Some say the Spiral Gardens—those rocky hollows within the palace that teem with bizarre plants and insects—are the strangest place in all of Harandaal.

Well. Those people have clearly never been to the chrysling (pronounced KRIS-ling).

Shall we go exploring?

Bulbous stone spires rise like giant coral. Narrow ravines snake between, the rock adorned with moss and fungi found nowhere else in Harandaal. 

Pools of glassy water shimmer on ledges, and if you look closely, you might spot a phoenix scuttler: a shy red crab, known to naturalists as Rubicampus harandaali.

Why phoenix? Because the chrysling’s stone is no ordinary rock—it’s phoenix stone, the very same material from which the palace of the Bryndiel family was carved.

You wouldn’t guess it to look at them now, but once, both the palace and the chrysling were solid buttes. A massive one, in the palace’s case.

Ancient stonemasons hollowed that butte from within, carving every window and wall, every staircase and sconce, like a gemstone in reverse.

The chrysling, too, was sculpted—by wind and rain and the steady hand of time.

But speaking of time…

In the chrysling, it doesn’t always behave. 

When Mathias takes Evelyn to the chrysling in The Fool & the Threads of Time (Book Zero), as she’s marveling over one of those crab-filled pools, she hears a voice. A whisper that sounds an awful lot like her name…

Bookmark that, dear reader.  Evelyn has just experienced a time slip.

She won’t realize it until much later—say, in The Magician and the Labyrinth of Yesterdays (Book One, coming 2026)—but you’ll want to remember that moment.

Because where time slips, other things can slip through, too. 

A little birdie tells me a companion short story will be arriving with Book One—one that takes full advantage of the chrysling’s more…intimate distortions of time.

Evelyn finds herself caught between two lifetimes—and between a present-day Matt and his princely past-life self. Both of whom are feeling more than a little possessive. 🌶️🌶️

Apparently, the hottest new trend in Harandaal isn’t multiple orgasms, it’s multiple lifetimes sex.

But you know what they say—what happens in the chrysling, stays in the chrysling. 😏

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Get ready with Book Zero, The Fool & the Threads of Time.

Just a little farther now…

You can feel it, can’t you—the cool mist in the air? We’re close. 

The forest path narrows, the moss-covered ravine pressing in. One more turn up ahead…

There it is.

The Waterfall of Mesmer, like liquid diamond, cascading into a pool so vividly turquoise it could well be a painting. The water foams, eddying around moss-slick boulders before vanishing through a cleft in the cliffside, swallowed by the earth itself.

But we’re not stopping here.

See that trail, snaking up the cliffside? Careful now, it’s steep, and the mist makes everything a wee bit treacherous. But just a little higher, now, and I promise—it’s worth the wait.

The forest is swallowed by the roar of water as you slip behind the waterfall’s curtain. The air is damp, thick with the scent of wet stone and something stranger—floral, but sharp. 

Lush vines curtain the cliff face, tiny, unfamiliar blossoms crowding every shadowy crevice. A pale purple moth flits from one to the next, a lime-green frog watching it with interest.

A whole world, hidden behind the waterfall. 

“Hold this a moment, will you?” 

You take the lantern as your guide retrieves thumb-sized fire sticks from their pack, the lamp flaring to life. 

Parting the vines, and there it is: a dark mouth in the rock. The fabled Cave of Mesmer, all too real. But are all the tales true?

Only one way to find out…

The passage is narrow, uncomfortably so, the walls glittering with quartz, catching the lantern light like fireflies trapped in stone. Strange carvings spiral across the surfaces, their meanings lost to time.

But one thing is clear: you’re not the first to walk this path.

Deeper still and the ceiling arches, enough that you no longer have to stoop. Rolling your shoulders, you see that the ceiling is studded with amethyst. It’s cool and smooth, humming faintly beneath your fingertip.

And then the tunnel opens.

A chamber, roughly circular, its perimeter home to a melting forest of stalagmites. Other passageways branch off into darkness, goosebumps prickling your arms. Anything could be waiting back there. 

But your guide is already beckoning you to a shallow cavity in the wall. Swinging the lamp to the opening, you spy a wooden box.

The lid is carved with symbols matching those on the passageway’s walls. You lift it with care, afraid the rusted hinges might snap clean off. Peering inside, the box is…empty?

No, not quite. In the corner, nestled on a scrap of cloth lies a small pendant. It looks handmade, a smooth riverstone wrapped in copper wire, green with age, strung on a braid of hemp. 

“But…this is wrong. Shouldn’t there be a scroll?”

“Ah, right you are. This was left as a trade by the ones who came before us.”

“A trade? By who?” Had we truly come all this way for nothing?

“Eowyth and Mateu.” Your guide closes the box with a wink. “If you want to know what they found—well…you’ll have to ask them yourself.”

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🔎 Read the short story, Falling Phoenix, to uncover your next clue.

Heads up: it’s spicy! 🌶️

In Harandaal, the shrines remain…

Wander deep enough into the meer, following deer paths and burbling streams, skirting around toadstool rings, and there you’ll find them.

Tumbled piles of buttons and coins, shiny trinkets and smooth river stones. The shrines still tended—but by whom? And why?

Then, of course, there’s the empty place setting at every Harandean dinner table—yet another offering whose origins have been lost. 

But ask ten Harandeans who the Hidden Company were and you’ll get twelve different answers.

Some say they were ancestors, long-vanished kin with names now forgotten.

Others claim they were gods—or demi-gods, perhaps?—guardians of mountain and meadow, grotto and meer, who vanished when Harandaal fell.

Still others insist they were ghosts. Or still are.

Arcanus, the librarian of Harandaal, has spent his life ferreting answers from dusty scrolls and cracked leather tomes. There isn’t much, but what he’s found leaves a tantalizing trail.

The first clue was found in a forgotten travel guide…

A guide misshelved under Agricultural Methods. It contained a sketch of mysterious runes, which the author claimed were the lost language of the Hidden Company.

Now, to anyone else, this might seem nothing more than a linguistic morsel—curious, perhaps, but easily forgotten. 

But this faded sketch stopped Arcanus cold, for he knew what no other Harandean could.

These runes weren’t unknown. 

They were the language of the Aeloihim. (How Arcanus knows this is a tale only he can tell.) 

Startled though he was, Arcanus assumed the author was simply mistaken. A well-meaning scholar encounters an unknown language and ascribes it to an equally unknown people (if the Hidden Company were, in fact, people…). 

But some years later, Arcanus stumbled upon another text.

This time, a brittle manuscript containing a map of something he wasn’t allowed to see. A map of the legendary Star Garden. 

Though Arcanus had spent most of his life in the palace—directly beneath the Star Garden—he’d never once set foot in it. 

He’d heard plenty of rumors, of course, each more outlandish than the last…

Bats, large as roosters, were said to drink from night-blooming flowers. 

Flowers with petals that, when crushed, glowed like slow-dying stars. 

Some claimed the flowers even spoke, in a voice old as time. The Spirit Song, they called it.

And to one who remembered this ancient tongue, the flowers would whisper where a great treasure lay buried. 

Yes—each tale more outlandish than the last.   

But the grand spiraling staircase to the Star Garden, which spanned the top of the massive red-rock butte from which the palace was carved, was barred to all but the Bryndiel royal family. 

And yet, amidst the tall tales, one detail Arcanus knew to be true. At the heart of the Star Garden lay Harandaal’s most sacred site—the First Stone. 

This is where the mystery deepens… 

Inked in the margins of that forbidden map was a note, and if the anonymous scribbler was to be believed, the runes carved on the First Stone are the lost language of the Hidden Company.

Runes that Arcanus, having pored over the map for many hours, knows are absolutely, unmistakably, the language of the Aeloihim. 

Two sources. 

Both linking the Hidden Company to a language never known in Harandaal. 

Either two authors are sorely mistaken…

Or Arcanus has discovered a link between the Aeloihim and the Hidden Ones that was never meant to be found.

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The trail ends here…for now. 

But in the meers of Harandaal, a stream runs cold and clear. Follow it far enough, and you’ll reach the Waterfall of Mesmer.

Some say there’s a cave hidden behind the water’s curtain.

Still others claim the cave isn’t empty…

See you next time.