Tegan & The Shadow Realm: Blood of the Winged Goddess

The atmospheric chamber within Kandrakar hung heavy with a suffocating, unnatural chill. High above, the ethereal mists of the Fortress pulsed in violent, rhythmic surges—neither pure light nor total shadow, but a chaotic blur of both.
"Kandrakar's destiny is set in motion," Lord Von Flannel declared, his voice echoing off the ancient marble pillars as he turned toward Will Vandom and Leif, King of Deltora. "So be it... towards salvation or destruction. Which will the Winged Goddess choose as our destiny?"
Leif reached instinctively for the Belt of Deltora at his waist. Beneath his gauntlet, a sharp, searing heat pierced through the metal. In an instant, the ancient words from the Book of Deltora leaped vividly into his mind:
The Ruby, red as blood, gets warm in the presence of danger, or when evil threatens...
"The gem is burning," Leif gritted out, his eyes locked on the dark archway ahead. "The threat isn't coming—it’s already in this room."
"So the knights must have been our psychic invaders," Prince Phobos sneered from the shadows, stepping forward with his usual cold, calculated arrogance.
"I don't think so," Will interrupted, her hand clutched over the Heart of Kandrakar resting against her chest. Her eyes were distant, filled with a unsettling static. "That melody from my dream... it's still playing."
Phobos scoffed, stepping closer. "Pay no attention to the psychic invader behind the curtain, sister—"
"Look!" Will cut him off, pointing into the deep gloom at the far end of the sanctuary. "She was in the shadows the whole time, making us dance to her tune like marionettes! I bet she's the one pulling the strings, responsible for all the trouble in Kandrakar lately."
The subtle, haunting melody grew louder, vibrating through the stone floors and rattling the glass casing of the ancient archives. A faint silhouetted figure hummed in perfect unison with the phantom song, swaying gently as if guiding invisible threads tied to their very minds.
Will shivered, clutching her head as a wave of intense nausea swept over her. She looked up at Leif, her breath coming in shallow hitches.
"Is it possible," she whispered, "for someone to become sick from a dream?"

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