Marina—with Eight’s body in tow—and Adam follow me through, the both of them squinting to adjust to the lower light. When they’re on the other side, the doorway blinks out of existence. There’s no exit in its place, only a solid limestone wall, although a circle of notches just like the one from the door are carved into it. Our pendants clatter to the floor and I hurriedly pick them up.

“The Sanctuary,” Marina breathes.

“How long ago did your people put this here?” Adam asks.

“Hell if I know. We heard they’d been coming to Earth for centuries,” I reply absently, peering around. “I guess this is what they were doing.”

“They were preparing for this day,” Marina adds, that eerie certainty back in her voice.

“What’d they leave us, though?” I ask, a little disappointed as I look around. “An empty room?”

The Sanctuary is one long, rectangular room with high ceilings and absolutely no doors or windows. It’s as if our ancestors teleported into a solid chunk of rock, somehow managed to carve out a room, and then forgot to furnish it. There’s nothing here. Veins of glowing Loralite are threaded through the stone walls and ceiling in chaotic patterns that cast the entire room in a cobalt hue. My eyes glide over the swoops and swirls of Loralite—there’s something vaguely familiar there, something that I’m just not seeing.

“It’s the universe,” Adam says. “It’s . . . more than we even know about. The Mogadorian star maps don’t cover this much.”

It takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying. But then I notice the way the Loralite veins pool into circles at some spots and I recognize the other veins as the swirling stars of the cosmos and beyond. It’s just like the Macrocosms, only way bigger and covering way more universe. I find Lorien on one wall, the glowing puddle of Loralite at its heart shining much dimmer than some other spots.

“Our home,” I say, and touch Lorien gently with my finger. A chill goes through me as the Loralite seems to pulse in answer, almost as if it recognizes me.

“My home,” Adam says dryly. He points to an area that’s notable only for its complete absence of Loralite, like a void existing in the glowing universe. He frowns. “At least your ancestors got the whole forbidding-darkness thing right.”

“Those aren’t our homes, not anymore,” Marina says, tracing her fingers across the wall, following the exact trajectory our ship took from Lorien to Earth. “This is our home now.”

The Loralite outline of Earth glows much stronger than any other section of the wall. Marina presses her fingers against it and the Loralite crackles and vibrates.

Something below us is moving.

Dust and dirt shake loose from the ceiling, the motes sparkling in the suddenly hypercharged light of the Loralite. I know I shouldn’t be scared—this is a Loric place, it won’t hurt us—but I can’t help backing up to the nearest wall, the Sanctuary suddenly feeling very claustrophobic now that it’s shaking around me. Adam stumbles in next to me, his eyes wide.