.

With a roar that split the quiet like a blade, he grasped his spear with both hands and hurled it—hurled it—with every ounce of strength he had left, the weapon cutting a whistling arc through the thick air.

But Gavilash was ready.

His Domain flared—almost visible in its force. The spear faltered midair, caught in a net of time-stretching pressure. With a single, fluid motion, the elder elf raised his clawed hand and batted it aside, sending it tumbling into the mossy undergrowth.

He began to walk forward—measured, slow, inevitable. A predator closing in. The crowd watched, breathless.

Then, Lalolaosh did something strange.

He reached for the clasp of his tunic, unfastened it, and let it fall to the ground. Completely bare beneath, his skin slick with blood and sweat, he looked almost feral.

And he grinned—wild, teeth gleaming like bone.

Before the tunic had even touched the glowing moss, he lunged.

No spear, no weapon, just flesh and fury.

The slowness could not catch him now. He was untouched, unburdened. Gavilash tried to adjust, to draw his claws up for a counter—too late.

A savage low kick swept the elder elf’s legs from under him with brutal precision. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. In one swift motion, Lalolaosh rolled forward, straddling his fallen opponent, gripping Gavilash’s arm and wrenching it back at an unnatural angle.

A scream echoed—cut short.

With his free hand, Lalolaosh plunged his own claws across Gavilash’s throat in a single, decisive slash.

Blood sprayed. Moss drank.

And it was over.

Lalolaosh rose, panting, shaking, bathed in his opponent’s blood and the eerie glow of the moss. The crowd erupted—not in noise, but in choral harmonies, mournful and victorious all at once.

He had won.

Stripped of everything but his will, he had overcome Time itself.

Phillip leaned toward Alexa, his voice low but edged with meaning as he watched the bloodied victor take a step back from the still body of Gavilash.

“Let it be a lesson for you, my dear,” he said, his tone solemn, almost fatherly.

Alexa looked at him, eyes wide, still catching her breath from the intensity of what she had just witnessed. Phillip continued, his gaze never leaving the arena. “Talent alone is not enough. Even the gifted may fall, when faced with someone resourceful... and willing to do what must be done.”

He turned to her now, offering a faint, wistful smile.

“Power is a tool. Ingenuity is survival.” Phillip murmured, folding his hands before his lips in another thought. “Now comes the real question.”

Alexa glanced at him, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Phillip exhaled slowly. “What will he do, this bold young one, with the chance he’s claimed? The Domain of Slowness is not some weapon to be wielded like that spear he cast aside. It’s deliberate. Heavy with weight most minds can’t carry.”

He watched as Lalolaosh knelt beside the body of Gavilash.

“I wonder,” Phillip went on, more to himself now, “if one so young... so brash and quick of blood, can even temper something like that. Will the Domain accept him as its sovereign, or will it wait—silent and unmoved—for another?”

His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Time will tell.”

He looked back to Alexa, and the sharpness in his gaze softened. With a subtle tilt of his head, he gestured toward the wooden path leading away from the arena.

“Come. I believe we’ve seen enough for one day.”

The air was cooling as they left the glowing moss and gentle songs of the Elven village behind, stepping once more into the sprawling canopy paths that wound through the jungle. Above them, the vast branches stretched like arms, filtering golden light through thick leaves that shimmered with dew and distant bioluminescence. The calls of unseen creatures echoed faintly in the distance—a chorus that somehow always sounded like both lullaby and warning.

Below, between gnarled roots and fern-laced hollows, the small dinosaurs scurried again—chicken-sized things with feathers like autumn leaves and curious, clicking eyes. They darted between vines and logs, pecking at moss or chasing insects, occasionally freezing in place when they sensed the two travelers approach.

Alexa smiled at the sight. “I still can’t get used to them.”

“They’re harmless,” Phillip said, stepping lightly to avoid one that scrambled across the path. “But make the mistake of trying to feed one, and you’ll find yourself with twenty more.”

After a while, the jungle began to thin, and the stone archway came into view, half-swallowed by twisted roots and flowering vines. Alexa stopped and took a breath. She asked Phillip to turn around and changed into her warmer clothes.

“Let me open it this time.”

Phillip arched a brow, then nodded. “Of course.”

She stepped to the archway, brushing her fingers across the weathered surface until she found the stone he had pointed out on their first arrival. She closed her eyes and reached inward—not with muscle but with thought, not hard but with intent.

The stone pulsed faintly beneath her hand.

Then, with a shimmer like heat rising from sand, the portal bloomed open within the arch. Swirling amber light danced within, and the gentle, otherworldly breeze that always came with inter-world travel tugged at their hair and clothes.

Alexa looked back over her shoulder, one last time, at the lush world they were leaving behind—its towering trees, its glittering moss, its mournful songs. For a moment, she let herself feel the weight of it all.

Then she stepped through.

They emerged into the shadows of the forest just outside her city—dim and cool beneath a gray sky. The portal whispered shut behind them, and the jungle’s sounds faded like a dream.

Near the base of a gnarled trunk, still resting exactly where it had been left, sat the smooth obsidian orb Phillip had used to anchor the passage. He stooped and picked it up, tucking it into the folds of his coat without a word.

Side by side, they started the walk back toward her home.

Phillip stopped just before the worn stone path leading to her door and turned to her, his expression as warm as it was distant.

“This is where I must part ways with you for now,” he said gently, hands clasped behind his back. “My journey continues alone from here. There are still matters I must attend to, and places I must visit.”

Alexa opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand in reassurance.

“We may meet again,” he added, his voice touched with a wistful smile. “There is a university, not far from here—in the heart of this city. I’ll be spending some time there, studying if they’ll have me.” He gave a playful shrug, the way he often did when trying to mask something heavier beneath.

She nodded slowly, her eyes searching his. “Maybe I’ll find you there. On another visit.”

“I would very much like that.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the wind rustling through the trees above, leaves tumbling like amber memories around them.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “For showing me all that you have. For everything you’ve taught me.”

Phillip bowed his head slightly. “The pleasure, Alexa, has truly been mine.”

They lingered there, just a moment longer, before exchanging quiet goodbyes. No dramatic farewell, no magical flourish. Just a parting of two souls that had briefly traveled together through strange and beautiful lands.

Alexa stepped inside, the door closing gently behind her with a familiar click that echoed softly through the quiet of her home on this side.

She moved to the bathroom, peeling off layers of body paint. Once clean, she dressed again. The feel of the fabric was grounding. She walked through the quiet house, returning to her Domain. She put her backpack by her easel. Air inside was warmed by the ever-present glow of her Domain.

With a slow breath, she reached out to the painting — the one that held the portal between worlds. Her fingers brushed its surface, and she could feel the familiar pull from within, the thrum of light beneath her skin syncing to the rhythm of her crystal-heart.

Then, with the faintest shimmer, the portal flared to life. And just like that, Alexa returned — home.