Page 82 of The Onyx Covenant

Dream-Aria steps forward, her expression suddenly cold. “She’s trying to take you away from me,” she says to Kieran, her voice hardening. “She wants everything to go back to the way it was—you with your pack, me with mine, never allowed to be together.”

“That’s not true,” I protest. “Aria—the real Aria—feels something for you, too. I saw it when you both returned to the camp. But this illusion, this fantasy of a perfect life together? It’s not helping either of you.”

Kieran looks torn, glancing between dream-Aria and me. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know this isn’t the reality and you’re the dream?”

It’s a fair question, one I’m not entirely sure how to answer. Then I remember something—a detail so small but so distinctly Aria that no dream could replicate it perfectly.

“When Aria gets nervous,” I say carefully, “she touches the small scar at the base of her throat—the one she got when we were kids, climbing trees near the river. She does it unconsciously, a habit she’s never been able to break.” I look pointedly at dream-Aria. “But your version doesn’t have that scar, does she? Because it’s not a detail you would know about.”

Kieran’s gaze snaps to dream-Aria’s throat, which is indeed flawlessly smooth. Doubt creeps into his expression, and the edges of the cottage seem to waver slightly, like heat rising from summer-baked stones.

“She’s lying,” dream-Aria insists, but her voice sounds different now—higher, strained, less like the friend I know.

“No,” Kieran says slowly, backing away from her. “She’s right. The real Aria has a scar… and she would never wear a dress like that. She hates anything that restricts her movement.” His eyes clear, he focuses on me with new intensity. “This isn’t real, is it? None of it.”

As he speaks the words, the cottage begins to dissolve around us, the walls melting away like wax, the dream-Aria fading into nothingness with a howl of rage that chills my blood.

“How do we get back?” Kieran asks, grabbing my arm as the ground beneath us starts to disintegrate.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I was told to find you and bring you back, but not how to actually return.”

The world continues to collapse around us, replaced by swirling silver mist that obscures everything beyond a few feet. In the distance, I hear a voice—Theron, calling my name, his tone frantic with worry.

“We need to follow that voice,” I say, pulling Kieran toward the sound. “Focus on Theron. Remember who he is to you, what he means. He’s your anchor in the real world.”

Together, we push through the mist, which grows thicker and more resistant with each step. It’s like wading through honey, every movement requiring tremendous effort. Kieran’s hand clutches mine with bruising force, as if afraid we’ll be separated in this formless void.

“Theron!” Kieran shouts. “We’re here! We’re coming back!”

The mist swirls faster, taking on a violent quality, trying to pull us in different directions. Kieran’s grip slips, and I tighten my hold desperately.

“Don’t let go!” I cry. “Whatever happens, don’t let go!”

A tremendous force yanks us apart, and I scream as Kieran’s hand is torn from mine. The mist engulfs me completely, and for a terrifying moment, I’m utterly alone in the void, panic clawing at my throat.

Then strong hands grasp my shoulders, shaking me roughly. “Lyra! Come back to me. Come back right now, damn it!”

Theron’s voice is so close now. I reach blindly toward it, and suddenly…

I gasp, my eyes flying open to find myself back in the clearing under the Whisper Willow. Theron kneels before me, his face inches from mine, eyes wild with dread and relief. Behind him, Kieran is sitting up, rubbing his head and blinking rapidly.

“You did it,” Theron breathes, pulling me against him in a fierce embrace. “Gods, I thought I’d lost you both. You went completely still, just like him, those silver lines appearing on your skin.”

I glance down at my arms, but the lines are already fading, leaving no trace of their presence.

“What happened?” Kieran asks, his voice hoarse as if from disuse. “I was… somewhere else. Somewhere perfect.”

“The willow shows what you most desire,” purrs the creature, still perched in the branches above. She looks disappointed, as if she’d hoped we wouldn’t return. “Few have the strength to recognize illusion and reject it. Fewer still can lead others out of the dream.”

I struggle to my feet, Theron’s arm supporting me as my legs tremble with exhaustion.

“We most likely heard Rachel scream. Where is she? What happened to her?”

The creature sighs, a sound like wind through dead leaves. “As I told you, she’s hiding somewhere near.” She tilts her head, considering. “The maze speaks in many voices, using memories, fears, and desires. What you heard may not have been real at all.”

“The maze was mimicking a scared female voice?” Anger flares in my chest. “Why? To lure us here?”

“Perhaps,” the creature admits with a shrug. “Or perhaps to show him”—she gestures to Kieran—“what he truly fears to lose.”

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