Next, we gather around what can only be described as a Sworn monument, modeled after The Emperor’s symbol. It’s a metal throne made of a single sword: the blade points up as the backing, while the cross-guards stick out as armrests. The hilt of this throne-sword then boxes out, likely containing everything we came here to find.

I take one deep breath, looking to the others. Then, with their nods of support, I open the lid to the base box. Inside there is a metal panel, on top of which rests two things: an envelope and a single, face-down Perillian card. Seeing this sitting there for the taking, I look to Chase.

“I know,” he says. “It seems too easy?”

“Um, tell that to the very-lengthy hike we just climbed,” Cleo replies.

“Not to mention, the only way to access this trail is through Brendan’s gated house,” Logan adds. “I’ll bet that’s really the final test to pass, since he’d only guide the deck holder up here.”

“You know, you’re all getting eerily good at thinking like Perillians,” I say. “Here goes nothing.”

As I reach down to grasp the final missing card, everything still feels heightened. Half of me cannot wait to finish this, while the other half never wants the journey to end. Half of me feels ready to find the answers I’ve been seeking, while the other half wants to live in the mystery forever. Somehow uniting all these contradictory parts, I pick up the card and flip it over.

I then gasp out loud.

“Oh my goddess,” Cleo exclaims.

“Amelia, isn’t that—” Chase begins, not needing to finish.

I automatically reach into my pocket and pull out my Dalet locket. Flipping it open, I reveal the pictures inside, of myself and young Grandma, looking like sisters—and also both looking exactly like the Queen of Swords I now hold in my trembling hand.

Emotion rises in me like steam, flushing and cleansing. I can barely believe what I see. There before me is Grandma, young and regal and powerful as ever. I feel her presence here, as if we have suddenly been reunited. It’s like the Hermetic Dawn experience has somehow come to life, springing out of long-hidden history.

“Perilli painted the Queen of Swords to look like Gran Flo?” Logan asks first. “Or to look like Amelia?”

I suppose that’s the million-dollar question. Since none of us have the answer, I will myself to turn my attention away from the reflective Queen and onto the envelope still resting in the box. Surely whatever connection Grandma had to Carson Perilli must be explained within? Opening the envelope, I then unfold a few pieces of thick paper covered in handwriting. Flipping to the end, I see an inscription written at the bottom: Ever thine, Carson Perilli.

A chill rolls up my spine, thick and prickling.