My gaze locked on the being’s closed eyes. She was entombed in a block of dimorson—a rare, obsidian stone laced with magic, harder than anything else in Vildora. We usually forged it into daggers or the weapons of the gods, never prisons. Yet here it was, encasing her completely, as if the mountain itself had tried to swallow her. Her skin was black marble threaded with veins of gold, a strange beauty accentuated by the trails of gold tears glinting down her cheeks. She looked peaceful, almost serene, but the stains on her face suggested centuries of silent grief. Ying paced slowly around the stone, fingers grazing its unyielding surface. “Have you tried freeing her?” she asked, her tone wary but curious. Yang nodded, picking up a shattered pickaxe from the ground and offering it as evidence. “We tried. The tools shattered the moment they struck the dimorson. This wasn’t an accident—someone wanted her to stay buried.” I stepped back, unease prickling across my skin. “Why were you even mining near the waterfall?” Yang’s eyes flicked to me, still troubled. “We were searching for ore. One of the men found something strange in the bedrock, so I came to see. Whoever sealed her here didn’t want her to be found—maybe ever.” A hush settled over us, thick with questions neither of us dared to voice. I stared at the imprisoned figure, her golden tears catching the dim light, and wondered what kind of power—or fear—could drive someone to lock away a being like this. “I’m sure someone must know who she is... Have you tried asking Geira or Panoúkla? They know every god and goddess ever created in Vildora,” I suggested, glancing from the stone prison to Ying. Ying let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Unfortunately, the lovebirds picked now of all times to vanish. Off celebrating their anniversary—the day they first joined as one.” Her voice grew sharper, words tumbling out faster. “Of course, they disappear when we actually need them!” She ran a hand through her raven hair, muttering a string of curses in our native tongue, her irritation building with every syllable. Without thinking, I reached out and caught her wrist, grounding her. Calming Ying had become second nature to me; I could read her moods almost before she knew them herself. “Hey,” I murmured gently, squeezing her hand, “breathe. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”
Ying’s shoulders slumped as I held her hand, her frustration ebbing into a heavy silence. For a moment, all I heard was the distant rush of the waterfall and the echo of our own breathing in the cavern. Yang stepped closer to the dimorson prison, his brow furrowed in thought. “If Geira and Panoúkla aren’t here, we’ll have to rely on ourselves,” he said quietly. “Maybe there’s something we’re missing—a mark, a symbol, anything that could tell us who she was.” I nodded, turning back to the stone. My fingertips hovered over the smooth, glassy surface, half-expecting to feel a pulse or warmth through the magical barrier. Nothing. Just cold, ancient stone and the faintest shimmer of gold where her tears had dried long ago. A strange sense of familiarity tugged at me, though I had never seen anyone like her before. I wondered if it was just sympathy—the kind you can’t help but feel for someone who looks so heartbreakingly lost. “Do you think she’s… alive in there?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Yang hesitated. “I don’t know. But whoever sealed her here was powerful—and must have been afraid of her for a reason.” Ying drew in a slow breath, pulling herself together. “Then we need to be careful. If someone went to all this trouble, freeing her might not be the best idea till we get more information.” I nodded, unease prickling at the back of my neck. The three of us stood there in the dim light, the answer so close and yet impossibly far. “She is quite pretty, though…” I whispered, barely audible, as Ying and Yang turned to leave. Alone for a heartbeat, I let myself smile at the mysterious figure sealed in stone—a secret just between us. To my shock, the being’s lips seemed to curl into the faintest smile. For a split second, the gold-streaked face looked almost alive. “Eek!” I squeaked, stumbling backward and landing hard on the damp cavern floor, heart hammering in my chest. “Laelynn! Let’s go!” Ying’s voice echoed from the tunnel, sharp with impatience. I blinked, glancing back at the stone prison. The being’s face was motionless—unsmiling, unmoving, as if nothing at all had happened. Maybe I’d imagined it. My mind always did have a habit of running wild.
