Chapter 8 THE SHADOW QUEEN

Eryndor stared at Lyra.

He had expected many answers. Not this one.

“Your mother is alive,” he said.

Lyra’s expression tightened.

“She lives in the first layer. She rules it. She does not leave.”

Eryndor studied her face.

“You never mentioned her.”

“Because she is not someone I take lightly.” Lyra stepped onto the platform and pressed her palm against the carved stone. “And she is not someone who forgives.”

The runes around the circle lit up in a slow pattern. A low hum spread across the room.

Eryndor stood beside her.

“She will guide us.”

“She will consider it,” Lyra corrected. “My mother does not guide anyone without a reason.”

The platform vibrated. A faint shimmer rose from the stone in a thin, circular wall of pale light.

Eryndor crossed his arms.

“Your father works with corrupted forces. Your mother rules part of the Underworld. You are the only one who seems to stand in the middle.”

Lyra gave him a brief glance.

“That is why neither side trusts me fully.”

“Do you trust them.”

“No,” she said, “but I understand how they think.”

Eryndor nodded slowly.

“And what will your mother think about me.”

Lyra paused.

“She will not like you.”

“Why.”

“She dislikes all Phoenixes.” Lyra placed both hands on the stone. “She has a reason.”

The air in the hall shifted. The light around them pulsed.

Eryndor studied her more closely.

“What reason.”

Lyra did not answer. She kept her focus on the runes. The glow intensified, wrapping the platform in a steady ring of pale flame.

Eryndor took a step closer.

“Lyra.”

“She will tell you herself,” Lyra said quietly.

The runes flared.

The floor beneath them trembled.

The light shot upward, swallowing the platform in a bright column.

Eryndor’s fire rose instinctively around him.

The chamber dissolved.

A cold wind rushed past.

The light faded.

They found themselves standing on a long stone bridge suspended over a vast hollow space. The sky above was not a sky at all, but layers of drifting gray fog woven with thin streaks of white lightning.

Eryndor exhaled.

“This is the first layer.”

Lyra nodded.

“Yes.”

The bridge stretched ahead toward a wide gate carved from obsidian. Towers rose on either side, lit by dim white lanterns that flickered like dying stars.

Eryndor sensed thousands of unseen eyes watching from the fog below.

Lyra began walking.

“Stay close to me. This place reacts to unfamiliar energy.”

Eryndor followed her, his fire held tight under his skin.

“What should I expect from your mother.”

Lyra hesitated.

“She is calm. She is patient. She is sharper than anyone you will ever meet. She sees everything. She misses nothing.”

“She sounds like someone who rarely loses.”

“She does not lose,” Lyra said.

When they reached the gate, it opened on its own with a low grinding sound.

A long corridor appeared, lined with dark stone and dim lanterns.

Eryndor stayed behind Lyra as she entered.

The hall widened into a throne room carved from obsidian and pale crystal. The throne itself sat on a raised platform, shaped from smooth shadowstone.

A woman waited there.

Tall. Still. Pale as moonlight. Her eyes held a piercing silver glow. Her hair fell like black silk, and shadows curled around her in a slow and controlled rhythm.

The temperature in the room dropped.

Lyra bowed her head but did not kneel.

“Mother.”

The Shadow Queen observed her daughter with calm precision.

Then her gaze shifted to Eryndor.

The air tightened, almost painfully.

Eryndor’s fire rose in response but stayed controlled.

The Shadow Queen spoke at last. Her voice was soft, but every word landed with weight.

“A Phoenix stands in my realm. This is unusual.”

Lyra stepped forward.

“He is with me.”

The Shadow Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“He carries the power of an ancient line. A line your father once tried to erase.”

Eryndor stepped forward.

“I am not your enemy.”

The Shadow Queen lifted her chin.

“That depends on what you believe your purpose is.”

Eryndor met her gaze without looking away.

“I am here because Zariel’s rebellion threatens all realms. We need guidance.”

She regarded him quietly.

Lyra added, “We seek the map to the inner layers. The rebellion begins deeper than this.”

The Shadow Queen leaned back in her throne.

“And why should I help either of you.”

Eryndor answered before Lyra could speak.

“Because if Zariel succeeds, he will not stop at the angels. He will take the shadows. He will claim your realm. And your daughter will be his tool or his target.”

For the first time, a faint shift in expression crossed the Queen’s face.

Not anger.

Not fear.

Recognition of truth.

She turned her eyes to Lyra again.

“You bring a Phoenix into my domain. You bring danger into my hall.”

Lyra stood firm.

“I bring a chance.”

The Shadow Queen rose from her throne.

The room darkened.

“Then I will decide for myself,” she said.

She walked toward Eryndor, the shadows bending around her feet.

“Show me what you are,” she said.

“Show me your fire. And show me your truth.”

Eryndor lifted his hands.

His fire ignited.

The throne room glowed red and gold.

The Shadow Queen stepped close enough that the flames licked the edges of her shadows.

Her voice stayed calm.

“Very well. I will help you.”

Lyra released a breath she had been holding.

Then the Queen added something that made both of them freeze.

“But first, Eryndor, you must hear the truth of your father. The truth you were never told.”