While we were all perplexed by the bizarre appearance of the little girl who greatly resembled Wisteria Loredan, the first attempt at a conjecture came from Litzia. “Be this Aurora’s sorcery? Valerian, you have gone through the trial before, is this at all to be expected down here?”

“Not close,” the knight shook her head. I observed that her breath was held. She knelt by the little girl’s side and anxious eyes regarded the girl with doubt. “Monsters, spirits, and phantasms beyond mortal knowledge, perhaps, but alares stay who they are. Unless it be a thing that mimics.”

Even as the knight mused, the little girl let out a repressed sound of horror. The nasty nature of the stickiness that clung to her robe had struck -- that of the still-fresh blood. Squirming and struggling frantically she got to her feet, then regarded her stained clothes with disgust. And here came the queer thing, for, the blood aside, her dress was perfectly intact, whereas Wisteria’s had been rent to shreds by Valerian. “What be this? Whose blood might all this be?” she cried.

“Loredan!” abruptly, Valerian seized the squirming wyvern, careless for the child’s confusion. “Are you Wisteria Loredan?”

“That... I am,” she said, with as much certainty as could for one who had very recently come to consciousness bathed in blood. “But who might you all be?” she said and shook off Valerian’s hands, drawing away with a wary look for the rest of us.

“If indeed Loredan you are then you should have heard of us,” Litzia answered, “We are alares of the Daybright’s Anemone Order. Do you not wonder where this place is?” With the last question she frowned.

“That I know,” the little girl answered smartly, “’Tis under Mount Tithonus, beneath the sanctuary where the ritual is yearly held.” Even as she said, she looked about, at the marked walls and the evil roots, then with a nod to ascertain her statement, she added, “Many times I have come here before. Only, mercifully, never with so much blood all over.”

“Have you now,” I asked, “Is this place not forbidden for all outside of the ritual? Is this not your first?”

There was the matter of Acis and Galanthus, who had participated multiple times. Yet from our conversation at her chamber, it would not be strange to assume Wisteria had never tried the ritual before.

The young Wisteria shrugged off my questions. “It is forbidden, yes. Everyone knows that. How and why I do not know but I have been here.”

“You are not making sense,” said Valerian. A mixed expression of relief and suspicion painted her face. “If you did not come on your own conscious accord then whose? Are you in truth who you claim to be? Or some fiend that is wonted to wear the flesh of... the newly deceased?”

Again the little girl shrugged, then gave an answer even more bizarre, “By way of dreams. Every so often I would dream of these dark halls. Always the same places, yet dreams they are all the same, unreal and fantastical, though I do not think them nightmares. Even now all this is but a dream, even as yourself, ma’am alares of the Order of Anemones, residents of my dream!” At the end she smiled, showing what she must have thought perfect conduct towards figments of own fantastical nighttime.

“For our side of the story,” said Litzia, “we are alive and real, Loredan. And only moments before our ally of the same name even as you, pledge-sister of Valerian here, was dealt a mortal wound, only for you to take her place of existence. And unless this day’s ritual or my whole life has been a lie, I must dispute your claim of our unrealness.”

The little girl smiled pleasantly, almost patronizingly, “Then you are wrong ma’am, for should I ever take part in the Mistress’ ritual, then Hyacinth Venier would be my pledge, but no one else. Though I have little doubt your friend here is a capable knight, for it is a matter of the pledge. And as for the truthfulness of your existences, I shall not engage in a debate where it is impossible to challenge the foundation of another’s belief, by definition.”

It was no simple matter for aught of us to digest what she had just said. In some way I thought she a ghost, or as Valerian had suggested, some mimicking monster who toyed with us in the guise of the expired girl. Either way she appeared in earnest the young Wisteria before all the tragic events of her life had come to pass. If there was something retained beside her strikingly familiar appearance, it could only be the civil manner so wonted in her, and by which she addressed us, the supposed citizens of her dream. It struck me as not a little amusing despite the circumstance; something to do with being born in such a family, with such a parent as I had encountered, surely.

“Well, let us put this aside,” Valerian sighed, “We have a ritual to complete, and the real Loredan to be found, or restored. When all this is over, it is not beyond hope that the mates yet have a way to resolve this mess.”

“So you say we proceed with the ritual?” I asked.

“That would prove a challenge,” Litzia said, “This Wisteria is too young for the pledge, so you will be pledgeless until the end. And with an enemy lurking I fear it is beyond me to contend with three people on my back.”

“Not so with Loredan and I,” Valerian said, “But it need not be, for we already failed the day. But you and Aster must go on.”

“And leave you here?” The insanity of her suggestion left me entirely nonplussed. “They are hunting you specifically! You may not survive until the ritual’s end!”

“You have no choice, Aster, your pledge-sister can’t carry us all safely, while exposing ourselves on foot is no wiser.”

“And yet together you stand a better chance of survival. Listen,” Litzia moved in front of the blonde knight, her gaze she held firmly, “Whether this girl is Loredan or not, we know not if the real one is no more. It is not right to give up your life for failure, or hers, you know that.”

“Do I now?” Valerian said with a sneer. “You make me choose between being the cause of one death and many.”

Even before the course of their argument could take a turn for the worse, sharply, the young Wisteria interrupted with a tactful cough.

“Erm,” she said, “I acknowledge the gravity of your discussion, I really do, but if you would excuse me, ma’am Anamones, I have somewhere else I need to be.”

“Somewhere?” I asked, “Did you not say this was all a dream? Why do you need to go anywhere?”

She shrugged, “I just do. Only when I get there will this dream end. Is that not the pattern of recurring dreams, where a singular course leads always to the inevitable conclusion? So?”

Valerian and Litzia eyed each other in their shared confusion.

“It simply ends if you get there?” Valerian asked.

“Always.”

This little girl was a mystery in full, and yet it seemed clear now that she offered the only thread to unravel her own mystery.

“Well,” the knight said, “I cannot make sense of this.”

“Then stall your decision,” Litzia said, “at least until Loredan is found, let us follow this girl. What do you think, Aster?”

There was naught to argue here, and so we headed once more down these dim halls, our way guided by the little girl, who did not protest our coming but trod the way with confidence and a clear purpose.

Unlike the even, unchanging but narrow corridor when we first passed into the mountain, here the ground was broken miserably under the thick cover of roots. Whether these dark tendrils had penetrated the stone and cracked it by decades of slow excavation, sheer unstoppable force or sorcery, we could not know. It became apparent that the floor had sunk and deformed under their influence. No small was the blessing, however, of the cover from airborne enemies as we wended and crawled our way under these roots and across these broken grounds.

Not even the snobbish child Wisteria could afford a dignified passing, for many were places of enormous obstacles where only on all four could we squeeze ourselves through spaces afforded under rubbles and roots. But dignified or not, the girl was keen of the way, and did not mind it overmuch. With a purpose and nimble limbs she went steadily and somewhat proved her tall tale of countless times trodding this place. Whereas on our own we would have had to carefully consider our way, and search desperately for likely hidden passages, she passed on with her ingrained instinct and trained experience. Squeezing herself into narrow corners, or finding footings over collapsed ruins, she demonstrated an evident unmatched familiarity with the place. I dare say no humans alive have ever so great a knowledge of this forbidden place than this girl no older than ten. So it made me think. Perhaps she was indeed a disguised creature native to the place, and was leading us to its lair for safe consumption. And yet I could not think of her as aught but a young, naive and a bit haughty wyverness - the way she regarded our struggle on the difficult terrains suggested it. That and the fact we had seen no living creatures other than those who had entered with us. Or the things of no discernible shapes that even now haunted in the dark nooks aloft.

Hell. The Underland, where there is no life. It seemed true after all, that Aurora’s chamber lay beneath the place mankind most dread. And still the unmoving presence in the vast grotto overhead haunted my mind as I awaited movements in every shadow we passed. There was no sound save of our own making. No smell, save for ancient dust that bothered our nostrils and softened our footfall. Needless to say, it was far more oppressive than in the air when Litzia and I could have afforded more freedom in movements.

Then, without forewarning, Wisteria halted before a place where the dim light diffused into nothingness - a pile of rubble as large as a hill to our eyes, aftermath to the colliding and collapsing of the walls, so that the bottomless darkness flanked us from either side, where the stones had fallen. She paused, and looked about, as though searching for something. In a light, floating voice, she said, “There are times when I wonder if these dreams are not in truth nightmares where I tread ever in the darkness to no promised goals. But here is the telling place where it’s determined.”

“I do not think it can be aught else, if indeed we are dreaming,” I said. Azures do dream, but of the past and recurring, unaltering events in our unremarkable lives, and certainly not so fantastical as an evil maze as this. Our nightmares are the lash, the dread of pain, not such endless wanderings.

“From hence it is confirmed,” she repeated, “this point... I remember, I do not always come across this place, but when I do, there will be something.”

“Something?” already Litzia was on guard, and I could not fault her for being overcautious, as for a while now we had been on edge for no discernible reason; it is a fear of being watched by something prowling about unseen, unheard. And yet it was not easy to mistrust such ears as Litzia’s and Valerian’s. If it was something that moves then of a surety at least one of them must have noticed. Aught that are real cause sounds, and can be sighted if they are solid. So if even those two could not mark it, the thing could only be formless, or unreal. Perhaps it was only our irrational fear that gave life to whatever it was.

I knew only that my chest hurt.

And that there was a shake uncontrollable in my limbs and in my tongue.

There are things to be said of my courage, or even of the young Wisteria, though thanks to her familiarity of the place she was remarkably calmer. But the other two were not much less unnerved. And though no sound had yet heralded the presence of an enemy Valeria leveled her staff and Litzia’s fangs bared.

“Do not stay there!” Wisteria’s hushed voice warned, and alone she plunged into a crevice beneath the rubble. At a glance an adult could squeeze through and follow with ease, but the oppressive tightness and sensation in my mind plagued me with dread. So much that I was the last to crawl in. As the tapering tip of Lizia’s tail disappeared within, and I was upon the entrance, and my touch cold and shaking on the dusty rocks, still nothing monstrous had announced its presence. But it was there, as though somewhere in my head a voice echoed. This voice whispered in torrents of thoughts and fears that this dark was different from the grotto above, where only phantoms of strange creatures and imitations of lights reside. Here it is true darkness, and thus far it had been the ancient walls that guarded us against the advancing and corrupting roots. Here was where the defense failed, and here we were exposed. I ventured a look at the bottomless darkness beyond the walls. There was naught, unless the color black harbors an existence.

So I ran. Flailing, I threw myself in the hole without caution for sharp stones and crumbling structures that could have crushed us all under their weight. For outside, there was a thing sinister all the greater, and injuries and pain or even death seemed the easier outcome to what lurked beyond.

This was yet Aurora’s old abode. The gate to an immortal’s berth deeper than hell, there were bound to be things all living creatures have feared ever since our creation.

It was Litzia who held me when I fell, for when from the softness of her embrace, I raised my wide eyes her silver horns glinted near my face. Somehow resting in her arms calmed me. But even she spoke in a hushed voice, “Are you alright?”

“I think.”

“Something is out there,” she said. But what exactly, she could not tell.

Presently, Valerian touched my shoulder, indicating that the girl had moved again.

It was only my excited imagination, I hoped.

There was no more purposeful confidence in Wisteria, though there was determination still. She trodded the narrow passage much slower than before, and with very light steps, as though fearing to awake a thing asleep. I do not think even she knew what was out there.

Or over us. Without a word, all four of us halted abruptly, for the sound came without warning. It was so loud and constant that at first I mistook it for a buzzing in my veins that had seized my hearing. But it varied as the rocks slid under its weight. Little doubt a slithering sound that came from aloft, around, and even beneath us. As though a boundless serpentine had enwrapped the world entire, and we were but specks of dust at the heart of its prey. For a moment I feared that the hole within which we crawled would collapse, but though formed only by fragmental sections of the broken walls, it held. It went on unceasingly while I was paralyzed with fear. Wisteria began to move. I recalled, it was not her first time, and how she had pronounced this place the beginning of the nightmarish aspects of recurring dreams. How many times had she trodden this passage, had frozen under the crushing weight of fear for the unseen predator! But this was not the place she must be, where the dream comes to an end. No matter the eternity she had waited with both ears covered, alone and abandoned by reality, only by braving each step blindly ahead had she each time made the nightmare’s end. Without fail, every time, without another choice.

And now that crushing weight we shared. We endured wordlessly, as if a single sound would shatter our delicate shelter. I at times wondered if all this was real, and not a fanciful dream as the young girl had claimed. Wistful thinking, that. The deafening slithering did not cease, round and round it went, but grew an unreal effect.

At length, the light from the other side was discernible. But coming out would be facing the source of the supposed serpent. Valerian acknowledged it too, and slung the runestaff from her shoulder. Litzia's hand was in mine, as it had been all this time, wrapping around my damp fingers. I longed to form our pledge as soon as we exited this safe but cramped place, facing whatever it might be.

And we saw then, at the end of the way, where we would emerge from the great rubble, in the ambient light of the corridors, a faint white glow.

I knew well that glow, for it belonged to Galanthus, my Ala-sister. But most terrifyingly was the fact that upon our marking of the mysterious wyverness, and her deep eyes meeting us, the slithering sound at once ceased.