The sunlight at the bottom of the spiral stairs was a cruel lie.
It wasn't daylight bleeding up from the valley. It was a pale, sickening phosphorescence spilling from four massive copper braziers mounted to the walls of a cavernous chamber—the True Gallery of the Boran Court.
And as the last of the black mercury drained from the basin behind us, a heavy stone portcullis crashed down behind our heels with a deafening THUD, sealing the staircase forever.
"Trap," Vichea said instantly, dropping low. "It was a false light."
"Everyone, form up!" Grandma barked, her voice snapping through the cavern like a whip. "The Five-Point Star! Now!"
We didn't hesitate. Five years of merciless courtyard drills kicked in before our brains could even process the horror waiting in the shadow of the braziers.
The Boran doctrine was built around five positions—a defensive formation designed specifically for five children to protect one another and anchor their master. Each position relied on absolute trust, specialized roles, and precise line-of-sight.
Neak Mean, as the Oldest Brother, surged to the apex of the star—the Iron Bow. He planted his broad frame squarely in the front, his lead leg bent, hips dropped, forming an impenetrable wall. His heavy forearms came up, knuckles white, ready to take the brunt of any physical impact.
Nimol, the Older Sister, took the right flank—the Scythe. She dropped into a fluid, asymmetrical stance, her light footwork primed to pivot, redirect force, or haul anyone back who broke line. Her hand immediately clamped onto the shoulder of Vannak, the Younger Cousin, pulling him into the center back-left position.
Vannak took his place as the Pivot. Though terrified, his center of gravity dropped instantly into the low, ducking stance Grandma had beaten into him. His job wasn't to fight—it was to serve as the physical fulcrum for the formation, crouching low so the rest of us could move over and around him without tangling our footwork.
Vichea, the Older Cousin, locked into the back-right position as the Eye. He stood slightly taller, eyes scanning the geometry of the room, tracking the line of force, watching the shadows, and barking out spatial callouts.
And I—the Youngest Sister—took the absolute center, the Heart.
I was surrounded on all four sides by my family. Neak in front, Nimol to my right, Vichea to my left, Vannak crouched low at my heels, and Grandma standing like a stone sentinel directly behind the entire structure, orchestrating our movements.
"Neak holds the apex," Grandma called out, her voice echoing off the damp rock. "Nimol guards the flank! Vichea maps the floor! Vannak, stay grounded! And you," she looked at me, "keep your breathing steady. The Heart does not break."
From the dark corners of the gallery, three distinct shapes detached themselves from the walls.
Not Hollowkin. These were Boran Dummies—ancient stone-and-bronze constructs built by the original masters. Driven by internal clockwork and fueled by the lingering spirits of the vault, their joints ground together with a sound like grinding teeth as they raised heavy stone quarterstaffs.
"Three targets," Vichea barked instantly. "Left, right, center! They're moving in a triangular pincer!"
"First Stanza!" Grandma commanded. "Shift to the Falling Leaf!"
As one unit, the five of us moved.
When the center construct lunged with its stone staff, Neak didn't absorb the blow alone. As the strike came down, Vannak tapped Neak’s heel from below—a blind signal. Neak pivoted left, allowing the staff to shatter against the floor flags.
Simultaneously, Nimol swept in from the right, using the momentum of Neak's dodge to hook her leg behind the construct's knee, while Vichea called the exact angle of its return swing: "High left! Duck!"
I dropped instantly beneath the sweeping arm, reaching up to shove Vannak lower into his crouch, keeping him clear of the debris.
"Advance!" Grandma shouted.
Neak drove his palms into the center construct's chest, shoving it back. Nimol and Vichea flared outward like wings, executing matching side-kicks that struck the remaining two constructs at their weakest bronze joints.
The stone dummies staggered backward, their gears grinding in mechanical confusion. They were designed to fight individuals, to break single fighters and isolate the weak. They had no counter for five people moving with a single heart, a single pulse, and a single lineage.
Neak grinned through the dried blood on his face, stepping back into the apex of our star. "Now that is how we do it in the courtyard."
"Don't get arrogant," Nimol warned, though a fierce, proud smile broke through her exhaustion. "We still have to find the real way out."
In the center of our tight, unbroken circle, surrounded by the four who had bled to keep me safe, I took a deep breath.
The Five-Point Star held firm. And this time, nothing in the dark was going to break it.