Mina Vance tightened her grip on Kaelen’s linen sleeve, her knuckles turning bone white.
The glowing phantom of Claire Vance remained seated at the starlight tea table.
Her silver eyes looked directly into the dark cavern, soft with eternal affection.
“If this recording plays,” Claire’s gentle voice continued, “it means my son has survived to adulthood. It means you found a vein of true Obsidian Earth-Fire, and the ancient stone within you has awakened to Stage 3.”
The cavern was completely silent except for the low hum of the magma vents.
Near the tunnel archway, Barnaby Holt leaned heavily against his bronze poker, his weathered jaw trembling.
“You knew me as a sickly woman who spent her afternoons drinking chamomile tea in Ashford Town,” Claire said with a soft, bittersweet laugh. “Your father believed I was an orphaned daughter of a ruined border scholar. He bought me silk ribbons and built me a flower trellis in the garden.”
Her silver hands lifted the porcelain tea bowl, swirling imaginary steam.
