I didn’t know, but as I reached for Donnar’s hand, I braced myself to find out.

THE WORLD RUSHED around me, through me, inside and out. There was no breeze, but my hair blew in the wind despite that. I was standing still and moving forward. I was rising and I was falling. Bursts of color and blackness danced across my field of vision as the world around me shifted from the throne room to someplace dark and cold. A place where the red bloodwater trickled down from the sky high, high above; where those who entered rarely left with their sanity—if at all.

The motion stopped and Donnar released my hand. Goose bumps rose on the skin of my arms from the cold. Something was different about this cavern—I could tell it was the same one I’d been in long before, the one Donnar and Tibra inhabited, but something was off. There was more moss, rock structures that hadn’t been there before were there now, the bones and feathers on the ground were fresher, fewer in number. Around us, the air shimmered as if it were a mirage.

“What is this?” I asked Donnar, but he shushed me and pointed ahead of us.

Standing there was, well, Donnar. Obviously younger, judging by the skin that barely covered his ribs and the talons that had yet to grow into full length. When a svartelf fully matured, the skin on their backs broke and left them open for the world to see. Muscle, bone, veins, nerves, and sinew all on grotesque display for everyone. Or, in theory, anyways. Staring at a svartelf’s exposed back was considered one of the highest forms of disrespect and insult one could commit, and you’d be lucky to escape with your eyes intact.

Footsteps echoed in the cavern as someone approached the younger Donnar, and the older Donnar motioned for me to step aside a few paces, widening my field of vision. A shriek rose and died in my throat before it could be released at the sight of the goblin approaching Donnar. My hands balled into fists, nails digging into the flesh, and a cold trickle of terror ran down my back.

Not real, I thought. He’s not real. He can’t see me. He can’t.

I’ve always been able to see you, Janneke. His words rang in my mind, clear as day. Memory or not. I’ve always seen you. Always.

“Stop talking,” I growled, forcing myself to ignore Lydian’s voice in my head as a younger version of the goblin stepped before the svartelf.