Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

THE AIR IN THE ATRIUM is a textured gray, like the clouds that clot the sky before a storm. There are no visible walls, and the floor looks like it's made of crushed black diamonds.

I have no idea what this space is—it could exist outside the other castle, outside the other side, outside everything.

As Antonela walks onward, shadowy doors begin to spring up on either side of her. There are no handles or textures, and they look like rectangular black holes, each with its own distinctive pull.

Antonela keeps moving, like she's trying to find the door that calls to her loudest of all. Her attention is drawn to a door that isn't black like all the others but bloodred. The red smoke billows less like air and more like a sea of blood. Right as my sister takes a step toward it, something happens to the adjacent door.

Black smoke starts to puff from the door-shaped black hole, and my sister freezes at the sounds of others approaching.

She looks around desperately for a hiding place, and when she doesn't see one, she raises her hood to cover her face.

At first, I think she's given up—then her cloak darkens to black and she shoots up two feet in height, until she's the same size as the three instructors now approaching.

She's casting a glamour . Seems she took her instructor's advice and chose to work on one technique.

Antonela joins the other administrators' ranks, pretending to be one of them. As they gather round the burning doorway, smoke billows out until it blankets everything. Once it clears, a child with black eyeballs steps through.

The others are quick to carry the new student away, but Antonela hangs back, staring after them. She must be wondering the same thing I am— Is that how she looked when she crossed over?

She reverts to her original form and keeps walking until walls bloom around her, and she enters a majestic golden chamber with a dozen windows and a domed ceiling. I look up at a ring of designs that makes me think of the twelve constellations. Each drawing has a different word embedded that lines up with a window, giving the impression of a clockface.

Antonela walks ahead, and she stops at one of the windows. She looks out for so long that I go over to see what view has captured her attention.

It's not a window. It's a mirror .

Yet the glass is empty, like my sister casts no reflection. I look up and see the word overhead: Caidoz.

She walks ahead to the next mirror, which doesn't register her, either. Overhead, I read: Siranul.

She walks past the next glass, barely giving it a glance—then she does a double take.

This time, she reflects.

I look up: Earth.

Antonela stares at herself. She approaches the mirror, reaching a hand toward the surface. As soon as her finger touches the glass, her body stiffens and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

She begins to seize, her whole body shaking violently. I look around for help, but I don't see anyone else here, and each second of Antonela's seizure seems torturous—

Then at last, it stops.

And my sister is sucked into the mirror.

I follow her through the glass, into a small room with the same sentient red walls as the castle. I barely bother taking in my surroundings because I'm distracted by the sight of Antonela curled on the floor, trembling.

I think she's seizing again, but then she sits up, and I see a change in her expression. There's an intensity in her gaze that wasn't there until now.

Looking around, I don't see anything in this cave other than a large hourglass. Nearly all the sand has already funneled through the top chamber to the lower one. The grains are dropping slowly, but time will be up soon.

Antonela approaches the hourglass, transfixed. She touches the glass gently, but nothing happens.

An idea flashes in her eyes, and she raises her other hand, pushing against the timer like she plans to tip it over—

"I would not do that."

My sister spins around. A hooded being has followed us through the mirror.

She watches them with dread, likely anticipating pain or punishment or both. Yet this instructor stays silent and still.

"Why not?" she dares to ask.

It's the first spark of boldness I've seen in her, but I don't know if it's borne of defiance or defeat. She could simply be past caring what happens anymore.

" Time is an uncurable curse, of which you are afflicted," says the hooded figure. "You cannot kill time, nor can you stop or control it. This hourglass is your only aid. It strips time of its invisibility, so it cannot sneak up on you."

There's something familiar about this instructor's voice.

"Who are you?" asks my sister, like she hears it, too.

They take a step forward, and Antonela backs up, tensing, like a bird poised to fly. Then they throw their hood back.

The face that's revealed is otherworldly yet familiar. They have long silver hair, and their eyes seem to contain every color. I'm reminded of Sebastián, but I get the impression this being could be even more ancient.

"Brálaga," says Antonela, recognizing them at the same time I do.

As I take in their features, I realize I've seen them before—the Aquarius-like water fountain in Oscuro's plaza.

"What—what is happening to me?" asks Antonela, her voice thick.

"You were hit with what I call an Earth vaccination," says Brálaga. "Your mind was overcome with images and concepts and emotions from your home world. The ocean, the sun, the moon, the stars. Parents, friends, family, siblings, children. Love, laughter, grief, rage, hope, sex—everything was fed into your brain, all at once. This inoculation is a fail-safe, should you make it this far, meant to prevent you from going into catatonic shock if you make it back."

It's clear from Antonela's face that she registered none of that. She looks distressed. "I… feel something. It is inside me," she says, scratching at her chest. "I cannot describe it… like a new organ."

"Try to describe it," encourages Brálaga.

"I… need. I want ?"

"What is it you want?"

"I want… to experience it. All of it. I want to go home ."

"Of course you do," says Brálaga. "Now that you've had a taste, you are ravenous for more. It was my intention to awaken your appetite. That is why I made an exception for your kind, giving you access to the Atrium."

"My kind ?"

"You are a human of Earth," they inform her, and it's clear from her blank reaction that this doesn't mean much. "Tell me, what made you so eager to access the Atrium?"

"Something an instructor said. That they meant to cure me of my humanity . It made me think I might not belong here."

"You are right," says Brálaga matter-of-factly. "The doorways you saw all lead to different worlds, universes, dimensions, whatever you choose to call them. All my grandchildren arrive here through one of those doors."

"So—so other places exist, besides the castle?"

My sister's question sounds so innocent, and I'm overwhelmed with pity for her. All she has ever known in life is this Hell.

"Too many to count, child. These doors lead only to the worlds I know about."

"And one of them goes to Earth?"

"No," says Brálaga, and my twin's chest deflates with defeat. "That door only opens when this countdown ends."

She shakes her head. "I do not understand."

"You are just as unlikely to understand the explanation, but I will still provide it. This castle is my fail-safe. I have established a foothold in many universes, and should I ever need a secure hideout, this castle is in a dimension I alone control that is built on my blood. Yet maintaining this realm requires an energy source. There must constantly be new blood cycling through from across many dimensions for the castle to remain self-sustaining. That is why you and your cousins are here."

I have about a million questions, and I hope Antonela asks some of them.

"What is graduation ?" she asks instead.

Brálaga frowns with a grim displeasure. "You are familiar with the beings who reach into the castle from beyond, through the walls?" She nods in assent, cringing as she darts a glance at the fleshy red walls. "They are not outsiders, nor are they attacking us," says Brálaga. "They are your predecessors."

Antonela's face slackens with a bewilderment that seems to rob her of speech.

"I am not proud of this," Brálaga explains, "but most—if not all—of your classmates will perish here. We pump their blood to run this world, and as their bodies wear out, we must cycle in a new generation of children. Graduation means your class will soon be swept into the walls."

Antonela looks as horrified as I feel. I stare, transfixed, at the sentient flesh surrounding us. The walls contract subtly at a steady rate, hardly noticeable, almost like they're breathing. It makes me wonder if the other castle exists in the belly of a living creature.

"Why are you admitting all this to me?" asks Antonela, and my own muscles contract in fear for her fate.

"Because this is not your path," says Brálaga. "Humans are something of a special project of mine. You are young evolutionarily. You do not yet have interdimensional travel, and as your world is ruled by matter, it is not hospitable to many species. Yet humans' greatest asset is also their greatest flaw—their outsize emotions."

Antonela presses a hand to her heart, like she's pointing to where she feels .

"Exactly," they say. "That is why at school we aim to stamp it out of you. The affliction of emotions is not exclusive to humans, yet the ailment is more prevalent among your kind because you do not possess magic. There is no counterbalance to the power of feelings."

As if to illustrate, my sister's face sours. "Why am I here if I was never cut out for casting?"

From her defiance, I know her classmates and this castle have not broken her. Not yet.

"Because I am betting on you."

Brálaga's voice deepens, and on hearing that note of pride again, I wonder if they realize they've also succumbed to this affliction of outsize emotions. "You lack power because magic requires sacrifice . You risk nothing because you believe you have nothing to lose. Until now, you never wanted ."

Antonela looks confused, and I don't blame her. This is all overwhelming. She's gone from lifelong numbness to experiencing every feeling possible.

"At first, I scorned and pitied humans," Brálaga goes on, like they're conversing with a friend. "I could not believe such a weak species had not been destroyed. Yet I watched them for so long that something happened which I did not anticipate… I fell in love with the fools."

Brálaga smiles again, and I spy Mom's and my solitary dimple.

"So my bloodline was born. Yet before abandoning the dimension, I left a way for my most gifted descendants to cross over."

"Why would you want humans here at all if we are so weak and ill-suited for magic?" Antonela seems to be reading my thoughts.

"You are here because I want something as well," says Brálaga. "My goal is for my blood to become the building block of magic on Earth. For that to happen, I must keep waiting for one of you to make it back."

"What do you mean by one of you ?"

"My dear," says Brálaga with a pitying look. "Not a single human caster has ever survived."