15
LINCOLN
Myla and I walk through the tunnel. Souped-up phantasms fly past, leaving a gentle breeze behind. An intricate stained glass tunnel looms all around us. Figures come and go from the pattern. Blue light flickers across our path.
It’s too much to believe and not enough, all at once.
When Raedwulf died, my family held a small ceremony at our crypt. There was no announcement. Zero public mourning. Few ever mentioned Raedwulf again. Afterward, we never held another Achilles Festival. In some ways, Raedwulf’s memory was placed into a crypt as well.
Now, his history is opening up again. And with it, one big question.
What happens if Raedwulf’s prediction comes true?
The twins and Goliath lead us through the tunnels. Hours pass. Eventually, we step out of the round tunnel and in
