He waves for a human servant, who saddles two of the creatures and hands us the reins. I slip my foot into the stirrup and swing my leg to the other side with ease. Fighting and dancing may not come naturally to me, but I spent two years in junior saddle club. Horses are familiar.

Caelan does the same, and we set off through the gardens and past the sweeping green fields. We quicken into a gallop, Daylings blazing in stardust beneath us. My heart flutters—soars. The wind billows around me, and for a moment I feel like I’m flying.

We weave around purple heather before stopping at the crest of a hill. When I look down the valley, I can’t help but gasp.

In the center of a lake is an island boasting an enormous tree. Its leaves dance in shades of raspberry and violet, and the twinkling of bells sound in the distance. Caelan clicks at the roof of his mouth, ushering the Dayling down the hill. I follow close behind, stopping at the water’s edge.

Caelan slides off his saddle first, offering me a hand while I do the same.

“This is my favorite place in Infinity,” he says, motioning toward the tree. He approaches the water without trepidation, stepping over the reflective surface. I expect his feet to sink down into the lake bed, but they don’t.

Holding my breath, I take my first step over the water and find a firm surface. It’s as if the lake is made of glass. We walk across the water together, gentle ripples moving away from us like the shadows in Ophelia’s mind. When we reach the foot of the tree, I gaze up at the branches. The shades of red and purple aren’t leaves at all—they’re pieces of paper, covered in writing.

I’ve never seen a tree like this before. Not in my previous life and not in the memories Annika shared with me. It towers into the clouds, swaying lightly in the wind, with hundreds of tiny hidden bells singing their song through the paper leaves.

“What is this place?” My voice sounds hollow.

“This is a Wishing Tree,” he replies, almost proudly. “Humans used to create them, before we came to this world. They write down what they want most and hang it from the trees.”

“And it’s still standing?” I ask, the implication clear. I didn’t think Queen Ophelia would leave something so human untouched.

“Most of them were destroyed,” he admits. “But I couldn’t bring myself to part with this one. Relics are important in every culture, after all. They show us where we’ve been and remind us what we’ve lost.”

You mean what the humans lost, my mind snaps back.