Chapter 4 – The Castle of Gwydion

The fall ended with a crash.

Victoria groaned, staring up at a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations that shimmered and shifted like living stars. Her lungs burnt as she sat up, brushing dust off her dress. Cold marble stretched beneath her palms, smooth and polished, and the air carried a strange hum, as though the walls themselves breathed.

She wasn’t in Wynthorne anymore.

The hall around her stretched wide, lined with towering marble pillars etched with runes that glowed faintly like molten veins. Banners hung between them, their fabric rippling although no wind stirred. Torches burnt in sconces, but the flames were blue, throwing ghostly light across the chamber.

Victoria’s hand flew to her neck, clutching the silver key that had dragged her here. It pulsed warmly, as if proud of itself.

“Selena? Anthony?” She called, her voice cracking as it echoed back at her.

Something glimmered near her foot. She leaned down. It was a wand—long, slender, silver-lined, with an opal pulsing faintly at its tip.

Victoria blinked. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”

She reached for it, half-afraid it would vanish. But the moment her fingers brushed the surface, the wand trembled in her hand.

And then it spoke.

“Finally! Do you know how humiliating it is to be left lying on the floor like a stick? Honestly, Vic, your timing is dreadful.”

Victoria dropped it with a yelp. The wand clattered across the marble. “S-Selena?!”

The wand huffed in an unmistakably familiar voice. “Of course it’s me. Why are you looking at me like I’ve sprouted horns?”

Victoria’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Because—you’re a wand!”

“What are you talking about? I’m right here.”

Before Victoria could answer, a thunk echoed behind her. She spun around and nearly shrieked.

Leaning against a pillar was a bow. Its wood was black as obsidian, its string a line of fire that spat sparks onto the marble.

And then Anthony’s voice groaned, “Ugh, my back. That fall was brutal. Don’t just stand there, Vic; pick me up before I accidentally torch this palace.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “You—you’re a bow. A flaming bow!”

“What?” Anthony grumbled. “I’m standing right here! … Wait—why do my arms feel weirdly stretchy?”

Her heart thudded in her chest. They didn’t see it. To Selena and Anthony, they were still themselves, perfectly normal. To her, they were weapons.

“This can’t be happening,” Victoria whispered, clutching her head. “This cannot be happening.”

The massive doors at the end of the hall burst open before she could think further.

Armoured guards stormed in, spears raised, their armour glowing faintly under the torchlight. Between them strode a young man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his cloak billowing like a shadow. His hair was dark, his jaw sharp, and his eyes a stormy grey that pinned her where she stood.

“Who dares disrupt the wards of this castle?” His voice rang out, deep and commanding.

Victoria froze, caught like a child sneaking sweets. She glanced down at her hands—one clutching a glowing wand that wouldn’t stop humming, the other holding a bow sparking small fires on the marble.

“Uh… surprise?” she offered weakly.

The young man’s gaze dropped to the silver key at her neck, which pulsed brighter under his stare. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Before he could speak, Anthony-the-bow gave a violent crackle, sending a stray ember onto the hem of the stranger’s cloak. Smoke curled. A neat little burn hole appeared.

The hall went utterly silent.

The young man looked down at the scorch, then back at Victoria. His jaw tightened, his eyes blazing with sharp, furious heat.

Victoria forced a nervous laugh. “I can explain.”

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