War or Peace

Before they left The Quiet Room, Luxa clasped both of Gregor’s hands in hers. Her violet eyes held him steady, fierce and unflinching.

“For peace,” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of both a vow and a plea.

Gregor tightened his grip, meeting her gaze without wavering. “For peace.”

The words lingered between them like a seal, before they stepped into the passageway. The firelight faded behind them, the heavy door closing with a muted thud. Only the torchlight in Luxa’s hand and the beam of Gregor’s flashlight guided their way.

The tunnel breathed with a chill that raised gooseflesh on Gregor’s arms. He shifted his grip on the light, keeping the shadows from pressing too close. Luxa’s sword gleamed silver whenever the beam caught its edge.

“We will go slowly,” she said, calm though her eyes remained sharp. “There is much you do not know, Gregor. You have told me much of your family. I personally know of the courage of your mother, of your father’s return home from captivity after you rescued him here, the kind heart of your little sister Boots who can make friends with anyone in the Underland. I admire them, and I know you. But now… now it is time you learn more about mine than what I have already shown you.”

Gregor swallowed. “More about your family?”

She nodded, eyes flicking to the carved walls where ancient faces of kings and queens gazed out from the stone. “It begins here.”

You already know about the carving of Queen Isolde, of her outstretched hand, worn smooth with age. Luxa paused, torchlight flickering across her face. She reached forward, fingers tracing the hollow that remained. Back and forth she traced the absence, her hand slow, reverent.

“Every queen and daughter of a king before me has stroked this place,” she murmured. “Some before they find their king, some after. Seeking strength, hope, perhaps answers only the stone can hold. My grandmother did so the night she learned the first war for food had begun when the gnawers attacked and Regalia was almost destroyed. My mother, before she bore me. I used to wonder if the stone would crumble beneath so many hands. But it endures.”

Gregor watched her in silence, struck by how her fingers lingered—as if she were speaking to those who had come before or searching for someone yet to come. At last, she pulled her hand away and faced him.

“Come. The wall waits.”

They walked cautiously deeper into the tunnel, the carved histories unfolding around them. Luxa’s voice softened as she wove her lineage into the silence.

“My grandfather was a man of iron. He believed the crown must never bend, even when the Underland threatened to break. Harsh, some would say cruel—but he kept Regalia alive through famine. My grandmother balanced him. Where he was unyielding, she was mercy. She could turn an enemy into an ally with a word. Yet in the end she laid down her life against the gnawers.”

Her steps slowed. “My mother was unlike either. She dreamed of peace without blades, a world where children might grow without fear of war. But she did not live to see it. One of our plagues took her when I was five. I remember her voice, soft as song, telling me that light is not only in the sun—it’s also in people. It’s in choices.”

Gregor’s chest tightened. He had never heard Luxa speak so openly, as if opening a door long barred.

“And my father,” she continued. “He was a warrior, though not by choice. He wished to be a builder, even a scholar. But the crown chained him as it has chained us all. He fought until he could fight no longer. His death was quick. His absence was not.”

They walked on, her words filling the silence until Gregor felt her family pressing close in the stone. He thought of his own father’s time of absence, of the weight his family had carried without him. In this shadowed tunnel, their worlds felt bound by grief and resilience alike.

They slowly walked on, then the air shifted. A faint grinding noise reached Gregor’s ears, low at first but rising. He stiffened, raising his flashlight toward the tunnel’s end.

“Do you hear that?”

“Yes.” Luxa’s voice was grim. Her sword angled higher. “It grows louder.”

The sound thickened into a rumble—stone against stone. Their pace quickened, their boots scuffing against the rough floor until the tunnel widened into the chamber they had glimpsed before.

Gregor’s breath caught. The gap in the far wall—the crack that had once looked like an open wound—was no longer as they had left it. Jagged rocks and blocks of stone pressed inward, as though the wall itself were sealing shut after a giant opening. From the narrowing breach came the scratching of claws, the frantic whisper of wings. Louder now, desperate—as if something were being locked away… or forcing its way back through.

Luxa’s jaw tightened, torchlight stark across her face. “We are too late! We waited too long!”

Gregor stepped beside her, his light steady, his heart pounding. Together they faced the wall as the grinding grew louder, shadows shifting with every breath, the pace quickening.

With the way of the warrior, Gregor questioned, voice low, “Where did they go, once they came in? How far did they reach into our tunnels and the palace? What do they know of our defenses? What traps have they set? Are they sealing the evidence of their crimes—or making preparations for an attack and easy escape later?”

The past was closing in. The future pressed at their backs. And when the Council learned of this…what judgment would fall, and upon whom?