The path through the forest felt endless.
Every step we took, the trees seemed to close in around us, their branches twisting into shapes that resembled watching eyes. The moss beneath my feet glowed faintly—an eerie luminescence that pulsed like a heartbeat. Above us, the two moons cast their conflicting lights: silver on my left, crimson on my right, as if the sky itself was divided.
Adrian walked ahead of me, his movements sharp and alert. Even in this impossible place, he moved like a predator. His suit was torn, his knuckles still stained black from the creatures we had fought, but his posture never betrayed weakness.
"How do you know where we're going?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't look back. "I don't."
"Then why are you walking so confidently?"
A pause. "Because if I show fear, whatever is watching us will attack."
My blood ran cold. "Something is watching us?"
"Several things." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "They've been following us since we left the clearing. Waiting."
I wanted to turn around, to look, but some primal instinct kept my eyes forward. Don't show fear. Don't show weakness.
"How far to the city?" I asked.
Adrian stopped.
I nearly collided with his back. Before I could ask why he had halted, he raised his hand—a silent command for silence.
Then I saw it.
The trees ended. Beyond them, a valley stretched out beneath a sky that swirled with violet and gold clouds. And in the center of that valley, nestled between two mountain peaks that gleamed like obsidian, stood a city that should not exist.
It rose from the earth like a living thing—spires of white stone that caught the moonlight and reflected it in rainbows. Bridges of crystal arched between towers that seemed to defy gravity. Waterfalls cascaded down the mountainsides, feeding rivers that glowed with an ethereal blue light. And at the very heart of the city, a palace of silver and gold pierced the sky, its highest tower crowned with a flame that burned without smoke.
It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
And the most terrifying.
Because even from this distance, I could see the walls. Massive structures of dark stone, lined with soldiers in gleaming armor. Watchtowers bristling with weapons I didn't recognize. And beyond the walls, shadows moved—too large, too fast, to be human.
"Eryndor," Adrian said, and there was something in his voice I hadn't heard before.
Recognition.
"You know this place?" I asked.
He didn't answer immediately. His grey eyes were fixed on the city with an intensity that bordered on pain. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than I had ever heard it.
"I've seen it before. In dreams. For as long as I can remember."
The confession sent a chill down my spine. "Dreams? You dreamed of this place before we—"
"Before we fell through the world? Yes." He turned to look at me, and for the first time, I saw the weight he carried. "I've dreamed of these towers, these moons, this sky. Every night for twenty years."
Twenty years. That meant he had been dreaming of this world since he was a child. Long before he became the Mafia King. Long before our forced marriage. Long before any of this.
"What else have you dreamed?" I asked.
His jaw tightened. "War. Blood. A throne made of shadows." His eyes met mine. "And a woman with golden threads weaving through her fingers."
My breath caught.
Golden threads. Fate threads. The Keeper had called me Thread Weaver.
Before I could respond, a sound cut through the night—a horn, deep and resonant, echoing across the valley. It came from the city. Then another horn answered, closer. And another.
The soldiers on the walls had seen us.
"They're coming," Adrian said, his hand moving to my arm. "Stay close to me."
Guards emerged from the forest around us—not the bark-and-bone creatures from before, but men. Or at least, they looked like men. They wore armor of silver and black, their helmets obscuring their faces, their weapons drawn. Swords that gleamed with inner light. Bows strung with what looked like solidified moonlight.
There were at least twenty of them. Surrounding us. Silent.
One stepped forward. He removed his helmet, revealing a face that was young but hardened, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of storm clouds. His hair was dark, cropped short, and across his cheek ran a scar that gleamed silver.
"Strangers," he said, his voice carrying authority. "You stand at the gates of Eryndor, the last kingdom of light. State your names and your purpose, or be treated as enemies of the realm."
Adrian stepped forward, positioning himself between me and the soldier. "We mean no harm. We don't know how we came to this world. We only seek answers."
The soldier's eyes narrowed. "You don't know how you came?" His gaze swept over Adrian's torn suit, my ruined wedding dress. "What world do you come from?"
"One without magic," I said, surprising myself. "One without two moons or cities of crystal. We fell through darkness during our wedding."
The soldier's expression shifted. Confusion, then something else—something that looked like fear.
"Fell through darkness," he repeated slowly. "During a wedding."
Behind him, the other soldiers exchanged glances. Whispers spread through their ranks like wildfire.
"The prophecy," one of them breathed. "The Thread Weaver and the Shadow King."
"The Shadow King returns."
"Sound the alarm. The King must know."
The lead soldier raised his hand, silencing them. His eyes never left Adrian's face. "Your name," he demanded. "What is your name?"
Adrian held his gaze. "Adrian Blackwood."
The soldier went pale.
Not just him—all of them. The color drained from their faces as if Adrian's name had stolen it. Some took steps backward. Others raised their weapons higher, trembling.
"Adrian," the soldier whispered. "Not Dorian? Not the name of—"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Adrian cut him off, his voice sharp. "I've never been to this world. I've never met any of you. I don't know who Dorian is."
But the soldier wasn't listening. He was staring at Adrian's hand—the one that had been covered in black sap from the creature we had fought. Only now, the sap was gone. In its place, something else had appeared.
A mark.
It glowed faintly on the back of Adrian's hand—a sigil of interlocking shadows, shaped like a crown. I hadn't noticed it before. Had it been there this whole time? Or had it just… appeared?
The soldier dropped to his knees.
One by one, the others followed. Twenty soldiers in silver and black armor, kneeling before Adrian in the mossy clearing, their heads bowed, their weapons laid at his feet.
"My King," the lead soldier said, his voice trembling. "The Shadow King has returned."
Adrian stared at them, his jaw tight, his hand clenched at his side. I could see the war raging behind his eyes—denial, confusion, and something deeper. Something that looked like memory clawing its way to the surface.
"I'm not your king," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
The soldier looked up, his scarred face illuminated by the twin moons. "With respect, my King, the mark on your hand says otherwise. And the prophecy has waited a thousand years for your return."
He rose to his feet, gesturing toward the city below.
"The King of Eryndor awaits you. He has waited his entire life for this moment. Please. Follow us."
Adrian looked at me. In his grey eyes, I saw uncertainty—a rare vulnerability from a man who had built his life on control.
"What do you want to do?" I asked softly.
He was silent for a long moment. Then his hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with my own.
"We find answers," he said. "Together."
He turned to the soldiers.
"Lead the way."