Shattered Line

Chapter 26: Arcadia

Isla staggered to her feet. Crossing the barrier had sapped her strength, a manageable extent, but one still burdensome. Yet, time favored her enemies, not her. She needed to move.

She scanned the darkened cave, waiting for a disruption in the bleakness greeting her. But nothing happened. Where were the rioting overseers, or abominable monsters seeking the destruction of intruders? Perhaps she overestimated Arcadia.

Well, her sisters did undergo the trial and survive unscathed. If they failed from matters of force, then Layla's storytelling would be dramatic. So, no dangerous monsters, hidden traps, or physical fights. How saddening.

She groaned and closed her eyes, rubbing her brow. All her expectations would make this trial easy. Instead, Arcadia prepared a twisted mental game. Only naive fools threw themselves into uncertainties. Plan and conquer proved far more rewarding. Sure, the occasional surprise or problem added intrigue, but boundaries were needed. Her jaw tightened from the thought. This was ludicrous.

No sensible person would walk into a gaping hole at the top of a mountain with no information. Add three rings of monsters with miasmic mist, and her answer remained—no one.

She brushed her cheeks and pinched her skin. What was the worst that could happen?

She advanced, her hand resting on her weapon. At the entrance border, she pooled her aura. The bundle burst to life, shooting off sparks and streaming light.

With her hand, she lowered the orb. The stone beneath her feet was flat and smooth. Moving the orb ahead, illuminated a straight singular tunnel with walls mimicking the floor. Only perfection described this tunnel. Not natural and definitely not man-made.

Her legs carried her onwards. Yet, a chill slithered down her back. She peeked at her exit. Instead of a hallowed safe route, a stone wall mocked her.

No escape, but her inner peace remained. Had she expected this outcome? Maybe.

She renewed her pace. Her senses aware and alert. If a droplet of water fell from above, she would react. Still, nothing showed and nothing sounded but her lithe footsteps and breathing.

The farther she traveled, the more certain she believed Arcadia crafted this tunnel. Yet, the single tunnel widened into an inner cavern, ending the illusion.

She motioned the orb around the room, checking the dimensions and faces. Again, nothing existed. Neither signs of life nor debris. In this place, time stopped.

Isla searched for the connection point. But her exploration ended, the walls showed no indication of a continuation.

Her senses pricked and she stepped backward into a wall. She pivoted, touching her stone covered exit. Seriously, again? She pulled the orb near, examining the area. No marks or lines marred the wall. The wall had fused with the rest.

She turned back, her gaze wandering the cavern. But her light source dimmed then disappeared. Magic required aura as fuel and she expended enough, hours worth. What happened?

Her mind focused, directing aura to her fingertips. She reenacted the spell. But as her imagination descended on reality, the link severed and her aura dispersed. Well, damn. This inner cavern dispelled her magic.

She mulled the information. Dropped in complete darkness with no magic and no exit. Honestly, she assumed a trap. Yet, this direction of thinking carried faults. Both Layla and Linda had lived, meaning the trial had begun. Her sight trained ahead and her ears focused. What was next?

"Calm yourself, child!" commanded a shrill voice, echoing in the enclosed space. The sound quite similar to her supposed grandmother.

Isla rolled her eyes. Did she appear frazzled? What part of her exposed anxiety? Nothing better than some outsider falsifying her reactions.

"No, thanks. Who the Hell are you?" she retorted her words even and clear.

"Arcadia's guardian, you brat. Learn some respect." The voice changed genders, grumpy and raspy.

She crossed her arms. "Right, I'm supposed to trust the rhetorical voice without a body."

"You jest, you laugh, you cry. Who else could I be?" The guardian's voice giggled, shedding decades of age.

"A waste of time."

"Oh, no, no, no. The game's just begun."

"Really? This sounds more like a joke. Get on with it."

"Ye think ye capable? Do ye?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't," she mocked.

"Oh, lookie here, this one has confidence." The voice heightened from low to high pitch. "Then let us see."

At the last syllable, Isla collapsed, her face hitting the floor. Her lungs heaved and burned. The quicker she breathed, the more pain wrung her body. Her throat muscles constricted, rebelling against her mind. No longer would her body listen as her nerve endings disconnected.

Her fingers clawed the earth, but even her feeble attempt ended. The desire and desperation embedded within her fingertips faded. She had nothing.

Her eyelids fluttered shut as the remaining strength seeped out. The sustenance she acquired expired and she drifted, her mind sinking.

Yet, the obstruction of her senses unhinged her thoughts. Though a cloud descended upon her brain, her mind continued. Feeling was lost, but she could think. What was the solution to her problem? Think, never stop thinking, or then she would be dead.

Her current pragmatic state was due to a magic imprisonment spell. No other reason explained aura inactivation. The confinement could be achieved with different methods—physical restraints, aura draining, rule setting—but the core issue remained. Yet, none were simple.

The spell took time. From initiation to an effect, the spirit distracted her. They subdued her aura, her body then her mind. But left her deep subconscious left untouched.

"Are we having fun yet?" the spirit mused.

No, what do you want? Isla retorted.

"What do you mean? You wanted the trial. Here it is."

Layla's confused recollection made sense now. The memory existed within her but outside her reach. An interesting idea.

"Interesting? You are who's interesting, child. Tell me, why do you desire power? Is that the God in you speaking?"

Everyone desires power. Being a God matters little in that respect. Isla continued her thoughts.

"A vague answer. Let me guess, perhaps you desire strength because of those you have lost? The people you have hurt or killed."

Shaded figures appeared within her mind. They morphed, color shaping and defining into two distinct images. One of Rydin and the other of Rein. Their exact bone structure, expressions, characteristic movements wrenched from her memory.

Was the plan to poke and prod her scabbed wound? No, the point penetrated deeper. She berated herself for falling into Slate's trap. Here she stood, again, allowing another free reign to manipulate her heart.

"Why so quiet, child?" whispered the spirit. "Is it because your thirst for power will drive those you love away?"

Love? What a moronic statement. No, the power she sought differed. It was different. It was selfish.

"No? That isn't right. Maybe because of your sisters? Do you seek revenge on them for having left you all those years ago?"

No, the answer still diverged from her path and from what she wanted.

"Not quite right yet? Ah, I know, maybe you seek power to kill instead? That's right, to kill your father who hunts you like a madman?"

The question sounded familiar. She had asked herself the same often enough. If she had the strength, she would kill him. She wanted him dead. Isla would neither hide nor suppress this desire, for denying this truth would weaken her.

"Your hate will drive you mad. It will control you. A Queen can not be selfish. She can not put herself before the whole."