King of Thorns — Feature Film: The Distant Lady of the Crystal Water
The downpour struck the ancient slate of Domino’s high parapets with the force of thrown iron.
Inside the Grand Chamber, the hearth crackled, casting elongated shadows across the vaulted ceiling, but no fire could warm the cold silence that had settled over the realm. King Oritel stood by the arched window, his hand rested heavy on the hilt of his sword, staring out into the roaring dark. Beside him, Queen Marion sat motionless at the council table, her hand hovering over a parchment map of the realm that had been inked and re-inked until the leather was thin.
It had been three long moons since the royal lineage was shattered. Princess Daphne and little Princess Bloom had vanished into the twilight without a sound, without a struggle, as if dissolved by the morning mist.
Oritel had summoned every force Domino possessed. The Royal Guard swept the mountain passes; the court sorcerers burned through hundreds of spell-candles, reading the ash; and grand archmages from across the realm drew scrying circles until their hands bled ink. Every trace led to a dead end—a plain, forgotten garden bounded by an moss-covered stone wall at the edge of the royal forest. The girls’ footprints simply stopped in the damp earth beneath an old ivy arch, as though they had walked straight into thin air.
"No spell reaches them, Marion," Oritel said, his voice raw. "The archmages say the air within that walled garden holds no residual aura. It is as if they were plucked from the tapestry of the world entirely."
Marion did not answer immediately. She reached out, her fingers tracing the faded golden seal on the edge of the table. "They are alive, Oritel. A mother knows when the flame goes out. Theirs is still burning... but it is flickering in a wind I cannot feel."
A sudden heavy knock echoed through the chamber, followed by the grinding of the iron doors. Lord Chamberlain entered, bowing low, his face pale beneath the torchlight.
"Your Majesties... an itinerant mystic demands audience. He claims to bear word from the stone wall."
"Bring him in," Oritel commanded, turning sharply.
The guards did not escort a hooded scholar or an embroidered wizard, but an old, hunchbacked traveler carrying a shallow wooden basin filled with brackish pond water. Embedded in the center of the water sat a creature that made the court guards draw their daggers—a massive, emerald-skinned frog, its eyes glowing like polished amber in the dim light.
Before Oritel could speak, the frog opened its wide maw. The voice that echoed through the stone hall was not a croak, but a resonant, double-toned chime that vibrated in the teeth of every man present.
"Seek not the dust of the road, King of Domino," the creature croaked, its amber eyes reflecting the hearthfire. "The blood of your house walks where light refracts and shadows curve. The lost daughters of the Dragon Flame shall return only from many a faraway Reflection. Look to the glass, or lose them to the dark."
With a sudden splash, the frog sank into the murky basin, leaving the water perfectly still and clear.
Far beyond the borders of known realms, within a realm where the sky was the color of bruised velvet, Daphne stood before a massive archway of carved obsidian. The air smelled of ozone and ancient paper. Behind her, the quiet garden with its cold stone wall had dissolved hours ago, replaced by an endless corridor lined with towering, silvered mirrors that stretched into infinity.
"There it is, Bloom. The castle," Daphne whispered, her voice trembling as she held her younger sister’s hand tightly.
Through the nearest mirror's polished surface, the distant spires of Domino shone like golden needles against a crimson sky. But the image wavered, distorted by dark ripples, as if viewed through turbulent water.
Bloom pulled back slightly, her small hand clutching Daphne's cloak. "Daphne... it doesn't look right. It looks like... like the storybook. Like Sleeping Beauty. The thorn hedges are growing around the towers." Bloom stared up at her sister, her eyes wide with a quiet terror. "Is it too late to go home?"
"It's never too late," Daphne said, though her own heart hammered against her ribs. She looked around the hall of glass. Something fundamental was wrong with the magic binding this place. A mistake had been made—an ancient ward misspoken, a portal left unsealed—and she could feel the weight of that error settling over them both like a shroud. A mistake that would haunt them all if they did not move quickly.
Suddenly, the mirrors around them vibrated with a low, dissonant hum. The silver surfaces darkened, swirling with purple mist.
“Bloom... Bloom...”
The voice did not come from the hallway. It echoed from the depths of the glass itself—a frantic, ghostly whisper that seemed to bleed from another time entirely.
"Daphne, listen to me!" the voice gasped, rising above the low hum. "You must find Politya! You must find her before the Trix do! She is hidden deep within the Room of Faraway Reflections!"
Bloom gasped, pressing her back against Daphne. "Who was that?"
"A warning," Daphne said, her aura flaring with golden light as she stepped between Bloom and the nearest shifting mirror. "Hold onto me, Bloom. Do not look into their eyes if they appear."
They rushed down the grand gallery toward the central chamber, where the largest mirror stood—a massive oval framed by frozen stone waves. Outside the tall lancet windows of the mirror-hall, the sky turned ink-black. The storm that had been brewing across dimensions was about to break.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the jagged glass scattered across the floor. Thunder shook the floorboards beneath their boots.
Through the high window of the mirrored chamber, they looked out into the void. Below them, a vast, dark expanse of water began to churn and boil. Great columns of water rose up from the abyss, defying gravity, reaching like desperate, liquid fingers toward the pale crescent moon hanging in the dark.
Daphne read the ancient rune carved into the sill at the base of the grand mirror, its glowing script pulsing in time with her heart.
"When waters rise up to the moon," Daphne read aloud, her voice ringing clear against the gathering storm, "visit the Grand Lady of La Rochulche Lagoon."
She turned to Bloom, extending her glowing hand toward the liquid surface of the great mirror. "We aren't going straight back to the palace, little sister. We have to go deeper first."
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