The world dissolved around her.

Aarya felt herself falling—not through space, but through time, memories unraveling around her like ink spilling across a blank canvas.

Then, she landed.

Not on the cold stone of the chamber, but in a place long buried in her past.

Her mother’s studio.

The scent of oil paint and damp parchment wrapped around her like an old embrace. The walls were lined with unfinished works, each canvas whispering fragments of a story left incomplete.

Aarya’s breath hitched. This wasn’t an illusion. It was real—somehow, impossibly real.

And then, she saw her.

Her mother stood before a massive painting, brush poised mid-stroke, eyes filled with something unreadable. Aarya’s heart clenched. She wanted to speak, wanted to reach out, but the air between them felt fragile, like touching it would shatter the moment.

Her mother turned, her gaze meeting Aarya’s like she had been expecting her all along.

“I always knew you’d find your way here,” she murmured, voice soft, warm.

Aarya choked back the wave of emotions crashing against her ribs. “Why did you leave?”

Her mother sighed, placing the brush down carefully. “I never left. Not entirely.”

Aarya shook her head. “You vanished. No notes. No explanations. Just—gone.”

Her mother stepped closer, the weight of years pressing into every movement. “I had to protect something, Aarya. Something bigger than either of us.”

Aarya swallowed hard, the words heavy with implications. “Protect what?”

Her mother hesitated. Then, she gestured toward the painting.

Aarya turned—and gasped.

It was the same canvas she had painted during her first trial. But now, it was complete. A sprawling masterpiece of intertwined shadows and light, streaks of red and blue weaving into something almost alive.

“This is our legacy,” her mother whispered. “And now, it belongs to you.”

The painting pulsed.

Aarya reached for it, fingertips grazing the surface—

And the world shattered.

She was back in the chamber, gasping for breath, Veer gripping her shoulders, his eyes filled with alarm.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Aarya looked down at her hands. Paint streaked her fingers—her mother’s paint.

“She’s alive,” Aarya murmured, voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

Rhea exhaled slowly. “Then there is only one trial left.”

The final door loomed ahead, waiting.

Aarya straightened. She wasn’t afraid anymore.

She was ready.

~TO BE CONTINUED...