There was a split-second pause between the three; Varian took initiative and went first but was stopped by Shay's iron grip. "Come on," he encouraged her with a smile still rigid on his face. Shay reluctantly obeyed, but her head was bowed so low that her face was completely hidden, and she refused to let go. Martin followed, glancing behind him at Beth one last time before crossing the threshold into the chantry foyer.

"You can feel the winter chill beginning to sweep the northern hills, no?" Matthews noted as he invited them into the chapel, his heels clicking distinctly against the polished wood floor. "Feel free to take a seat. As you can see, church is not currently in session, and so there is no competition for the third bench on the right, which seems to be especially popular for some reason." He watched them attentively as they chose a bench and sat down, their combined weight sending a series of old creaks and groans into the quiet air. "Might I ask you your names, my young friends?"

"Quirin," Varian answered automatically, his smile still intact. Just in case the man was aware of the alchemist who had fled Corona, Varian didn't want to give himself away. "This is my sister, Lyra, and our cousin Martin." Martin's eye twitched once, perturbed that his real name had been used, but he said nothing. Shay's hand was still clasped around Varian's arm, and he could now feel her wrist shaking. "We came to ask you about the history of this place."

"History?" Matthews' face lit up. "Ah, such an overlooked thing, yes. This is the port town of Tirapai, for which Tirapai Island is so lovingly named after. Many tourists and seafarers that come to dock believe the town to be…shall we say, provincial. And I suppose in some ways, it is. But clearly you are better informed than the average sightseer."

For an instant, Varian's smile became genuine. "I'm better informed in a lot of things." He cleared his throat, pressing a hand to his chest. "You don't happen to have anything to drink, would you? Sorry, I understand if you don't, I was just –"

"No, no, no, don't ever apologize for being parched, especially after coming all this way," Matthews waved his hand. "Say no more, and don't move a muscle." He turned on his heel and retreated through the doors, the latch clicking shut behind him.

"Varian," Martin hissed, "he knows something."

"Yeah, no kidding, wise guy." Varian took the opportunity to pry Shay's hand away. "But you're seeing things we can't see."

Shay lifted her head, her orange eye wide with alarm. What she said made Varian's skin crawl. "This man is not human," she mouthed. "Not anymore, at least. Whatever he was before, he's a phantom now. I've only read about them, but he must be."

Martin gulped. "What's a phantom?"

"A powerful mage who has become trapped between realities. They're able to warp and bend perceptions, tricking those who seek them out into giving them what they want. It doesn't feel like he's been here for long, which means he must have enchanted the town somehow."

Varian's jaw was tight. "He must be after the Celestial's weapon. But why? And how does he know it's here?"

"I don't know. The magic he's using is very strong. I can't tell if this chantry is even real." Shay's hands were white fists in her lap, strangling her apron. "For all I know, we might not even be awake."

"No," Varian shook his head. "We're awake. We have to be."

Martin's eyebrows had formed a trench. "How do you know?"

"Because I have to open that chamber, and I can't do it if I'm asleep. But that still doesn't answer how he –" Varian stopped when he heard footsteps approach the doors, and he donned a look of innocence as Matthews reappeared with a water pitcher and a few ornate mugs made from hollowed shells. "Thanks for that," he said in a grateful tone.

"Not at all, dear boy," Matthews answered, his voice dripping with hospitality.

Varian watched Shay scrutinize the contents of the mug she was given as discreetly as she could, then raised the rim to her lips and drank slowly. The boys mirrored her sips without comment, Martin downing his the quickest. It occurred to Varian that they had left Spellbane with Beth outside – there would have been no way to bring the sword with them without drawing attention anyway, but Varian was certain it would have proven extremely useful at the moment.

"Now that we're hydrated," he began, "I was wondering, since you seem to know so much about the history of this town, whether or not there might be some kind of…how do I say…some kind of underground ruins or catacombs?" An excuse rolled off his tongue, so quickly that it left his companions visibly stunned. "I ask because we learned about one of our ancestors living here, and I wasn't sure where he might be buried. Family documents say he wasn't laid to rest at sea, and I didn't notice any cemetery when we came through."

Matthews raised his eyebrows. "An excellent question. There is no cemetery in Tarapai, since burials are performed at sea, as you mentioned." He tapped his bottom lip with his index finger. "There is, however, a crypt underneath the chantry here, from many centuries ago."

Bingo. Varian flashed a look of surprise. "There is?"

"Yes, and it is a curious thing," Matthews collected their empty mugs and set them down on a different bench. "Normally, I would not reveal such knowledge to you, but since you have come so far for answers, I would be ashamed to turn you away empty-handed."

Varian stood. "So then, you'll let us see it?"

Matthews smiled. "But of course! Although it is far too late in the day to see it now. I will arrange a place for you to sle –"

"I'd like to see it now, please." Varian knew the demand was tipping his hand, but there was no way he was going to allow some phantom to lead them any place else but that chamber. Besides, he already knew what they were there for, and since he wanted Varian to reach it, it only made sense for the both of them that he should do so as soon as possible. He could feel that his friends had tensed on either side of him, their shoulders placed rigidly against his.

The smile on Matthews' face faltered so quickly, his three guests almost didn't notice. "Ah. So thirsty for truth." He nodded slowly, his words slow and wistful. "I was just like you, once. Unable to sleep when what you've sought for is just out of reach. Restless." He straightened the hem of his tunic. "Well! Far be it from me to stand in your way." He beckoned for them to stand. "Come, then. I will show you what you seek."

As they followed the priest down a narrow hallway, Varian and his friends stayed close, each betraying their emotions in different ways. Varian was the most successful in his attempt to appear nonchalant, but his brow was too knitted together, his eyes looking around too quickly in his head. Shay was still far too keyed up, though instead of pinching Varian's shirt, she kept her arms buried in her cloak. Martin was trying too hard, his walk almost a swagger of exaggerated confidence. Thankfully, Matthews didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't say anything about it.

"The stairway is here," he showed them, opening a large door. Beyond it was a flight of stone steps, spiraling down into the dark. A cold draft drifted from the depths, brushing goosebumps over Varian's arms. For a moment, he thought he heard something, a husky whisper, dry and old. He shook his head, and then it was gone. "I must warn you, though," the priest continued, "that the crypt is not a burial ground full of sunshine and fresh air. I recommend caution as you search what lies within." He reached out, and Varian braced himself as a freezing hand landed on his shoulder. "I wish you good luck, and I sincerely hope you find what you are looking for."

"Yeah, me too." Varian looked at the others. "Let's go."

"I'll go first," Martin offered; they hadn't been able to bring Spellbane, but he still had his arming sword, and he kept one hand firmly clasped around the weapon grip. Varian didn't argue, and he ushered Shay next as he brought up the rear. The first step enveloped his foot with chill, straight through his boot and up through his ankles. It felt like he'd plunged into a bucket of ice water, and he nearly gasped out loud at the feeling. He'd forgotten how cold it was underground.

"I shall await your return," Matthews said from behind, close enough that his breath ruffled the back of Varian's head.

Varian blinked away his shock and turned. "You're not coming with us?"

"Goodness, no," Matthews chuckled. "It's the spiders, you see. Detestable things. So much as one down there, and I'll wet my smallclothes, a sight I'm certain you don't wish to see."

"No, I don't." Varian frowned. "Thank you for letting us see this place."

"No, my dear boy." Matthews plastered one last smile on his face. "Thank you."

Then the door closed, and darkness engulfed them. Varian reached for a light in his bag, shaking the compound until it glowed with rosy light. He felt a surge of movement, and Shay squeezed past him, pressing her hands to the wood grain. "What did he do?" Varian asked.

"He's sealed it with a ward," Shay answered, a note of panic in her voice.

"What does that mean?" Martin said in a voice hard as stone. "Guys, what does that mean?!"

"It means we can't open it from our side," Shay explained, her chest tight with fear.

"It means he either expects us to be killed down here," Varian answered, "or he expects us to starve. Well, technically, we'd dehydrate first –"

"Varian!" Shay exclaimed.

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" He sighed sharply. "Look, either way, Matthews would be left to take whatever he wants from us when we're dead." He turned to face Martin, his hand tight around the vial in his hand. "But we're not going to die down here. We'll either find a way to break the ward, or we'll find our own way out."

"I might be able to break it," Shay said uncertainly, "but depending on what we face down here, I may be too drained to do it."

"And we don't want him to know we're aware of it now, or this could get a lot worse." Varian tried to steady his breathing. "He needs me, but he doesn't need you two."

"We'll have to fight him," Martin concluded, swallowing audibly.

"Yeah," Varian agreed. "But not until we reach that chamber. Come on."

The staircase led down, and Varian's meager light revealed sconces on the walls as they went. Shay lit each one, the orange flames inviting a bit of warmth to bite back against the dank and damp stone around them. Martin's sword was out, both hands tightly gripping the blade as he led the way cautiously down the steps. Varian remembered the last time he'd done something like this, though he hoped that this place would prove less harrowing than Haderon's tomb.

"Say," he wondered out loud. "Haderon's tomb…do you think it's possible that it was a Celestial chamber that he appropriated, to serve as his burial place?"

Shay thought about it for a moment, the question distracting her from their predicament. "It would explain the symbol that was on the door, as well as how you were able to open it. But then, how did my mother get inside? Even if she was…is a scion of Pleiades, that doesn't mean she would be granted permission."

"Maybe because the door had already been forced open before," Varian hypothesized. "Haderon defaced the chamber, so its real purpose was dissolved. After that, anyone could have entered, which is why your mother placed a seal there."

"Maybe Haderon didn't deface anything," Martin suggested. "Maybe he was chosen, like you."

"I doubt it," Varian argued. "Why would Luna choose someone like him?"

Martin shrugged. "Six months ago, people would have asked the same about you."

Varian frowned. "Touché." The idea didn't sit well with him; he may have made some poor, desperate decisions, but he hardly thought that qualified him to be in the same league as a centuries-old necromancer.

The stairs went on; they must have gone down three stories now. "So, this phantom guy," Martin spoke into the quiet. "Can he even be killed?"

It took a moment for Shay to answer. "In a way, he's already dead. I would imagine that trapping yourself between realities forsakes belonging to one or the other."

"So, what, he's a ghost?" Martin faltered in his steps.

"No," Shay replied. "More like a…well, a sort of half-ghost, I suppose. A true spirit can't use magic like he can."

"How did he end up like that?" Varian asked. "How do you trap yourself between realities?"

"I don't know." Shay rubbed at her arms beneath her cloak. "I'm not sure I want to know."

The stairs stopped before another door, black and sleek with the familiar symbol of the Brotherhood carved into the surface. Varian pushed past Martin and took his glove off, ready to trigger the way forward. His pale fingers tingled in the cold air.

"So, he lied about it being a crypt," Martin pointed out before Varian touched the door. He sounded almost hopeful. "No one else can get past this point but you, so he has no idea what's in this place."

Varian paused, setting his jaw. "That doesn't mean it's not a crypt. There could be dead buried here, like in the chamber beneath Mount Saison."

Martin sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils. "Can you do me a favor and never mention that place again?" The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip on his sword became strangling, and in the light of the torch sconces, his face had gone white as a sheet. There was no longer a helmet to hide his fear behind. "Just…please?"

"Martin?" Shay spoke the name with genuine concern.

The guard was barely breathing, cold sweat sliding down his neck. "It's just…the last time I entered one of these things, a bunch of undead tried to kill me. And then I almost drowned. And then I almost died from hypothermia. So, can you blame me for not wanting it to be a crypt?" He sighed sharply. "I'm just a little nervous, okay? Because I don't have any special powers. I'm just a normal…normal person. And I really kind of don't want any of that to happen again, you know what I mean?"

Varian felt his freckled face tighten with guilt; he hadn't even considered how traumatizing the chamber under Mount Saison must have been. Having grown up mostly friendless and isolated, he still wasn't as used to the empathy that came with friendship, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Of course, he understood the fear; he felt the same thing whenever he remembered that moment in Haderon's tomb, when they'd first encountered the undead. But they couldn't afford to be afraid now. They were stronger than dusty bones and rusted armor…Weren't they?

"Martin," he assured him, "I won't ask you to come in here with me. Shay and I can go it alone." He saw Shay nod in agreement, her eyes wide but her mouth set firm.

The guard seemed to consider it. Then he slowly shook his head. "No," he took a purposeful step forward. "No. I can't let a couple of kids go where I won't. Just…if I barf, you're both sworn to secrecy. And if I die –"

"You're not going to die," Shay reassured him.

Martin clenched his teeth. "Okay. Okay." He took a deep breath. "Let's go."

Varian triggered the entrance, and the dark door opened into a deep hallway. The location spell was there, illuminating polished walls etched with ancient runes. As Varian replaced his glove and approached to study them, the runes glowed a bright blue, signaling the presence of the Celestial's chosen. "I wonder," Varian spoke as he led the way down the hall, "would a member of the Brotherhood be able to access these chambers, too?"

"It's possible," Shay replied, her quiet voice echoing through the space. "Though, I don't know if they could open the way forward, even with the medallion to prove their purpose. Perhaps an honor guard would be permitted, to serve the chosen. There had to have been another who came to this place before you, or these chambers wouldn't exist."

"The Mad King, right?"

"Most likely, yes, since it's his weapon we're retrieving. Although, it's possible someone else might have placed it here." She squinted at the runes. "If we had more time, I'm sure we could learn how to read these. If I had to guess, I think they would speak of the Dark Kingdom's ancient history."

"No undead here," Varian glanced at Martin. "Not so bad, so far."

"So far," Martin muttered darkly. "Don't jinx it."

The hall eventually narrowed, and the walls became wet and slick. Varian watched the location spell finally fizzle out as they arrived at a set of double doors, marked by the symbol of the Dark Kingdom. At the center of the doors was a circular slot, waiting to be filled. Varian produced the medallion and placed the silver into the space; it fit perfectly, clicking with a crisp, melodic sound, and a slash of light split the doors as they opened.

Inside was a circular chamber, widespread with a high ceiling, pillars of black lining the walls. Blue flames erupted from more sconces, illuminating a short set of stairs that led down into a pool of sea water, the salty brine stinging their noses as they carefully picked their way down the steps. At the center of the chamber was a pedestal, bearing a highly ornate, silver-headed axe. The craftsmanship was unlike anything any of them had ever seen: the blade was sharpened white as snow, the head etched with elaborately polished designs, the grip wrapped in an extremely complicated weave.

"It's beautiful," Shay breathed as they approached.

"It's valuable," Martin noted.

"It's what we need," Varian sloshed forward to reach it, clasping the weapon with both hands. He lifted it off the pedestal; like Spellbane, the axe was lighter than expected, and it felt good in his grip, like he'd held it before.

"Ah, at last," a deep, thundering voice resonated through the chamber. "Someone worthy has come to claim what once was mine."

They all whipped about to see a man standing on the other side of the chamber. Translucent, veiled in ethereal mist, the man was robed in animal skin and clad in obsidian armor, gauntlets like raven claws as he approached them.

"It's a ghost." Martin aimed his sword squarely at the apparition. "Oh, good heaven, I knew it, you did jinx it!"

"Martin," Varian hissed, tugging at the guard's arm with a shaking hand. "Put it away. He's not going to hurt us."

But Martin had tossed his composure completely out the window. The undead were one thing, but ghosts were far past the line. "The chantry has very clear outlines for ghosts, Varian. I will not be possessed, and I'm not going to hell. Unlike you two, I have an income, and I pay my tithing!"

The spirit threw his head back and laughed, tossing what might have once been dark hair out of his eyes. "I haven't seen someone cower in my presence in a very long time." He looked at them with a transparent, mirthful gaze. "I'd forgotten how gratifying it is."

"Shay," Varian looked to her. "What do we do?"

Shay was tight as a bowstring, but she forced herself to think. "Martin has described demons, not ghosts. If this is who I think it is, then he cannot be a demon. He's a departed soul, he can't hurt us. He's here to tell us something."

"Okay," Varian licked his lips. "Okay, then. Let's hear what he has to say." He stepped carefully forward, and Martin threw out a restraining hold. Varian peeled the guard's suffocating grip away, holding the axe in his hands. "You said this was once yours," he spoke in a barely controlled voice. "That means you must be King Creighton, the founder of Lunaris."

"That I am, young man." King Creighton smiled warmly. "And I suspect that my kingdom is where you are headed." Varian nodded. "So then, the weapon that was once given to me by the great moon spirit has called upon you to carry it home. I wanted to see who would dare to retrieve it." He squinted down at Varian's thin frame, his lip curling with bemusement. "I must admit, I was expecting someone a bit…taller."

"I'm tall enough," Varian asserted. "I won't take the axe without your permission, then. It must have meant a lot to you, to keep it here instead of with your family line."

King Creighton nodded soberly. "I saved many lives with that axe. I also took many, in the name of freedom. The moon spirit was with me, though, and she assured my victory. The role of king was not one that I took lightly. Many called me mad for it."

"You kept the axe here to spare your children the burden of your legacy," Shay inferred quietly. "To help them start anew."

"Perhaps." The dead king became introspective. "Though it seems in the end that it made little difference. I'm sure my wife would disagree. But enough of the past." He reached out a hand, hovering over the axe in Varian's hands. "What you carry holds grave implications. Your very presence here means my kingdom is in danger once more. Perhaps all lands are. Your burden is unique, and the weight is significant, I'm sure." He squinted again. "You look like you have the constitution of a toothpick, but appearances can be deceiving. You must have a stout heart to reach this place, and you don't seem to be alone in your efforts." He let his ghostly hand fall. "What is your name, boy?"

"I'm Varian, son of Quirin."

"Very well then, Quirinson. If you are to free my kingdom from whatever plight has befallen it, you will need haste. Men may procrastinate, but evil does not. I trust that the moon spirit will guide you."

"Wait!" Varian asked as the ghost began to turn away. "I have so many questions about the Moonstone a-and the black rocks and Lunarian culture and –"

"There is only one question you should be asking," the king looked once more. "And it is a question I cannot answer for you."

"What should we ask you, great king?" Shay spoke.

King Creighton started to fade into the shadows, dissipating like smoke. His final words drifted to their ears in the faintest whisper, leaving chills running down Varian's spine. "Will you succeed?"

Then they were alone, the chamber quiet and still. Martin let out a gasp of relief, his shoulders slumping as he finally let down his guard. "Oh, thank mercy, we're still alive."

"Incredible," Shay said breathlessly. "I've never met a king before. That was…that was quite exciting, actually!"

"Better than the last time I spoke with royalty," Varian mused shakily, slinging the Mad King's axe over his back. He blew out his cheeks as the adrenaline wore off; meeting a ghost was the last thing he'd expected to happen that evening. Then again, he hadn't really known what to expect. "At least I'm not getting dragged off in chains." He frowned and started to whine. "I can't believe he called me a toothpick. Do I look that skinny to you?"

"Compared to that guy, yes," Martin admitted bluntly.

Varian straightened his apron in an unsubtle attempt to puff out his chest and flex what biceps he had. "Come on," he grumbled. "Let's go take on a phantom."

"Please, dear boy. Don't compare me with a phantom."

They turned slowly at the sound of Matthews' voice. What they saw made Varian's heart stop and his blood freeze. Blocking the entrance to the chamber was the priest, bathed in green light, with a ragged cloak clasped over his chuckling throat. The clasp bore an emblem Varian didn't recognize: some kind of goat skull with menacing horns. His eyes burned white with magic, his hair loose and floating in ethereal tendrils, a wicked black crown framing his forehead. Surprisingly, his mustache and goatee remained perfectly trimmed, and he reached to stroke under his nose with a ghostly hand.

"How kind of you to fetch the Axe of Lunaris for me," the phantom spoke. "Be a good lad and hand it over, now. I would hate to have to kill a young man of such talented skill, especially when my master still has use for you. Regardless, I will do what I must." He extended his hand, claw-like fingers gesturing once. "You will give the axe to me, either by your will…or when I pry it from the grip of your cold, dead hands."