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Tristan’s brows furrowed, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. The depth of his disturbance mirrored Aurora’s own internal struggle.
“Like I said, I came because I needed a break,” he said, pulling away from her. “But if you don’t want to dance anymore, then we might as well head over to the golden tower while I still have time.”
With those words, Tristan charged out of the double doors, his strides leading him back toward the garden.
Aurora followed after him, but as soon as she stepped outside, the illusion of the beautiful gown faded away, replaced by her familiar leather attire. Her heart sank as the moon cast a gentle glow on their path. She couldn’t shake the ache that resonated within her. She knew she had made the right decision in pushing him away, yet her heart yearned for a different outcome. The echoes of their dance lingered, a melody that reverberated through her soul.
In the depths of her being, Aurora hoped that someday Tristan would find the love and happiness he sought in the real world. She had to reconcile herself with the fact that her role in his life was limited to the realm of dreams.
However, there was no time to dwell on her regrets. With renewed determination fueling her every step, she joined Tristan and mounted Midnight.
Tristan sat behind her. She could feel him breathing near the back of her neck. His warmth beckoned her to press her back to his chest, but she resisted. Without saying anything else, she yanked at the reins, urging Midnight forward.
It didn’t take them long to arrive at the bridge. They crossed without a problem. Once they reached the tower entrance, Aurora dismounted her horse, and Tristan followed her.
Pulling out the poem from her pocket, she held it up. Aurora cleared her throat, her voice steady as she recited the poem, its words echoing in the stillness of the night. With a haunting creak, the door swung open.
The empty expanse of the tower stretched before them, its hollow depths echoing with a haunting stillness. Aurora led the way as Tristan followed closely behind. She ascended a spiral staircase, twisting higher and higher, her anticipation mounting with each step. This was it. Her father’s secret was at the very top, and she was finally going to get the answers she’d been seeking.
But as they reached the midway point, their ascent came to an abrupt halt. The staircase ended, leaving them suspended in mid-air, their progress halted by an unfinished path. Aurora studied the last step, trying to make sense of its meaning.
Her mind raced, and then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. The number of steps on the staircase mirrored the exact count of the planks on her bridge. It was a puzzle, a reflection of all her hard work and the lives she had saved along the way.
“Tristan, can you use your imagination to finish the staircase like you did with the bridge?” she asked.
Tristan focused his thoughts, his brow furrowed in concentration, but to their disappointment, nothing changed. “It’s not working,” he said, confused. “Why isn’t it working?”
In that moment, Aurora came to another sudden realization. The completion of the staircase was her responsibility alone. It was tied to her father’s secret, her lineage.
She turned to face Tristan. “It has to be me,” she said. “My father's secret is at the top of this tower, and only I can unlock it.”
Silence settled between them as the implications sank in. Aurora knew the truth—her ability to manifest the missing steps relied upon saving lives within the Dreamworld. Each soul she rescued, each person she guided back to reality, brought her one step closer to completion. The realization weighed heavy on her, a burden that threatened to smother the only ember of hope she had left.
“For every life I save, I will earn one step,” she explained. “It could take years before I’m able to complete this staircase and reach the secrets hidden at the top.”
Tristan’s gaze held a spark of hope. “Maybe not,” he said, his words tinged with a quiet excitement. “I may have an idea.”
TRISTAN
Tristan awoke with a start, the hard stems of flowers tangled around his legs. He was outside, lying in his garden. The bright light of the moon shined over him, casting a silvery glow over the metal buttons of his jacket. He sat up, rubbing his temples, the remnants of the dream fading away. The ball. The guests. The music. It all came rushing back.
Even the memory of Aurora that had driven him back to his room mid-dance to down the sundrop drink in one gulp. He’d been in his room when he drank the silver liquid. But yet, he’d woken up in the garden. He sleepwalked again.
Looking around, a wave of relief washed over him. No one had noticed. That meant he could continue with his plan. With a swift motion, he rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his clothes. A single petal of sundrop flower clung to his jacket, and he stared fondly at it as it rested on the palm of his hand. It amazed him just how a simple flower had turned his entire world upside down. He shoved it into his pocket and hurried back inside.
On returning to his room, he approached his desk. There, in a basin, lay what was left of the sundrop drink, its petals shimmering with a gentle luminescence. He carefully poured the water into a crystal decanter, the liquid shimmering with a silver hue.
Making his way to the kitchen, he found Wendy and pulled her aside. His eyes swept over the hall to make sure no one had followed them. “I need your help,” he signed, handing her the decanter. “Pour a drop of this mixture into every champagne glass, for every guest present.”
Wendy nodded, her fingers delicately gripping the vessel. She responded with a bow.
Once she disappeared into the kitchen, Tristan sucked in a deep breath before returning to the banquet hall. Lexa was still singing. Her beautiful voice wove a tapestry of emotions, each note pulling at the listeners’ heartstrings. It was as if time had stopped, and every soul in the room was transported to a world of pure emotion and beauty.
While he acknowledged the beauty of Lexa’s performance, a restless energy bubbled within him. His heart raced, not from the music, but from the weight of the plans he had set in motion. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his thigh. As the room remained enraptured by Lexa’s song, Tristan’s thoughts raced, preparing for his next move.
As the final haunting notes of Lexa’s song began to fade, Tristan weaved through the crowd. Each step was deliberate, his movements fluid yet filled with a tension that anyone observant enough could sense. The applause and chatter that followed faded into the background, replaced by the pounding of his own heart in his ears.
With a practiced hand, he selected two champagne flutes from a nearby tray, their crystal stems catching the ambient light, making the golden liquid within them sparkle. He went to stand next to his cousin, who was just as mesmerized by Lexa as everyone else. After handing him a flute, Tristan turned to face his guests.
