The Five Realms

Chapter 26: Chyna VI

Chapter 26: Through the Tunnel, Into the Depths

The bookshelf's hidden creek still echoed faintly in Chyna's ears, but now it was replaced by something deeper—a resonance that hummed under her skin, in the tight coil of her heart. She stood at the threshold, the runes above and around the carved inscription glowing softly, as if waiting for breath.

Taking a steadying breath, Chyna closed her eyes and whispered the ancient phrase she had learned—not from a book, but from memory that felt older than anything Earth had ever known:

"Yllan‑dor vi erûth naehara."

The carved letters quivered and flared, light spreading outward like a ripple in still water. It was not just sound that activated the portal—it was intention, clarity, anguish, hope. The doorway responded to her voice and her spirit in equal measure.

Her palms grew warm. Beads of sweat formed along her hairline. She could taste ash and pine and the lingering tang of dragon scales on her tongue. The world balanced on the cusp of a word, and she spoke it willingly, fully, with every fragile piece of herself laid bare.

The bookshelves groaned as they shifted outward on silent axles. Dust fell like tiny meteors. Arya stood beside her, voice calm yet earth-shaking:

"Speak not just the words, child. Feel their meaning."

Chyna inhaled. She felt—so deeply—her lineage: Eragon and Arya. The weight of twin destinies. The memory of fire and desperation in a charred forest. The promise that had called to her in dreams and in Lavendel's mind.

She stepped back. The stone portal opened wide, revealing the tunnel beyond: smooth, rune-veined walls, eyes of forgotten watchers glimmering in the shadows. The air came through cool and reverent, carrying the scent of iron, ash, and pine bark left over centuries ago.

Her heart thundered, and she realized she was breathing. Not just breathing, but alive—fully awake—for the first time in weeks.

Arya placed a hand on her shoulder, firm and grounding. "Magic is identity, not trickery. Today you drank from a well older than your mother's faith, older than cities. You revealed a truth..."

A faint tremor traced Chyna's spine. Magic was more than words. It was purpose, intent, morality. Every syllable Drank her lineage, and brought her home.

Fate stood nearby, eyes wide but peaceful—an unspoken reassurance that they stood together.

Joey's voice came low and quiet: "Are you all right?"

Chyna's hand brushed along the glowing runes. "I'm... ready."

The portal lay before them, a sapphire-black mouth into the earth. Behind, the world they came from. Ahead, the world that had always waited.

She glanced at Lavendel, whose lavender glow mirrored her own resolve. It was no longer just a bond of flame—it was destiny. And she was ready to walk into it.

The stone threshold breathed a breath older than memory as the first of them crossed. Chyna walked ahead, not because she wanted to lead, but because the door had answered her. It felt right to follow its call.

The tunnel extended before them like a story unspooling—arched stone veins glowing faintly with pale blue runes, like the skeleton of some great mythic beast. Cold air slipped over their skin, not biting, but watchful. It smelled of moss-drenched ash and quiet iron—a scent more belonging to dreams than soil.

Fate lingered near the entrance, her shoulders small beneath her jacket, wide eyes trying to drink it all in. She didn't speak, but she didn't have to. There was awe in her breath, and beneath it, a strain of understanding, as if this place hummed the same lonely note she did.