Page 17 of What Beats Within the Tunnels

We reach a dead end, and the screams grow even louder. I want to cover my ears, but instead I release Colton’s hand and slam my palm into the rock wall, silently begging for a sign, anything to help us before the voices reach us. I slam my palm into the wall again, harder, and squeeze my eyes shut, unable to think straight with the sound closing in on us.

“What the actual fuck?” Colton causes my eyes to fly open, and that’s when I see it. The wall starts to bleed, and at first it’s just a few drips. But soon it’s pouring out of the cracks in the rock. We both step back in horror as the wall melts away in front of us and blood pours from the stone, until we are left staring into a shimmering, wobbling wall of liquid crimson.

The voices are still fast approaching, but time seems to slow down as I stare at the shimmering veil. I can’t resist the urge to press my hand against it, and I sink my fingers into the warm, viscous fluid.

“Shit, why did you have to touch it?” Colton says, but I barely hear him, totally entranced by the wall before me. Suddenly my fingers feel a warm breeze, and the wall seems to part before me. It’s a portal or maybe the bridge we’ve been searching for. I lift my foot and press it into the blood, which seems to open up for me, allowing me to pass through it without a single drop sticking to me.

Colton grabs hold of my leg, and we lock eyes. He looks alarmed, but I can’t describe the feeling I’m having right now. The crimson wall begins to melt away, and then I hear his voice from behind. Before I can pass through the wall, his hand clasps down on my shoulder, and an icy wind with a hint of sulfurous decay envelopes us.

“My Pixie.” A voice echoes through my mind as we channel.

My feet hit the ground, and I whirl around to face him—my father. I stare at him, unable to speak, my mind racing and not quite believing what I’m seeing. Why did he smell of decay? Or was it the portal that smelled? And how did he channel? How did he know we were here? I know he admitted to killing Nyx’s parents, and a part of me is weary of his intentions, but the other part of me just wants to hug him and trust him.

I decide to be cautious, molding my face into a façade of calm as I look him over. He looks exactly as I remember him, like he did the last time I saw him, only this time I know there’s more to him than meets the eye.

He’s a regal-looking Faery. My father is a vision of charm and grace, his golden countenance masking the darkness that lurks within, the darkness that allowed him to kill Nyx’s parents, his friends. His well-proportioned body conveys an air of noble elegance with toned muscles and a graceful stature that commands attention. His skin is warm, a radiant shade of gold, and devoid of any imperfections.

His face is striking, with sculpted cheekbones and a strong chiseled jawline. Looking at him now, I can’t imagine how anyone would look at him and believe he was a mere Sorcerer. His eyes, my eyes, the emerald and cobalt melding together, sparkling with a deceptive warmth, making it nearly impossible to see the cunning that must hide beneath the surface.

His lustrous golden-blond hair cascades down his broad shoulders, framing him like a halo of sunlight. He is dressed in luxurious, finely tailored garments that accentuate his regal bearing, or what was once his regal bearing. The rich fabrics, in shades of gold, sapphire blue, and deep crimson are embroidered with intricate patterns and embellished with sparkling gemstones. Each piece of clothing is crafted to further enhance his magnetic presence, distracting from the sinister intentions hidden beneath the surface. To everyone else, he is a picture of benevolent royalty, but beneath the golden façade I know this male Faery, my father, harbors sinister secrets that only a select few would ever come to know.

“You’ve grown up. You’re a lady now,” he says, a wide smile plastered on his face.“Come on, Pixie. I’ve been waiting for this very moment for so long. Can I get a hug?”

I hesitate for a moment, and so does Colton. It’s the first time he’s moved since we channeled. I feel him take a step closer to me, but my father doesn’t take his eyes off mine. I can’t help but want to believe he’s good. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him pull me into a hug. He squeezes me tight, lifting me into the air as he used to. I breathe him in, smelling his hair as I hug him. He has the same smell, a warm aroma of leather and sandalwood. A hint of decay still lingers in my nose too, reminding me to be cautious. I release his neck, and once he lets my feet hit the ground I step back next to Colton again.

“It’s been a long time, my boy,” my father says, extending his hand to Colton.

“Indeed, it has,” Colton says, shaking his hand.

“I see you’ve been protecting our girl as well.” My father pats Chepi on the head.

“Where are we?” I inquire, my eyes finally adjusting to the surroundings. The scene is reminiscent of the burning forest I encountered before, but without any traces of fire or blood. A thick swirling fog cloaks the forest floor, creating the illusion of a living, breathing ground. Ancient, gnarled trees encircle us, their twisted limbs weaving together overhead and casting ghostly shadows through the mist. The bark is an eerie dark gray, nearly black, while the leaves boast a crimson hue, bathing the forest in perpetual twilight.

The trees here don’t bleed, and the foliage is lush. Perhaps this is what the burning forest once resembled.

“We’re in Zomea. You’ve succeeded, Lyra. You unlocked the bridge. I sensed your presence the moment you crossed over. We have much to discuss, all of us. Allow me to take you to my dwelling,” he says, draping an arm around my shoulders, urging me to walk with him. I glance back at Colton, who gives me a weary look and keeps pace behind us next to Chepi.

The forest is unnervingly quiet, and the sky above is an angry blend of gray and black, making it impossible to discern the time. Navigating beneath the tree canopy is disorienting due to the dim light and oppressive fog.

After a brief hike, we encounter a magical barrier that blocks our path. The mystical force, appearing as a swirling, dark mist, parts enough to let us pass as we approach.

“Don’t be alarmed by the dark mist,” he reassures us. “It serves as both a protective measure and a means to conceal the palace from those I wish to keep at bay.”

I step through the dark barrier of magical mist and find myself awestruck by the sight before me—a palace carved into the heart of a volcano.

Its majestic architecture fuses seamlessly with the rugged, volcanic terrain, looming ominously over the surrounding landscape. Molten lava flows down the sides of the mountain, forming glowing rivers that illuminate the palace’s dark, imposing facade. A fiery moat encircles the structure, acting as a second barrier to protect it from unwanted intruders.

The exterior walls of the palace are hewn from the very rock of the volcano, their rough texture contrasting with the intricate, fiery patterns etched into the stone. As I move closer, I notice the entrance is flanked by two colossal statues, each depicting a fearsome creature, maybe even Gholioths. Their stony eyes seem to follow my every move, and it gives me the creeps.

We all cross the bridge of volcanic stone that spans the fiery moat, and I can feel the intense heat beneath my feet. My father pushes the colossal doors in front of us open, and we make our way inside.

The moment I enter, I’m struck by the contrast between the dark, volcanic exterior and the opulent, glowing interior. The walls are adorned with precious gemstones that shimmer in the volcanic light, casting a warm, flickering glow throughout the vast halls. The floors are covered with elaborate mosaics, and streams of lava flow through channels carved into the palace walls, providing both light and heat.

We silently venture deeper into the palace, following my father as he leads us into a sitting room. I step onto a plush, dark carpet, feeling as if I’m walking on a cloud. In the center of the room, I see a short table with a polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the volcanic light. I can’t help but admire the deep-red, velvet-upholstered armchairs that surround the table, each chair decorated with peculiar swirling patterns, mimicking the movement of the fiery rivers flowing through the palace.

Following my gaze, he gestures toward one end of the room, where a grand fireplace roars to life. Its flames lick at the edges of a magnificent mantle, carved from a single slab of volcanic rock. The fire’s warmth fills the room, creating a cozy atmosphere that contrasts with the raw power of the volcano just beyond the palace walls.

I take a seat in one of the chairs, Colton sits next to me, and Chepi curls up on my lap.