The portal sealed shut behind them with a soft 'click' of collapsing green light, leaving only the faint echo of Evangeline's final, fractured whisper somewhere on the far side of reality.
They emerged mid-step into the chamber Cruxius had carved out weeks ago for this specific emergency retreat—low-ceilinged, warmly lit by floating witch-lights that bobbed like lazy fireflies.
The room was dominated by an enormous circular platform piled high with layered featherbeds and silk cushions thick enough to swallow an ogre whole.
The air smelled of clean linen, faint lavender, and the distant, lingering spice of the portal's magic still clinging to their skin.
Neither woman had time to brace.
The portal's exit angle was off by a single mischievous degree. Lira's bare foot caught nothing but air. Ytrisia's exhausted legs folded under her. Both women pitched forward with startled yelps—and landed face-first on the pillowy mountain.
Their bodies bounced.
