The air’s hot and the dust sticks inside her nose. Her knees ache as he kneels before the Chapel’s life size iron statues. All aligned in a row across the front dais, the Celestial Family, waits to hear her prayers. Splotches of sun pierce through the dirty stain glass windows; sprawling over the floor and vaulted ceiling. She didn’t think she would see the inside of the Royal Chapel ever again. After her mother’s funeral, her father locked and barred the doors shut. He cast the priest from the palace, and never spoke of it again.

It’s not his palace anymore, a thought that empowers and scares her. Which is one reason she's here. Behind her, sitting in the abandoned pews are her interlopers. The swishing of skirts tells her Sara’s kicking her dangling feet; more likely she’s counting the stars painted between the wooden beams. A steady chipping sound reveals Chris using his dagger to prying old paint from the pews. She doesn’t need to hear the shuffling of Zack’s feet; she already knows he’s guarding the door.

Kneeling before the holy statues, she whispers the invocation until her body becomes an empty vessel. Chatter from hypercritical voices overflows her mind. They only way to silence them is by focusing on the pulsating blood whirling through her body. Magic mixing together, flowing through the darkness, until it engulfs her. Her attention drifts from her friends behind her to those who walked before, and who’ll walk after; allowing her prayers to take seed in the nothingness.

Wisps of an image of a jewelled pendulum on a gold chain swings before her eyes. It jerks, slowly swinging in circles unhindered. I request guidance from the heavenly souls in Paradise. The path I walk is in shadow, I pray for illumination, so I may not walk in fear. The pendulum spins, transforming into a swirling beacon of light.

It fades revealing a cerulean sky overhead. The sunshine soothes her stiff muscles while sand tickles her bare feet. Spread before her is an endless beckoning ocean. A familiar beach from a familiar dream. She races to the sea and its welcoming waves; giggling as the water licks her knees. But a growl from the shore interrupts the play.

She turns, expecting Eclipse, instead a white tiger cub rolls across the sand. He regards her with captivating azure eyes, giving a playful roar, he scurries to a house on the hill behind her. She chases him, across the sand, over the smooth rocks, past the fountains and groomed hedges to the grey home majestically overlooking the rocky point.

The cub nips at her heels leading her to the white veranda stretching the length of the house. She admires the ocean, longing to feel weightless in its caress, but something sinister calls from within. It pulls her across the creaking planks to the window. The glass is cool to the touch but inside burns; the heat radiating just beyond her reach. It blossoms; beginning from the corners until it illuminates the room in a vermilion light. The glass warms, melding against her skin, until she’s forced through the barrier.

The four figures standing in the centre ignore her. But she watches her grandfather scoop a child into a tight bear hug. He’s older than she remembers, with shoulder length stringy white hair. A bushy mustache and stained teeth. He’s tall, taller than her father. And he always smelled of pipe smoke. Averting her eyes from the tender scene, she focuses on the two parents whispering out of earshot.

“Fireflies?” the man asks.

“Allan, look…” she motions to the window. Alexanderia’s streets clogged with people carrying torches replaces the glistening seashore. The scene from her nightmares replays as her mother whispers, “I think it's Remo. I told you what he said, what he threatened, now he’s here.”

“Hush, Emilia,” stroking her cheek, “I will not let him succeed.”

“Your Majesty!” two soldiers bow to her grandfather. “The rioters are at the palace gates.”

“Where is Captain Stone?” the old king demands.

“Being summoned to the palace as we speak, Your Majesty.”

“And General Braun? Captain Kipling?”

“They’re…” the soldiers exchange fearful glances, “leading the riots, Your Majesty.”

“Fetch my sword!” “Fetch my sword!” She remembers his portraits; a mighty warrior king. But the man before her is old, overweight, and unfit for battle.

“Father, you can’t fight,” Allan protests, he turns to the soldiers, “leave men to guard my family but the rest come with me. We will defend the palace until Stone arrives.”

“Daddy what’s going on?”

“Allan, please no,”

“Son hurry, I hear them.” Her father kisses her mother passionately one last time. How in love they look, full of passion and vibrance. A display her younger self forgot.

Ghastly shouting faces fan the flames spreading over the room. A shadow man emerges, draped in bedlam, and marches to where her grandfather sits on the throne. Screams tear the air, but her mother shields her from the mob, as Kipling yanks her grandfather from his seat of power. His muddy boot stomps the king’s chest as he hacks off the head; flinging blood over her mother’s dress.

“Long live the king!” he laughs, presenting the head to the mob, feeding their need for blood. She screams and crumbles to the floor as her grandfather’s head, with bulging yellow eyes, rolls to her mother’s feet. “Aren’t you happy my love, I did all of this for you.”

“I want nothing of this. I told you Remo, I love my husband.”

“A feeble-minded man like him, he isn’t worthy. He does not deserve you.”

“And you do? My answer stands. Leave and take this madness with you.”

“Or what? Your hero is out there, probably dead as we speak. What magic do you possess that can stop me?” his icy green eyes burn into hers, “you’ll die before you summon anything.”

“Allan won’t allow your plan to succeed. You will never possess Alexanderia.” Fear bubbles in her chest as he approaches; aiming the sword at her mother’s heart.

“You know what I desire, one word and all of it ends. Say it or your blood paints these walls.”

“Kill me and I curse your soul to eternal damnation! I rather die than forsake those I love!”

“As always, Your Highness, your wish is my command.”

He buries the sword into her torso; grinning as blood, like ink, stains her dress. A piercing scream fills the room but, for the first time, she realizes the scream haunting her nightmares, is her own. He twists the blade, but she remains defiant; placing her hands on the flat steel and takes a final breath. She wraps her tiny hands around her mother’s legs as an exploding white light pierces the flames. Shutting her eyes, she hears Kipling’s screams echo. When it recedes Kipling’s body rests lifelessly across the room.

“Don’t fear my daughter,” her mother struggles to stand, “embrace the heart’s light,” she collapses on the marble floor as blood seeps from her mortal wound.

When she opens her eyes, she’s standing on the veranda with a cool breeze kissing her skin. She searches the window for her mother, but the opaque glass reveals nothing. I thought I remembered everything from that night. How did I forget her last words? The cub scratches the wooden boards and motions to another window. Her heart pounds as she faces the cracked glass.

In a similar fashion, her body moves from outside to the world behind. Fashionably dressed guests crowd the space; all chatting with drinks in their hands. She bypasses the attendees, ignoring offers of food, and arrives at the centre of the festivities. Nicole, dressed in white silk, waves. She calls to her, but the smiling faces twist into frightening versions of themselves.

“Moira? You look pale?” her face stretches and folds into itself. The floor slants; her body shifts like she’s slipping off the edge. Nicole speaks in a slow deep voice and grows to twice her size. “I’m glad you shared this day with me.” Her mouth hinges open like a snake and threatens to swallow her whole.

She can’t scream, her throat burns, but her feet don’t hesitate to act. She pushes past the nightmarish forms of guests. A servant composed of colours and shapes, balancing a tray on his palm wobbles towards her. He’s arm's length from her when he trips, sending his silver tray crashing over the tiles. His face snaps into focus, revealing every detail; bushy brows, plump lips, and a scar slicing across his left cheek ending at his ear. As she moves to gather the broken glass his hand grips her shoulder while a knife pierces her stomach.

“Sorry,” his foul breath invades her nose, “orders are orders.” A searing pain flows through her chest, she stares at painted angels on the ceiling before the room fades to black.

Her heart races as she lays staring at the beams above the wooden deck. She pats her torso, relieved there’s no blood but her body twinges recalling the knife wound. A darken ocean crashes against the shore as she climbs to her feet. The wind howls rattling the planks. There isn’t an entrance, only windows stretching the length of the house. Around the corner is another wall of windows. There was a door, wasn’t there? She turns the third corner to see the cub waiting for her.

“If it’s like the last one, then I’ll pass.” He gives a short chirp like purr and motions to the dirty window peppered with cobwebs. He yelps, his tiny paws thumping the wood, as his dazzling eyes coax her closer. Surrendering to his pleas, she presses her face to the glass as thunder booms behind her.

The force yanks her through the glass planting her feet on a grassy hilltop overlooking the Ruby Gate. Two men on horseback approach with an unmanned third horse behind. The bearded leader is familiar but he’s older, refined, and statuesque; carrying himself like a military man despite a golden crown resting on his thick brown hair. The second man, with blonde curls, is younger with scruffy hair on his narrow jawline.

“Hope you know how to ride Mistress Mage,” the leader motions to the third horse. He helps her into the saddle, “there you go, snug like a bug in a rug.” His smile puts her at ease, his hand lingers on her knee before he climbs into his own saddle. “That’s all General, reassure my wife we’ll return before too long.”

“Are you sure Your Majesty?” The younger asks. She glances at the Gate; he’s not king of my Alexanderia...is he?

“The queen needs you more than I. Besides, I’m travelling with Mages; I’m probably the safest man in the world.” He winks at her. Her throat locks, sealing in her countless questions. “My daughter mentioned you don’t say much. You’re so persistent to return to the Kingdom of Ancients; I’m curious about the story behind this rash decision.” You and me both. She follows his lead, noting the saddle is stocked with supplies but there’s no sign of her staff. As they continue into the forest outside the kingdom, an eerie silence blankets them. The birds refuse to sing, as if nature is holding its breath. “Something’s wrong,” instinctively he places his hand on his sword’s hilt. It’s then she notices the unique pommel. The sword! His name licks her lips.

A chill climbs her neck, Mages. He draws his sword as boulders shoot from the dirt, her horse bucks her from the saddle and she crashes on the trail. The trees spring to life, wrapping their branches around the king and his horse. Another branch cracks and crashes on top of her.

Before the branch crushes her, the forest vanishes leaving her wading in a shallow fluorescent indigo river. A sparkling crystal hangs in the blackness above her. Her fingers stretch towards it but it shatters, dispatching pieces through the dark twilight and stabbing the water. The radiant glass vibrates under the surface then twists higher; forming the luminated shapes of the Celestial Family.

The figures stand like the numbers on a clock, in their divine order, with the Holy Mother and Father in the first position. Alona, crowned with stars, holds a knife to the sky in her left hand and the moon in her right palm. Beside her is her husband, Zander, the Holy Father and family patriarch. The sun pulses in his left hand while his right holds a sword pointing downward. A grey wrap covers his eyes.

The wise Ferus, the eldest daughter, stands on her father’s right at the quarter clock position. Delicate sparrows hop between her elegant antlers as she strings her bow. At the half clock is the temptress Sherseas; with starfish in her wild hair. She lounges in the water stroking her fishtail while holding a trident in the other.

To Moira’s left are the youngest siblings, twin sons Tesup and Taru, the most unsettling of all the gods. Their stretched arms cling around each other’s waist. Tesup’s white bulging eyes stare into the abyss while Taru’s elongated gaping mouth opens then slams shut. In the last position, to Alona’s right is the eldest son Hadak the tallest of all and dressed in thick armour decorated in flames. Armed with swords, knives, and battle lance, it's he she prays to.

Kipling’s blood needs to paint the soil and it’s Hadak’s blessing she desires. A pendulum spins like a broken timepiece in her hands and pulls taut towards the deity deciding her fate. The vision of Zander smiles; with a nod of reassurance, he bows vanishing in the darkness. The rest of the spectres follow as warmth washes over her body, ripping her from her trance.

Her muscles ache as she stands facing the holy statues positioned in the royal chapel. Zander, the Angel of Light and Keeper of Order. His path is of obedience to a status quo. As the deity protecting Alexanderia his blessing confirms she is to remain in her role. “I recognize your decision, but you are wrong.” The candle before his feet blows out; leaving a string of smoke weaving towards the ceiling. Angry whispering hums from the rear of the chapel and Eclipse’s growly voice echoes. But she ignores the scene, her body aches and her patient for others is thin.

“Her Majesty has important business with us,” Beckham argues, “now step aside. Your transgressions are infuriating.”

“She won’t see you,” Zack counters.

“This is highly inappropriate in the Royal Chapel,” Eclipse growls.

“You both are stepping out of line!”

“As are you my lord,” Lex’s frustration cuts through the air, “I’m sure you and the Lords can settle it among yourselves for now. When Her Majesty is ready, she’ll seek you out.”

“This is urgent and must be settled immediately with Her Majesty’s approval.”

“For Gods’ sake! The king’s body is still warm, let her mourn, give the girl that.” Lex and Beckham argue, with Eclipse and Zack chiming in as well. It’s all her fault. After her father’s body was handed over to the doctor, she made Chris break into the Royal Chapel. Of course, Sara found her, then Zack, but she insisted on not being disturbed. It was only a matter of time before Lex and Beckham found her.

“I’ll see you both removed for your negligence and transgression!” Beckham shouts.

“That is enough from both of you!” Eclipse roars, then the heavy door slams, rattling glass panes.

“Lord Orbit, I’ll leave you as well.” Lex adds, “Captain, I’m responsible for her safety, and no matter the reason, I will always know her location. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Moira you were like that forever,” Sara spies her observing the bickering and wraps her arms around her waist.

“Two hours,” Chris clarifies, “we were worried.”

“A ritual prayer is nothing concerning,” Eclipse hangs his head as he approaches, “I am deeply sorry.”

“I’m glad you returned.” Her heart is too heavy to smile but she’s thankful he’s here. “He played into Remo’s plan; he didn’t stand a chance,” she runs her fingers through his fur. “Beckham needs to see me then?”

“We tried to fend him off for as long as we could,” Chris adds. Zack stands off to the side, avoiding the thief at all costs. “But if you need space, say the word and I’ll sneak you out the back before anyone notices,” he winks and Zack huffs disapprovingly.

“Did They answer?” Eclipse motions to the altar.

She glances back at the cast iron statue of Zander in the middle of the others. You’re wrong, she thinks. There’s too much anger in her heart to keep her on fortitude’s path. But the visions he gave still linger. They felt too real to be a dream, and too puzzling to ignore. But it’ll have to wait, the fiend beckons and she can’t hide in the chapel forever.

“I received Zander’s blessing,” she mumbles.

“A most joyous outcome.”