Failaka Island, 1991.
The military helicopter skimmed low over the Persian Gulf, its rotors hammering the humid air as the occupied island emerged from the haze.
Once known for its serene beaches and ancient ruins, Failaka had been under Iraqi control since Kuwait's invasion the previous August. Heavily fortified bunkers scarred the coastline. Artillery positions overlooked the water, while barbed wire and buried landmines turned the perimeter into a nearly impenetrable fortress designed to repel any coalition assault.
Soldiers moved between the installations below, their patrols relentless. Tanks crawled along makeshift roads, leaving dust trails behind. Even from the air, Rolland Hart could feel the tension hanging over the island—thick with diesel, gunpowder, and fear.
He sat near the open side of the helicopter, one hand resting against the seat harness. His tan camouflage jumpsuit snapped violently in the wind.
Months of preparation had brought him here.
To gain access to Failaka, Rolland had taken the unprecedented risk of arranging a personal meeting with Saddam Hussein. The journey to Baghdad had been dangerous enough, but standing inside the dictator’s palace had been even worse.
Stern-faced soldiers lined every corridor. Tapestries and polished stone filled the grand halls, yet Saddam’s paranoia seemed to suffocate the entire palace. Throughout their meeting, the man scrutinized Rolland, his dark eyes searching for the slightest hint of deception.
Rolland had given him nothing.
He had remained calm and respectful, concealing his true intentions behind carefully chosen promises of influence, wealth, and benefits for the Iraqi regime.
The deception had cost him one thousand bars of gold.
It had also secured them passage to the island.
But Saddam had not granted that passage without taking precautions.
Rolland glanced across the helicopter at the man dressed entirely in black. Their assigned escort had spoken very little since leaving the mainland. He sat rigidly near the cockpit, his gaze shifting steadily between Rolland and the others.
He was more than a guide.
He was Saddam’s warning.
The Iraqi regime knew enough about Rolland’s reputation—and his command of the dark arts—to monitor his every movement on Failaka.
Rolland turned his attention to his entourage.
His children, Vela, Sauvage, and Darque, sat together on the opposite side of the helicopter. Azure Creed sat beside them, one hand resting near the tiger tail artifact, secured beneath his clothing. Xavier sat near Azure, trying to appear unaffected by the armed soldiers, the violent turbulence, and the island rising beneath them.
Abigail Westfall took the seat closest to the rear door.
The mortal witch wore the same desert camouflage as the others, but the uniform did little to make her seem like she belonged among them. She had joined the mission as an attaché of the Kotodama bloodline, supposedly to offer her knowledge and assistance.
Rolland believed otherwise.
The Kotodama Elder had inserted eyes and ears into his affairs, and Abigail was listening on their behalf.
He intended to keep her close.
The helicopter banked sharply.
Below them, sunlight flashed off rows of military vehicles. Soldiers shielded their faces as the aircraft descended toward a clearing ringed with concrete barriers and coils of barbed wire.
Dust rose in violent spirals, briefly obscuring the island from view.
Beneath the occupied ground lay the reason they had come.
Azure’s discovery in Japan had placed the first tiger tail artifact in their possession. That artifact had led them to Failaka, where they believed an ancient map would reveal the locations of the other three.
Only after recovering all four tails could they locate and unlock the grand portal to the ancient Persian city of Susa.
The opportunity would not last long.
Coalition forces were closing in. Saddam’s grip on Kuwait was weakening, and once the tides of war swept across Failaka, whatever secrets remained buried here could be destroyed—or claimed by someone else.
The helicopter hit the ground with a heavy jolt.
Xavier flinched; this was his first mission since his release from the sanatorium, and although he had tried to hide it during the flight, his nerves had begun to fray.
As the rotors slowed, he forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears.
“I still can’t believe you’re married.”
Azure turned toward him.
Xavier shook his head, as though the motion might dislodge the memories clinging to his mind like stubborn cobwebs. The ache beneath his bravado still lingered in his eyes.
“She’s a good girl,” he added.
Outside, armed soldiers closed in on the helicopter.
Sunlight spilled into the cabin as the helicopter's door opened.
Without warning, Xavier caught Hope’s smile.
Radiant. Familiar. Once the guiding light of Xavier’s life, it now haunted him—a fleeting warmth trapped in the cold emptiness she had left. For one treacherous moment, he could almost hear her laughter beneath the slowing beat of the rotors.
His vision blurred.
Not with tears.
With the crushing weight of grief that had never loosened its grip.
How long had she been gone? Weeks and months had blurred into a single, unbroken stretch of longing, each day indistinguishable from the last.
Azure tightened his grip on Xavier’s forearm.
The touch pulled him back.
“Xavier, it’s time.”
Shadow fell over Azure’s face. Beneath it, an unspoken question lingered.
Had they brought him back too soon?
Xavier drew a slow breath and forced the memory down. He could not afford to fall apart—not here, surrounded by Iraqi soldiers, and not while Azure depended on him.
He looked toward the open door.
Saddam’s appointed guard was watching.
Xavier offered him a smile.
The guard’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he motioned sharply for them to disembark.
Xavier nodded to Azure and rose. Each step toward the door was another small battle against Hope’s face and voice, and against the part of him that longed to retreat into the darkness she had left behind.
Then his boots hit the sand.
Heat rose through the soles.
He straightened under the weight on his shoulders. Whatever waited here, he would face it.
He had to be there for Azure.
The guard issued a curt command in Arabic, sending nearby soldiers back to their posts. Rifles lowered, though not fully, as Rolland’s group moved toward the remains of the Hellenistic temple.
The serenity surrounding the ruins felt almost unnatural.
Beyond the military vehicles and defensive barriers, the sea kept its patient rhythm against the shore. Salt rode the breeze, mingling with diesel fumes and the faint, earthy sweetness of seaweed sun-drying.
For a moment, the island seemed determined to remember what it had been before the occupation.
Azure and Xavier crossed the warm sand together. Waves whispered against the shore as gulls circled the ruined temple, their cries carried over the low rumble of distant machinery.
The calm unsettled Xavier more than the soldiers had.
It was too peaceful.
As if the island itself had learned to hide its wounds.
His attention drifted toward the water. The rhythm of the waves softened the pounding in his head, threatening to draw him away from the mission and back into the dangerous comfort of memory.
“Keep moving!” Rolland called.
Azure glanced at Xavier before continuing after the others.
The temple rose before them—or what remained of it.
Low walls of weathered brick traced the skeletal outline of a structure that had once stood in the shadow of Alexander the Great’s conquests. Time had worn the stone smooth in places and left it rough and pitted in others.
War had inflicted damage of its own.
Bullet holes scarred blocks that once held intricate carvings of gods, beasts, and forgotten ceremonies. Faint outlines remained beneath the damage: the curve of a face, the edge of a spear, the broken wings of something no longer recognizable.
The stones had survived centuries only to be mutilated by men who neither knew nor cared about the stories they destroyed.
Azure briefly ran his fingers across one of the damaged carvings.
The stone was warm under his touch.
The air around the ruins seemed to hold its breath.
The site had once been a place of worship, but reverence had long since abandoned it. Only fragments remained—and somewhere beneath them, a secret had endured.
Rolland stepped between the three-foot-high remnants of the temple walls. His eyes swept across the exposed stone floors and the narrow paths of sand that separated them.
His pulse quickened.
They were close.
The chamber lay beneath this place, hidden behind a doorway that neither force nor excavation could expose. Only the correct sequence of runic symbols would reveal it.
But first, Rolland needed freedom from the man who watched his every move.
He adjusted the satchel slung diagonally across his chest and called his children closer.
Vela, Sauvage, and Darque gathered around him, while Azure, Xavier, and Abigail remained a few steps behind.
“I need the three of you to handle our unwanted overseer,” Rolland said quietly. “Azure, Xavier, and Abigail will accompany me to the hidden chamber.”
Darque glanced toward the man in black.
A faint smile tugged at Sauvage’s mouth.
Rolland’s expression hardened. “Whatever you do, make sure it is not permanent. We still need to return him to the dictator intact before we leave.”
The three siblings shared a silent understanding.
Vela moved first.
She approached the guard beyond the low brick wall and spoke to him in fluent Arabic. Her tone was light, almost playful, deliberately at odds with the surrounding tension.
The guard answered cautiously.
Vela smiled.
She stepped closer, drawing his full attention to her as Sauvage and Darque shifted into position on either side of him.
The guard did not seem to notice.
Vela reached up and slowly pulled the black covering from the lower half of his face.
His hand instinctively moved toward her wrist.
She caught it gently.
Then she placed her other hand under his chin.
The guard went still.
Vela’s thumb glided softly along his jaw as her enchantment slipped into him. The suspicion in his eyes faded, his rigid posture easing beneath her touch.
His hand fell away from his weapon.
Vela looked past him toward her father.
Then she gave the slightest nod.
The way was clear.
Heat shimmered above the stone, blurring the ruins' edges until the ordinary and the supernatural seemed indistinguishable.
A gust of wind swept through the skeletal temple.
Sand whispered across the floor, slipping into cracks and depressions that had been hidden moments before. Lines emerged beneath the shifting grains—faint curves, symbols, and the rigid outline of a doorway carved in solid stone.
Rolland stopped.
It was not an entrance.
Not yet.
The carving resembled the false doors found in ancient tombs: symbolic thresholds believed to allow the dead to pass between their world and that of the living. This one, however, had no place in the ruins of a Hellenistic temple on Failaka Island.
Which meant someone had intended it to be found by those who understood more than history alone.
Rolland’s gaze settled on the central engraving.
A sphinx.
“At last,” he murmured.
He lowered himself to one knee and brushed the remaining sand from the ancient figure. His fingers traced the weathered lines, following the creature’s head, its outstretched form, and the surrounding symbols.
The stone pulsed faintly under his touch.
Azure felt it too.
A subtle vibration traveled through the floor and rose into the soles of his boots, as if something deep beneath the temple had recognized their presence.
Rolland closed his eyes.
He gathered sand into his palm and let it spill slowly across the false door. The grains settled into the carvings, revealing channels too deliberate to have been worn by time.
With practiced precision, he drew the first rune.
Then the second.
The third.
The fourth.
Each symbol crossed the boundaries of the cultures represented around it—marks older than the temple, perhaps even older than the civilizations that had claimed them.
Rolland whispered a Greek incantation.
The final words came in German.
“Ich befehle.”
I command.
The stone answered.
A heavy click reverberated beneath them.
Azure stepped back as the floor trembled. Dust sifted from the ruined walls, and somewhere below, long-untouched mechanisms groaned to life.
Hidden gears ground against one another.
A seam appeared along the center of the false door.
It widened slowly.
Stone scraped against stone in a long scrape, releasing a breath of cold air from the darkness beneath. Dust spiraled into the sunlight as the opening revealed a narrow staircase descending beneath the temple.
Xavier stared into it.
The air rising from the passage smelled of damp earth, old incense, and something faintly metallic.
Something preserved.
Rolland glanced over his shoulder.
Beyond the low wall, the Iraqi guard remained transfixed by Vela. Her hand rested beneath his chin, while Sauvage and Darque stood nearby, relaxed yet attentive.
Vela caught her father watching.
She winked.
Rolland allowed himself a brief smile, then gestured toward Azure, Xavier, and Abigail.
“Quickly.”
He descended first.
Azure followed, then Xavier and Abigail. As soon as they stepped beneath the stone threshold, Rolland swept his hand through the air and whispered another incantation.
Light rippled across the entranceway.
The open passage vanished behind a veil of illusion, replaced by an image of an unbroken stone floor above them.
They continued downward.
Sunlight faded within a few steps, leaving them enclosed by the earth.
Rolland snapped his fingers.
A cool white orb appeared above his hand and drifted upward, hovering near the ceiling like a spectral lantern. Azure summoned another orb, its pale glow joining Rolland’s, pushing back the darkness.
Abigail opened her palm.
A flame sprang to life.
It curled above her skin, bright and restless, casting warm shadows across her face. When she saw the two orbs already lighting the stairwell, she curled her fingers and smothered the flame.
“You’ll have to teach me that trick,” she whispered to Azure.
Azure glanced at the floating light. “It isn’t a trick.”
Abigail smiled faintly. “That usually means you don’t plan to teach me.”
Rolland looked back at them.
His eyes narrowed.
Neither knew whether the irritation was directed at their conversation or at Abigail’s interest in Azure.
“Save your lessons for the surface.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs.
A narrow corridor cut through the rock before them. Vivid colors had once covered the walls, but centuries beneath the island had faded them to muted reds, ochres, and traces of blue.
Images appeared as the orbs drifted forward.
Gods with animal heads stood beside figures in Greek robes. Celestial bodies arched over scenes of offerings and burial rites. Winged creatures watched from the margins, their forms neither fully Egyptian nor fully Persian.
Abigail moved closer to a wall.
“These traditions shouldn’t be together,” she said.
“No,” Rolland replied. “They shouldn’t.”
Azure studied the carvings as they passed by.
The chamber had not belonged to a single people. It had been used, altered, and concealed by several civilizations—or by something that had moved among them.
Their footsteps echoed across the uneven floor.
Fragments of pottery lay scattered near the walls, some bearing unfamiliar symbols. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, trembling as the group disturbed air that had been still for generations.
Xavier stayed close to Rolland.
Every shadow seemed to shift at the edge of his vision. Once, he thought he saw Hope standing behind them at the base of the stairs.
When he turned, nothing was there.
He faced forward again before anyone could notice.
The passage sloped downward beneath the temple, then split into two corridors.
Both disappeared into darkness.
Rolland stopped at the fork.
He raised one hand, sending his orb into the right-hand passage. Azure directed his light toward the left. The walls offered no obvious guidance. No inscriptions. No arrows. Only rows of painted eyes stared back from the stone.
Watching.
Waiting.
Rolland examined both entrances in silence.
Then he pointed to the right.
“Azure, Abigail—you take that passage.”
Azure looked at Xavier.
Rolland noticed.
“Xavier comes with me.”
A faint tension crossed Azure’s face. “Uncle—”
“We do not have time to debate.”
Xavier forced a confident smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Azure did not seem convinced.
Neither was Xavier.
Rolland stepped into the left-hand corridor, his orb drifting ahead.
“Stay alert,” he ordered. “Touch nothing unless you know exactly what it is.”
Abigail moved toward the opposite passage.
Azure lingered at the fork for another moment, watching Xavier disappear behind Rolland.
Then the darkness swallowed them.
Darque and Sauvage lingered along the outer perimeter of the ancient temple, leaning against the weathered remains of a column as Vela kept the Iraqi guard several yards away.
The sun blazed overhead, yet the stone beneath Darque’s hand felt strangely cold.
Not cool in the shadow.
Cold.
As though something buried beneath the ruins had reached up through the rock.
Darque withdrew his palm.
“I still don’t understand why Father made us stay behind.”
He pushed his damp blond hair from his forehead and glanced toward the low temple wall. Vela stayed close to the guard, one hand resting lightly beneath his chin as she held him in her enchantment's haze.
“Our Schwester does not need help babysitting one mortal,” he muttered.
Sauvage followed his gaze.
“No,” he said. “But Father may need someone aboveground when whatever he disturbed comes looking for the entrance.”
Darque shot him an irritated glance.
The possibility did little to lift his mood.
A breeze swept in from the gulf, carrying the scent of salt over the ruins. It softened the heat but did nothing to ease the frustration gnawing at Darque.
Abigail had gone below with Azure.
That was what bothered him.
Not being left behind. Not the guard. Not even the possibility that their father had deliberately excluded them from whatever lay beneath the temple.
Abigail was down there without him present.
Sauvage studied his brother for a moment.
Then he sighed.
“Enough about the witch.”
Darque’s eyes narrowed. “I said nothing about her.”
“You have said nothing about anything else since Baghdad.”
Sauvage pushed away from the column and loosened the top of his camouflage jumper. Sweat darkened the fabric around his collar.
“Come, mein Bruder.”
“Come where?”
Sauvage nodded toward the shoreline.
Darque stared at him. “Father told us to watch the guard.”
“And the guard is watching Vela.”
Sauvage stepped over the low stone perimeter and walked across the sand toward the water. He sat long enough to pull off his boots and socks, then rolled his trouser legs above his ankles.
Darque remained beside the ruins.
“This is hardly the time for swimming.”
“I am not swimming.”
Sauvage stepped into the shallows.
Cool water folded around his feet, and he let out a breath as the wet sand shifted beneath him.
“I am standing in the sea.”
Darque glanced toward Vela again.
She had not moved. Neither had the guard moved.
With visible reluctance, he removed his boots and followed his brother toward the shore. The wet sand gave way beneath his feet, cool and pressing between his toes as the next wave receded.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
The gulf stretched before them, bright and seemingly endless. Military vehicles rumbled beyond the ruins, but along the water, the sounds of occupation felt strangely distant.
Sauvage looked toward the horizon.
“When was the last time you felt the ocean pull at you?”
Darque’s expression softened despite himself.
“I remember when Mother took us to Westerland.”
He could still see the long beach beneath the gray German sky. Their mother walking ahead of them. Vela gathering shells she insisted held whispered messages. Sauvage daring the waves to knock him down.
“Has it truly been that long for you too?” Darque asked.
Sauvage’s mouth curved into a smirk.
“Funny you should ask.”
He recognized his brother’s expression immediately.
“What?”
“Perhaps you should ask your witch.”
The warmth vanished from Darque’s face.
Sauvage continued to stare out at the water. “I am certain she would happily share the details.”
Darque turned toward him. “What details?”
“Whatever she has not told you already.”
A wave broke around their ankles.
Sauvage laughed beneath his breath.
Darque’s jaw tightened.
“You have been with her?”
Now Sauvage looked at him.
The mischief in his eyes sharpened.
“I did not say that.”
“You implied it.”
“Did I?”
Red flashed briefly through Darque’s irises.
The water around his feet began to tremble, though the sea had momentarily gone still.
Sauvage noticed.
His smile widened.
There it was.
The jealousy Darque had tried so ineffectually to conceal.
“You should be careful, Bruder,” Sauvage said. “The witch may begin to think you have genuine feelings for her.”
Darque stepped closer.
“And you should be careful what you are suggesting.”
Behind them, Vela glanced toward the shoreline.
Her expression changed.
The Iraqi guard remained entranced beneath her touch, but the air around her brothers had begun to tighten, charged by the magick gathering behind Darque’s eyes.
Azure and Abigail moved deeper into the underground temple.
The corridor twisted through the rock, opening periodically into empty chambers before narrowing again. Each room seemed colder than the last. Faded carvings scarred sections of the walls—fragments of processions, offerings, and figures whose faces someone had deliberately chiseled away.
Azure’s orb drifted several feet ahead of them, casting pale light over the uneven stone.
Their footsteps echoed at first.
Then, without warning, they stopped echoing entirely.
Azure slowed.
The floor beneath them had changed. Centuries of use had worn the stone smooth, but a fine layer of dark dust now covered its surface, swallowing every step.
Abigail noticed he was looking down.
“What is it?”
“Nothing yet.”
He continued forward.
A doorway appeared to their right, leading into another vacant chamber. Abigail paused long enough to glance inside. The room held no altar, no pottery, and no remains—only four bare walls and a darkness the floating orb did not fully penetrate.
She quickened her pace to catch up to him.
“So,” Azure said, breaking the silence, “how do you like working with Rolland?”
His voice carried farther than he intended, slipping through the corridors before returning as a distorted whisper.
Rolland.
Rolland.
Rolland.
Abigail looked over her shoulder.
“It has been fascinating.”
“That sounds diplomatic.”
“It is diplomatic.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“He possesses an extraordinary amount of knowledge,” she continued. “But learning from him is like trying to draw water from a stone.”
Azure nodded. “That sounds more honest.”
“Does he keep everything from you too?”
The question came lightly, but Azure noticed how quickly she had asked it.
“Rolland has always been an enigma,” he said. “There is always more beneath the surface than he lets anyone see.”
“Even family?”
“Especially family.”
Abigail ran her fingers along the wall without touching it. The orb’s glow stretched her shadow across the carvings, making her appear taller and thinner than she was.
“These chambers feel as if they are hiding something,” she said. “Treasures, perhaps. Records. Something someone thought worth burying.”
“Most things buried this deep were not meant to be recovered.”
She glanced at him. “Your family seems to disagree.”
Azure stopped beside another opening.
The room beyond was empty.
Or appeared to be.
He sent the orb inside. Its pale light swept across the walls before returning to the corridor.
“My family?” he asked.
“You and Rolland.” Abigail stepped beside him. “You are related, aren’t you?”
There it was.
Another question, placed carefully beneath casual conversation.
“Yes,” Azure said. “Rolland married my father’s sister, Veladonna.”
Abigail nodded as if confirming something she already knew.
“Sauvage told me she died some time ago.”
Azure looked at her.
“Sauvage told you?”
“We’ve spoken.”
Her expression remained unreadable.
“Did he tell you how she died?” Azure asked.
“No. Sauvage said very little about it.”
That, at least, sounded believable.
Azure resumed walking.
“Veladonna has been gone for more than twenty years. I was five the last time I saw her.”
“Do you remember her?”
“Pieces.”
His gaze remained on the corridor ahead.
“A voice. The scent of Veladonna’s perfume. A blue dress, perhaps.” He frowned. “Even those memories feel borrowed now, like faded photographs I have seen too often and mistaken for my own.”
Abigail’s pace slowed slightly.
“What happened to her?”
Azure shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked Rolland?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He answered without telling me anything.”
A faint sound came from somewhere behind them.
Stone scraping against stone.
Both stopped.
Abigail turned first, flame already forming in her palm.
Azure lifted one hand, signaling silence.
They listened.
Nothing followed.
The corridor behind them stayed empty, lit only by the distant edge of Azure’s orb.
Abigail curled her fingers around the flame but did not extinguish it completely.
“Perhaps the temple is settling,” she whispered.
“Perhaps.”
They moved again, more slowly.
“The first time I remember meeting Rolland,” Azure said, “was at my parents’ funeral.”
Abigail looked toward him.
He kept his eyes forward.
“Their faces are shadows in my mind. I know I loved them. I know they loved me. But when I try to picture them, nothing is clear enough to hold.”
“I’m sorry,” Abigail said.
Her voice had changed.
The curiosity remained, but the sharpness beneath it had mellowed.
“You were very young.”
“Too young to understand what I had lost.”
They passed beneath a low archway.
The corridor narrowed, forcing Abigail to walk closer to him. Their shoulders nearly brushed.
“That must have been difficult,” she said. “Losing them and then being placed under Rolland’s care.”
Azure glanced at her.
“I did not say he raised me.”
Abigail faltered.
Only for an instant.
“No,” she said carefully. “You didn’t.”
Azure stopped.
The orb halted above them.
In the pale light, neither spoke.
Abigail’s expression remained calm, but Azure could see calculation behind her eyes—the brief search for an explanation, an excuse, or another question that might help them move past what she had revealed.
Before he could challenge her, a sound drifted through the darkness ahead.
A footstep.
Not theirs.
Azure turned toward the passage.
Abigail’s flame flared fully to life.
This time, neither of them blamed the temple.
Rolland had kept the same determined pace for nearly twenty minutes.
His white orb drifted several feet ahead, its pale glow skimming every crack, recess, and faded carving along the corridor walls. Somewhere beneath this island lay the chamber of the Sphinx.
He would find it.
His jaw tightened as the mission circled his thoughts like a predator stalking wounded prey. Every turn revealed another empty chamber. Every dead end devoured time they did not have.
The sprawling labyrinth could conceal the map anywhere within its depths. Xavier’s deepening melancholy grew harder to ignore.
The young man walked beside him in silence, though his attention seemed fixed on something far beyond the corridor. His gaze remained unfocused. Twice, Rolland had caught him looking back over his shoulder as though expecting someone to emerge from the darkness.
He offered little help inspecting the walls.
Rolland stopped.
Xavier continued for another step before he noticed.
“I do not pretend to understand what you are enduring,” Rolland said.
His voice drifted softly through the corridor.
Xavier looked at him but said nothing.
Rolland lifted a hand toward his shoulder, then paused.
Veladonna’s face rose unexpectedly in his memory. Not as she had appeared near the end, but laughing beneath the gray sky at Westerland, her dark hair caught by the wind.
He forced the image away.
“But I have also lost a great love,” he continued.
His hand settled on Xavier’s shoulder.
The muscles beneath his palm were rigid.
Whether from anger, fear, or the effort to remain standing, Rolland could not tell.
“If you require anything from me,” he said, “you need only ask. I will do what I can.”
Xavier’s lips moved as if attempting a smile.
The expression collapsed before it could form.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
The admission was barely audible.
Rolland’s grip loosened.
Xavier stared at the floor.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see her.” His breathing grew uneven. “Sometimes I hear her laugh, and for a second, I forget.”
He swallowed.
“Then I remember.”
Hope’s absence opened again inside him.
Her smile.
Her eyes.
The way she had laughed whenever he took himself too seriously.
The memories came without mercy, dragging him beneath their weight. Each breath felt like an attempt to reach the surface, only to find the water rising faster than he could escape.
Rolland studied him.
“You are Azure’s dearest friend,” he said. “That makes you family.”
The words tasted bitter.
Hope had been among the first close casualties of the Great Rebirth.
Casualty.
The word was easier than disappearance. Easier than admitting that no one had ever recovered Hope’s body. Easier than confronting the likelihood that Xavier’s own choices had placed her in the path of whatever took her.
He should have done more.
He should have been there.
Xavier remained silent, but Rolland could feel the grief radiating from him. It filled the narrow corridor, becoming as tangible as the damp air surrounding them.
Rolland’s fingers tightened slightly against his shoulder.
They could not continue like this.
Not because Xavier’s sorrow was unwarranted.
Because sorrow made him vulnerable.
Distracted.
And in this place, distraction could kill them both.
Rolland lowered his voice and murmured an old enchantment—the same delicate incantation he had once taught Vela.
The spell entered Xavier gently.
Almost kindly.
It moved beneath his grief rather than tearing it away, gathering the anguish strand by strand and pressing it down. In its place, Rolland wove something lighter.
Curiosity.
Energy.
A fragile sense of wonder.
Xavier inhaled sharply.
A faint shimmer flickered in his eyes.
For a brief moment, panic flashed across his face, as though some part of him understood that he had lost something.
Then it vanished.
He looked around the corridor.
“This place is amazing.”
A smile spread across his face.
It was too sudden.
Too bright.
Rolland returned it nevertheless.
Xavier’s grief had not disappeared. Rolland could still sense it beneath the enchantment—an abyss hidden beneath thin ice.
But it would hold.
For now.
There was no way to atone for his role in the fate of Xavier’s wife. No incantation could alter the past or restore what the young man had lost.
He could only ensure that her loss did not cost another life.
Xavier stepped forward with renewed interest and examined the carvings along the wall.
Then he stopped.
“I think I see a light.”
Rolland’s smile disappeared.
He followed Xavier’s gaze.
A faint flicker moved down a corridor branching to their right.
Firelight.
Rolland raised one finger to his lips.
With a slight twist of his wrist, he dimmed their floating light until only a pale ember remained. Darkness folded around them.
The glow ahead brightened, then dimmed, as though something moved between them and its source.
Rolland motioned for Xavier to stay behind him.
They advanced carefully.
The change in Xavier’s breathing told Rolland the enchantment was still holding. There was no panic now. Only exhilaration—a dangerous eagerness Rolland had not entirely intended.
They reached the corner.
Rolland pressed his back against the stone, listening.
A faint crackle.
Rolland leaned forward and looked into the adjoining passage.
His demeanor changed instantly.
The regret vanished.
The concern disappeared.
Every muscle in his body stilled as a predator’s gaze settled on him.
The dim orb behind his shoulder cast barely enough light to pierce the shadows.
It was enough.
Rolland had found what they were seeking.
They hesitated at the chamber’s entrance.
Warm air pressed against him, carrying a dense, unfamiliar scent—half animal musk, half night-blooming flower. It clung to the back of his throat, ancient and intoxicating.
He extinguished the orb.
Darkness swallowed both him and Xavier.
For several moments, only the distant crackle of the fire remained.
Then Rolland’s eyes adjusted.
Two hearths burned behind a massive marble platform, their flames low and strangely steady. Between them, reclining on the raised stone, lay a colossal form.
Rolland forgot to breathe.
The Sphinx slept in front of him.
Its body stretched more than ten feet across the slab, an exquisite and terrifying union of woman, lion, and bird. Blue-black hair spilled over its shoulders and forelegs, threaded with beads that caught the hearthlight in brief flashes. Beneath it, sable fur absorbed the glow until the creature seemed carved from the night itself.
Its wings rested folded against its back.
Each feather shimmered with the dark iridescence of oil on water, marked by patterns resembling hieroglyphs too intricate to have occurred naturally.
Above the lion's body, the face of a woman rested.
Fair-skinned.
Serene.
Ageless.
Her eyes remained closed, her expression untouched by the centuries that had passed above her.
Rolland’s heart struck hard against his ribs.
He had spent years seeking creatures others dismissed as legends. He had summoned demons, crossed forbidden thresholds, and stood before beings whose names mortal history had long forgotten.
Still, nothing had prepared him for this.
The guardian of secrets.
The keeper of riddles.
The creature that would grant him the knowledge he needed to survive the trials ahead.
“Magnificent,” Xavier whispered from behind him.
Rolland glanced back.
Xavier remained near the threshold, but the enchantment had brightened his eyes with a restless excitement that did not belong there. His grief lay buried beneath it, invisible except for a slight tremor in his hands.
“Stay close,” Rolland warned.
He stepped into the chamber.
His boots touched the stone with barely a sound.
A pool filled the lower portion of the room beside the platform. Water entered through a narrow channel carved into the far wall, its gentle current feeding the basin from beyond the ruins.
Fish moved beneath the surface.
A stone trap at the mouth of the channel allowed them to enter but kept them from escaping.
The design was simple.
Efficient.
A feeding mechanism.
Rolland studied the sleeping creature again.
No bones littered the platform. No scales floated on the water. Whatever the Sphinx consumed, it left no evidence.
Its chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm.
Each breath stirred the beads hanging from its hair.
Rolland crossed to the platform's base. At four feet high, the marble slab placed the sleeping creature above him like an idol on an altar.
Greek lettering ran along the edge.
He raised his hand, letting a faint glow gather across his fingertips, and read:
Within the storm of the subconscious lies peril disguised as sanctuary.
To those who dare approach, the beast offers a riddle.
Answer, and you may live.
Fail, and your life is forfeit.
Beneath the warning lay a single name.
Oedipus.
A chill moved through Rolland despite the chamber's heat.
Whether the name was a signature, an invocation, or a warning left in memory of the man who had once defeated such a creature, he could not tell.
He traced one of the letters.
“Lovely.”
The word slipped into the silence.
The chamber changed.
Both hearths guttered at once.
Warmth vanished from the air.
Rolland froze.
A breath brushed the back of his neck—deep, ancient, and far too close.
Behind him, Xavier inhaled sharply.
The Sphinx’s claws dragged across the marble.
The sound cut through the chamber.
Rolland turned.
One immense paw shifted beneath the creature’s body, scattering dust and pebbles from the platform’s edge. Its wings twitched. The feathered patterns rippled as if alive.
Then its eyes opened.
Emerald light flooded the chamber.
The Sphinx stared directly at Rolland.
Every instinct urged him to retreat.
He did not.
Its head lifted with slow, deliberate grace. Beads slid through its dark hair, rattling together in a sound disturbingly like a serpent’s warning.
The creature drew a long breath.
The air tightened around Rolland’s chest.
Xavier bumped into the corridor wall.
The artificial wonder on his face faltered, unable to suppress the terror rising beneath it.
“Rolland,” he whispered.
The Sphinx rose.
Its forelegs extended first, claws biting into the stone. Powerful muscles shifted beneath sable fur as it lifted its immense body off the platform.
Its human torso emerged into the hearthlight, pale and statuesque above the lion’s frame. Its expression remained calm, but there was nothing gentle in its emerald gaze.
Rolland lowered his hand toward the satchel at his chest.
The Sphinx noticed.
Its wings unfurled.
They spread across the width of the chamber, obscuring both hearths and casting Rolland into their enormous shadow.
Darkness closed over him.
With one mighty sweep, the creature flapped its wings.
The chamber erupted.
Wind struck Rolland with the force of a storm, tearing at his camouflage uniform and driving dust into his face. His boots skidded across the stone, but he lowered his weight and held his ground.
Behind him, the Sphinx hurled Xavier into the wall.
The artificial excitement faded from his face.
Rolland raised an arm to shield his eyes as the gale screamed around him. Loose fragments of pottery spun across the chamber, shattering against the walls. The pool churned violently, hurling fish and water against its stone edges.
Still, Rolland did not retreat.
Slowly, the wind subsided.
Dust drifted through the darkness.
The Sphinx stood fully upright on the platform, her wings spread behind her and her emerald eyes burning through the haze.
When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from every wall at once.
“You carry the scent of stolen sorrow.”
Rolland’s blood ran cold.
The creature’s gaze shifted past him.
Toward Xavier.
“And you bring the wounded into my chamber wearing false joy.”
The Sphinx’s wings folded slowly against her back.
As the storm subsided, the hearths flared back to life, restoring their amber glow to the chamber. Dust settled over the marble platform, and the churning pool gradually stilled.
The creature never looked away from Rolland.
Recognition sharpened her emerald-colored eyes.
Then she smiled.
Her human lips were full and red, their beauty made unsettling by the predatory intelligence behind them.
When she spoke, no human language came from her mouth. The sounds were older—layered growls, breath, and resonant tones that seemed to move through the stone itself.
Yet Rolland understood every word.
“Ah.”
The Sphinx drew in his scent.
“Ancient magick flows through your blood.”
Her head tilted.
“You are an immortal.”
Rolland bowed with practiced grace.
“I am Rolland Hart.”
He extended a hand toward Xavier.
“This is my assistant.”
Xavier remained near the entrance.
His brow furrowed as he looked between Rolland and the creature. Whatever excitement the enchantment had sparked was beginning to fracture under the terror of what stood before him.
Rolland’s expression hardened.
“Come forward.”
Xavier hesitated.
Then he obeyed.
He stopped several feet from Rolland, keeping his arms close to his body as if resisting the urge to shield himself.
The beads woven through the Sphinx’s hair clicked softly as she turned toward him.
Her smile widened.
A low melody formed in her throat—beautiful at first, until it stretched into something mournful and inhuman.
“Oh,” she purred. “The sorrow clinging to you.”
Xavier stiffened.
“It hangs from your spirit like a burial shroud.”
The Sphinx inhaled deeply, savoring him from across the chamber.
Rolland shifted between them.
Her gaze returned to him.
“You cannot conceal despair from me, Rolland Hart.”
His name sounded poisonous upon her lips.
“Not even with all your clever little workings.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You have buried his pain, but you have not destroyed it.”
Rolland said nothing.
The Sphinx extended one enormous paw and curled a claw toward Xavier.
“Come closer, young man.”
Xavier took no step.
“I will not harm you,” she said gently.
The tenderness in her voice made Rolland more uneasy than any threat could.
Her attention returned to him.
“Do not fret, Magician. I know what you seek.”
Her wings twitched with mild irritation.
“But you have awakened me after an age of fish.”
She glanced toward the pool with open disgust.
“Fish without spice. Fish without fear. Fish without memories.”
Her eyes shifted back to Xavier.
“I crave something richer.”
Rolland’s chest tightened.
The Sphinx lowered her head until her face was level with his.
“Before we concern ourselves with your desires, indulge mine.”
Her smile returned.
“Give me a banquet of his torment.”
Silence filled the chamber.
Rolland looked toward Xavier.
The young man appeared frightened, though the emotion did not quite reach his eyes. Rolland’s enchantment still held him beneath a veil of false curiosity.
He had made Xavier vulnerable.
The realization struck with uncomfortable clarity.
“What will remain of him?” Rolland asked.
The Sphinx’s expression grew amused.
“Whatever it was, the dead never held it.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one you will receive.”
Rolland’s thoughts raced.
The map lay within her knowledge. Without it, they could not locate the remaining tiger tails. Without all four artifacts, the portal to Susa would remain sealed.
Years of planning would culminate here.
Yet Xavier stood beside him because Azure trusted Rolland to bring him back safely.
Because Xavier himself had trusted him.
Rolland opened his mouth.
Before he could speak, Xavier stepped forward.
“Xavier.”
The warning came too late.
The Sphinx’s eyes gleamed.
“Such eagerness.”
“I’m tired of hurting,” Xavier said.
His voice sounded small in the vast chamber.
The Sphinx lowered herself toward him.
“Then perhaps you will regard me as a blessing.”
Something moved behind her.
A scaled tail slid across the marble with a dry whisper. It was long and serpentine, ending not in a tuft of fur but in the living head of a viper.
Its eyes opened.
Rolland reached for Xavier.
The serpent struck.
Its fangs sank into the flesh just above Xavier’s heart.
He screamed.
His body arched as the force lifted him onto his toes.
Rolland lunged forward, one hand raised as a protective incantation tore from his lips. Light gathered along his fingers, then shattered before it could reach the creature.
The Sphinx did not move.
“You lack trust, Rolland Hart.”
Dark amusement threaded through her voice.
“This will benefit him more than your deception ever could.”
The viper’s jaws stayed embedded in Xavier’s chest.
No blood escaped from the wound.
Something else did.
Dark strands of energy spread beneath Xavier’s skin, winding up his throat and across his face. Images flickered within them—Hope laughing, Hope turning away, Hope vanishing into darkness.
Xavier convulsed.
The Sphinx closed her eyes.
Ecstasy softened her features.
She fed.
Not upon flesh.
Upon memory.
Upon the ache attached to every moment Xavier had shared with Hope.
His grief surged through the chamber in violent waves. The air crackled as the serpent ripped years of longing, guilt, rage, and helplessness from him and pulled them through its fangs.
Xavier relived everything.
Hope’s smile.
Her touch.
The final moment he had seen her.
Each memory rose with perfect clarity before the serpent stripped away his pain and dragged it into itself.
Xavier’s scream weakened.
Rolland stood helplessly before him.
He could sense the Sphinx consuming the sorrow he had buried—but she was taking more than anguish. The grief had become entwined with Xavier’s love, each impossible to disentangle from the other.
“Enough,” Rolland said.
The Sphinx continued feeding.
“I said enough.”
Her eyes opened.
For a terrible moment, Rolland believed she intended to drain Xavier completely.
Then the serpent released him.
Xavier collapsed to his knees.
The tail withdrew across the marble, its serpentine head vanishing once more behind the creature’s immense body.
The Sphinx exhaled with satisfaction.
“What a welcome surprise.”
She ran the back of one paw lightly across her lips.
Xavier remained motionless.
His eyes were open but vacant, his face drained of the anguish that had defined him since Hope’s disappearance.
Rolland knelt beside him.
“Xavier.”
No response.
The Sphinx glanced toward one of the hearths.
“Do not leave him there.”
Her tone was almost offended.
“Place him near the fire. His body will feel the loss before his spirit understands it.”
Rolland slipped one arm under Xavier’s shoulder and guided him upright.
Xavier moved when directed, offering neither resistance nor assistance.
Rolland led him behind the platform and lowered him beside the hearth. Heat washed over them, casting Xavier’s face in trembling shades of orange.
“Are you injured?”
Xavier looked at him.
His glassy eyes held no accusation.
No grief.
No recognition of what the serpent had taken.
“I’m just tired,” he whispered.
A faint smile crossed his lips.
It was not happiness.
It was absence.
He closed his eyes and leaned toward the warmth.
Rolland remained beside him for another moment.
Hope’s face would no longer torment Xavier.
But would he still remember why he had loved her?
The question unsettled Rolland more than he cared to show.
He rose.
Whatever the Sphinx had taken, hesitation would not bring it back. The mission remained, and they had already paid the price.
Rolland returned to the platform.
“He is settled.”
The Sphinx watched him approach, satisfaction still glowing in her eyes.
“What did you do to him?”
“I cleansed him of his anguish.”
“You consumed it.”
“Those truths are not opposed.”
Rolland’s jaw tightened.
“And his memories?”
The Sphinx smiled.
“The memories remain.”
She lowered her head toward him.
“Whether they possess meaning without their sorrow is not my concern.”
Rolland glanced toward Xavier.
The young man had already fallen asleep next to the fire.
The Sphinx stretched her claws across the marble.
“Now,” she purred, “let us attend to your business, Magician.”
Rolland opened his satchel and removed the severed tail of the nekomata.
With careful precision, he approached the marble platform and set the relic at the Sphinx’s feet.
Her eyes sharpened with instant interest.
She lowered her head and sniffed the dark fur, testing its authenticity. A soft rumble of delight rose from her throat.
“So,” she said, her ancient voice laced with a hint of excitement, “you seek the ritual of the four tiger tails.”
Her lips curled into a sly smile.
“It has been centuries since anyone dared attempt such a perilous endeavor.”
Before Rolland could respond, the Sphinx opened her mouth and slurped the tail whole.
He stared as the last tuft of fur disappeared between her red lips.
The creature delicately dabbed one paw against her mouth, as if she had just finished an exquisite meal.
“Let us play the game,” she purred.
Rolland’s grip tightened around the open satchel.
“You need only solve my riddles to discover what you seek. Each answer will reveal the location of one of the three remaining tiger tails.”
Her emerald eyes narrowed.
“Claim them all, and your quest for knowledge may reach its end.”
Rolland closed the satchel and secured it across his chest.
He had anticipated danger, deception, and sacrifice, but not the creature's consumption of the artifact that had led him here. The realization unsettled him, though he refused to show it.
The Sphinx straightened on the marble platform.
“Step back, Rolland Hart.”
Rolland obeyed.
Her gaze followed every movement with open suspicion. She regarded the magick-born with the caution of a predator confronted by another—equally dangerous, equally capable of betrayal.
The Sphinx rested one paw elegantly over the other.
Then she spoke:
“From ancient Celtic lore, I emerge—
a shadowed feline from realms beyond.
With fur as black as midnight’s veil
and eyes aglow with secrets untold,
I walk the line ’twixt life and death.
What am I, the unseen creature of whispered legend?”
Anxiety coiled inside Rolland.
A dark feline from Celtic legend.
A creature suspended between the mortal world and what lies beyond.
The answer hovered just out of his reach.
He searched his memory, moving through fragments of old texts and forgotten folklore, but nothing settled into certainty.
Had he made a mistake by leaving Azure behind?
His nephew had spent months studying feline legends during their pursuit of the first artifact. Azure would know the answer.
Rolland opened his mouth, prepared to risk whatever name came to mind first.
“You are a cait-sìth.”
The clear voice echoed through the chamber.
Rolland turned.
Azure stood at the entrance with Abigail beside him.
The mortal witch stared at the Sphinx, her mouth slightly agape in astonishment. Whatever she had expected to find beneath the temple, it had not been the immense creature reclining on the marble platform.
Azure stepped farther into the room.
“The cait-sìth belongs among fairies—or magickal creatures—rather than ordinary animals. Legends describe it as a large black cat that moves between the mortal world and the realm beyond.”
Relief surged through Rolland.
The answer that had lingered on his tongue would almost certainly have been wrong.
He looked toward the Sphinx, uncertain whether she would accept the response from someone who had not been there when the challenge began.
The creature’s expression relaxed.
Rolland interpreted the movement as an approval.
“Great Sphinx,” he said, stepping forward. “Your riddle has been solved. Will you grant me the next?”
The Sphinx shifted her weight.
Her right wing spread outward.
With one swift motion, she beat it through the air.
The force struck Rolland, Azure, and Abigail at once, hurling them from their feet.
Rolland hit the stone hard. Azure landed beside him, while Abigail cried out as she fell several feet behind.
“Tread carefully.”
The Sphinx’s voice rolled through the chamber.
“You did not answer the riddle, Magician.”
Rolland pushed himself up onto one knee.
The Sphinx leaned toward him, her emerald gaze blazing with warning.
“I will spare you the agony of my teeth and claws this time.”
The beads woven through her hair clicked together, the sound like stones tumbling into a bottomless cavern.
“But do not test my generosity.”
Rolland rose, brushing dust off his uniform.
Azure helped Abigail to her feet. Her face had gone pale, and she kept her distance from the platform.
The Sphinx smirked as she watched them struggle to recover.
Azure stepped forward.
“My name is Azure Creed,” he said. He gestured toward the woman. “And this is Abigail Westfall.”
The Sphinx regarded them with mild amusement.
Azure placed one hand upon his uncle’s shoulder.
“May any of us answer your riddles?”
The creature’s smile widened.
“You are all players in my game now.”
Cruel delight danced behind her eyes.
“Any of you may answer.”
Abigail drew back another step.
“But beware,” the Sphinx continued. “A single wrong answer and all will be lost.”
Her warning settled over the chamber. She went on:
“From the sands of ancient Egypt, I rise—
graceful in form, yet fierce as a lioness’s cry.
A protector of pharaohs, with power untamed,
I am revered in temples where sacred fires flame.
Who am I, guardian of kings,
feared and adored across the desert lands?”
Rolland straightened.
He concealed his uncertainty behind a calm expression and focused on the wording of the riddle.
A lioness.
Protector of pharaohs.
War and sacred flame.
“The answer is Sekhmet,” he said.
The Sphinx remained motionless.
Rolland continued, his confidence growing.
“The Powerful One. Goddess of the desert sun, plague, chaos, war, and healing. She protected the pharaohs and destroyed their enemies.”
The Sphinx smiled.
“Correct, Rolland Hart.”
Satisfaction stirred inside him.
“But do not celebrate too eagerly.”
Her voice held an ominous promise.
“You have not yet earned my favor, Magician. One riddle remains.”
Her gaze shifted beyond him.
Toward Abigail.
The mortal witch shrank under the creature’s scrutiny.
“I don’t want to be here,” Abigail whispered. “I don’t want to play this game.”
Fear clung to every word.
Rolland turned sharply toward her.
“We have no use for cowardice here.”
Azure glanced at his uncle but remained silent.
The Sphinx’s expression softened slightly, though nothing about her seemed any less predatory.
“Abigail, is it?”
The witch looked up sharply at the sound of her name.
“I am afraid that all who stand in my presence are players,” the Sphinx said. “And every player must face my challenges.”
Abigail’s hands trembled at her sides.
“Fear not, mortal. The rewards may prove as great as the risks.”
The Sphinx lowered her head, bringing her human face closer to Abigail.
“Remain silent and place your trust in your companions.”
Her lips curved.
“…or step forward and claim your fate.”
Azure sensed the tension tightening around Abigail.
“Just stay silent,” he told her quietly. “We know what we are doing.”
Abigail swallowed.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she forced herself to step closer, though every instinct screamed to flee. She stayed several paces behind Azure and kept a wary distance from Rolland, whose lingering irritation only deepened her unease.
“Understood,” she whispered.
The Sphinx smiled.
“Good.”
She settled one paw over the other, her emerald eyes narrowing in amusement.
“Now, for the final riddle.”
Her tail swept lazily across the marble slab, raising a thin veil of dust.
“In ancient times, I stood watch over secrets untold.
My gaze remained unyielding
as I judged the hearts and minds
of all who dared approach.
What am I?”
The air inside the chamber grew denser.
Rolland glanced toward Azure.
His nephew’s brow furrowed as he examined the wording. The answer seemed almost obvious, yet its simplicity felt like another trap.
The Sphinx hummed softly.
“Do not rush,” she warned. “The answer must be perfect.”
Rolland shifted, unease prickling across his skin.
The creature’s gaze never left Azure.
“Do you hear that?” she whispered.
Azure listened.
Only the crackling hearths and the quiet stream feeding the pool broke the silence.
“Is it the wind?” the Sphinx asked. “Or something waiting beyond these walls?”
Azure’s concentration faltered.
The creature was trying to pull his thoughts away from the riddle—to make him doubt what he already suspected.
“The guardian of treasures,” he began. “It must be—”
“Ah.”
The Sphinx interrupted him with a silken purr.
“But is it treasure that such a creature guards?”
Her head lowered closer to him.
“Or something far more precious?”
Azure clenched his jaw.
“Do you truly know?”
Rolland cleared his throat, but he did not intervene. One misplaced suggestion could condemn them all.
Azure returned his attention to the words.
Ancient.
Guardian.
Judge.
Secrets.
He looked directly into the creature’s emerald-colored eyes.
“The answer is the Sphinx.”
The chamber fell silent.
“You are the guardian,” Azure continued, his confidence returning. “You protect hidden knowledge and judge those who seek it. Those who answer correctly may proceed, while those who fail pay with their lives.”
The Sphinx’s eyes glittered.
“Indeed.”
Abigail let out the breath she had been holding.
Rolland’s shoulders eased, though only a little.
The game had been won.
Or so he believed.
The Sphinx lifted her head.
“But be warned. Not all who seek answers have the wisdom to recognize them when they are found.”
Her red lips curved into another smile.
“And what would you say if I told you I have more than the locations of your precious relics?”
Rolland studied her.
“What more?”
“The ancient incantation required to summon the grand portal to Susa.”
His expression changed.
The Sphinx noticed.
“The four tails may lead you to the threshold,” she continued. “But without the invocation, the portal will remain out of reach.”
Rolland’s hands curled into fists.
“You withheld this.”
“You did not ask.”
“You are toying with us.”
He snapped his fingers.
A white orb appeared above his palm, flooding the chamber with renewed light.
“Enough games. How do I know you possess such magick?”
The Sphinx barely responded to his anger.
Her attention shifted entirely to the glowing sphere.
One ear tilted forward.
“Magick?” she murmured.
The orb hovered above Rolland’s hand, its cool light reflected in her eyes.
The creature leaned nearer.
“What is that?”
Rolland frowned.
“A light enchantment.”
The Sphinx watched the sphere with sudden fascination.
“Perhaps you desire something tangible,” she said, though her gaze never left the orb. “A word from the invocation. A gesture. Something to ease your doubt.”
Her tail swayed slowly behind her.
“I could offer you a glimpse.”
The proposition hung in the air.
Azure and Rolland exchanged wary looks.
The portal was the true objective of their quest. The tails alone would be worthless without the means to use them.
The Sphinx stretched languidly across the marble, her movements deliberate and unhurried.
“Or perhaps,” she murmured, “you have already lost sight of what truly matters.”
Her smile was playful, yet something darker lingered beneath it.
Azure watched her eyes follow the orb.
Then he understood.
“Offer it to her,” he whispered.
Rolland glanced at him.
“She’s intrigued.”
The Sphinx’s ear flicked at the word.
Rolland hesitated.
Then he lowered his hand and allowed the orb to float toward her.
“I offer this to you.”
Her tail stopped.
“A gift?”
“If you desire it.”
The Sphinx’s expression brightened in delighted surprise.
“You are giving it to me?”
Rolland nodded.
The sphere drifted over her outstretched paw.
She stared at it with an almost childlike wonder, turning her hand beneath the light as if expecting warmth to spill across her claws.
Azure snapped his fingers.
A second orb appeared.
He directed it toward the platform, where it joined Rolland’s. The twin spheres circled each other, casting pale light and shifting shadows across the chamber walls.
The Sphinx laughed.
The sound was deep and strange, yet filled with unmistakable delight.
“Enchantments.”
The orbs danced around her head.
“Small stars that obey.”
She reached for one, only for it to slip between her claws.
The creature laughed again.
For the first time since waking, she appeared neither threatening nor calculating.
Only fascinated.
“Being alone in this chamber,” she said softly, “one sees so few new things.”
The delight in her voice dimmed, a note of melancholy creeping in.
“Water enters. Fish enter. Empires pass above me and disappear.”
One orb floated near her face.
“These please me.”
Rolland watched her carefully.
“Then let us make an equal exchange.”
The Sphinx looked toward him.
“The orbs of light for the incantation.”
Silence returned.
Her playful expression vanished.
Ancient intelligence settled on her face as she considered him.
Her tail tapped thoughtfully on the marble.
“No more games?” she asked.
“No more games.”
“An ambitious request, Magician.”
Rolland remained firm.
“Your resolve impresses me.”
She studied him from head to toe, judging not only his request but also the man making it.
At last, she nodded.
“Very well.”
The chamber seemed to close around her words.
“But remember this, Rolland Hart.”
Her emerald gaze shifted toward the satchel across his chest, though the nekomata tail was no longer in it.
“There may be two where you expect one tail.”
Rolland frowned.
“And where you believe there is one, there may yet be two.”
The serpent at the end of her tail raised its head.
“Heed my warning. All four tails together will bear a burden you do not yet understand.”
Rolland dipped his head.
“I will remember.”
Triumph swelled in his chest, though unease moved beneath it.
What burden could four severed relics possibly bear?
The Sphinx raised one paw.
Threads of shimmering light appeared between her claws. They twisted together, forming symbols that curled through the air before condensing into parchment.
A heavy scroll materialized above Rolland’s outstretched hands.
It dropped into his palms.
The material felt cool and faintly damp, as if time itself had somehow spared it.
Rolland unrolled it only far enough to glimpse lines of ancient script.
“The locations?” he asked.
“Inscribed within.”
“And the invocation?”
“Beneath the final trial.”
He rolled the parchment once more and slid it into his satchel.
The moment the clasp closed, a faint tug ran through his palm.
Rolland looked down.
The sensation vanished almost immediately, leaving only a slight emptiness in his magick—as though the scroll had tasted him and accepted something small in return.
He glared at the Sphinx.
Her tail swayed lazily.
Her expression revealed nothing.
The path to Susa was now within reach, yet her warning echoed in his mind.
The journey ahead would not be without sacrifice.
Movement stirred behind the platform.
Xavier emerged from beside the hearth.
His stride was confident and purposeful.
The melancholy that had consumed him had lifted. His posture had straightened, and his eyes shone with an energy Azure had not seen in a long time.
He crossed the chamber unnoticed, draping one arm casually across Azure’s shoulders.
Azure flinched.
“What took you both so long?” Xavier asked.
Enjoyment threaded through his voice.
Azure stared at him.
Xavier looked toward the Sphinx, who remained absorbed in the two floating orbs. He chuckled at the sight.
“She really likes those.”
Azure recovered from his surprise and glanced at Rolland.
His uncle avoided his gaze.
Xavier's change should have brought relief.
Instead, something about it felt wrong.
Too effortless.
As though Hope’s loss had not simply lifted from his shoulders but carved something out of him entirely.
Azure looked back at Rolland.
“I guess that’s it?”
“You dare strike me, mein Bruder?”
Sauvage’s roar carried across the beach as Darque pinned him to the wet sand, one fist drawn back for another blow.
“And over a mere mortal woman?”
Darque struck him.
Sauvage twisted at the last moment, causing the blow to glance off his jaw. He drove a knee into his brother’s side, then rolled, dragging Darque into the shallow surf.
The twins crashed through the water, locked in a furious struggle.
Wet sand clung to their uniforms and bare skin as they grappled for control. Each wave broke over them, momentarily swallowing their grunts and curses before retreating, leaving them to continue.
Darque fought with fury.
Sauvage fought with delight.
A circle of Iraqi soldiers had gathered around them, drawn from nearby posts by the commotion. Their shouts and laughter rose with each strike. To them, the violent clash between the foreigners had become an unexpected diversion from the monotony of occupation.
At the temple entrance, Vela turned at the sound.
Her hold on the appointed guard weakened as she watched Darque drive Sauvage face-first into the sand.
“Idiots,” she whispered.
She released her grip on the guard’s chin and stepped toward the beach.
Before she could intervene, a hand settled gently on her shoulder.
“Vela, stop.”
She turned.
Her father emerged from the temple ruins. Azure, Xavier, and Abigail followed close behind him.
“But Father, they are tearing each other apart.”
Rolland looked toward the shoreline.
Sauvage had managed to reverse their positions and now held Darque beneath him, laughing as he tried to force his brother’s face into the incoming tide.
Rolland chuckled softly.
“Let them be.”
Vela stared at him. “You cannot be serious.”
“They need to settle this on their own terms.”
Another wave crashed over the twins.
Darque came up swinging.
Azure and Xavier exchanged glances.
A trace of amusement touched Azure’s expression, though Xavier looked openly entertained.
“I think the blond is winning,” Xavier said.
Azure looked at him oddly.
Sauvage and Darque had known Xavier for years. Xavier knew their names.
Before Azure could question him, Abigail stepped forward.
“Mr. Hart, this is not a disagreement.” Her voice tightened with anxiety. “They are going to injure each other.”
Rolland nodded, acknowledging her concern without sharing it.
“My sons have injured each other many times.”
“That does not make this reasonable.”
“No,” he said. “But interrupting them rarely improves matters.”
His attention shifted to Vela and the Iraqi guard standing behind her. The man’s expression remained dazed, though suspicion was beginning to return to his eyes.
“Besides, we have more pressing matters.”
Rolland gave the guard a curt nod.
“We are finished.”
The guard blinked several times before reaching for the radio clipped to his uniform. He spoke rapidly into it, calling for the helicopter that would take them back to the mainland.
Rolland opened his satchel.
He withdrew the scroll and carefully unbound it.
The parchment stayed cold beneath his fingers.
“We have what we came for,” he announced.
Vela’s attention immediately left her brothers.
“The ritual?”
“And the path to the remaining artifacts.”
Rolland unrolled enough of the parchment to reveal several lines of ancient script and a sequence of symbols that seemed to shift when looked at directly.
“The second stage of our search is complete.”
His gaze moved across the writing.
The Sphinx’s warning returned to him.
There may be two where you expect one tail.
And where you believe there is one, there may yet be two.
He still did not understand what it meant.
Nor did he understand the faint emptiness that had remained within his magick since accepting the scroll.
Azure walked past him, with Xavier beside him, both following the guard toward the landing area.
Rolland watched them go.
Xavier moved with a lightness that should have brought relief. Instead, the abrupt absence of his grief left something unsettling behind.
Azure appeared to sense it too.
He kept glancing at his friend as though searching for something missing from his face.
Vela studied her father.
“What comes next?”
Rolland returned his attention to the parchment.
The second riddle had not merely provided an answer. It had revealed the group's next destination and the guardian standing between them and another tail.
“Egypt.”
Vela’s eyes widened.
“Our next trial is there?”
“Yes.”
Rolland rolled the scroll shut.
“The answer was not only the name of a goddess. It was a direction.”
Vela glanced toward the ruins behind them, as if expecting the Sphinx to emerge from beneath the temple.
“Which goddess?”
Rolland tightened his grip on the parchment.
“Sekhmet.”
The name carried the weight of scorched earth and of ancient blood.
“The lioness of war.”
Another roar erupted from the shore.
Sauvage staggered back as Darque drove a fist into his stomach. Before Darque could strike again, Sauvage seized him around the waist and hurled them both into the surf.
The soldiers erupted in cheers.
Vela closed her eyes briefly.
“Father.”
“They will tire.”
“At this rate, one of them will drown before that happens.”
Abigail could bear no more.
She ran toward the beach.
“Stop!”
Her voice cracked as she pushed through the circle of soldiers.
Neither brother listened.
Darque had Sauvage pinned again, his fist raised. But when Abigail forced her way through the crowd, her eyes went straight to Sauvage.
“Sauvage!”
Darque froze.
Only for an instant.
But the hesitation was enough.
Sauvage drove his fist into Darque’s jaw and threw him aside.
Darque landed hard in the shallows.
He did not immediately rise.
His red eyes remained fixed on Abigail.
She hurried to Sauvage, reaching for his arm as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Darque watched her touch him.
The fire in his eyes deepened.
Vela saw it.
So did Rolland.
The fight had never been about boredom or wounded pride.
It had been about the witch.
Vela sighed and turned back toward her father.
“We are going to Egypt,” she said. “But promise me you will do something about them before they destroy one another.”
Rolland watched Darque slowly rise from the surf.
Sauvage stood beside Abigail, smiling at his brother through bloodied lips.
“I promise.”
The assurance came easily.
How he intended to keep it did not.
The approaching helicopter appeared above the coastline, its rotors growing louder as it crossed the water toward them. Sand began to lift around the landing area, scattering across the ruined temple and erasing the footprints they had left.
The Iraqi soldiers abandoned the spectacle and reluctantly returned to their positions.
Abigail stepped away from Sauvage as Darque approached, though the moment had already caused its damage.
The brothers stared at one another.
Neither spoke.
Rolland secured the scroll in his satchel.
Beneath the island, the Sphinx remained with her new stars, guarding secrets that had endured empires. Ahead of them lay another ancient power—one far less likely to be amused by gifts or games.
The helicopter descended.
Rolland turned toward it, the Sphinx’s warning still echoing in his mind.
Four tails.
A hidden burden.
And now, a goddess waiting in Egypt.