Aria the Lost Princess had a name that sounded like a bell rung underwater—soft, clear, and a little sad. She was a mermaid, but not the kind from cheerful songs carved into sailors’ stories. Aria was quick-minded and stubbornly hopeful, the sort of person who could feel lonely and still keep swimming forward.
She lived in the Hidden Oasis, a secret place where desert and sea had made an impossible agreement. From above, it looked like dunes and heat-shimmer. But if you slipped through the right canyon at the right hour, you would find a pool of water so blue it made the sky look shy. Palm trees leaned in close like old friends. Tiny springs bubbled up from stone, and the air smelled of salt and sweet fruit at the same time.
Aria often hovered near the deepest part of the oasis, where the water turned dark and quiet. Something was there—something she had never seen clearly. When she was small, she used to tell herself it was a treasure chest. Then she grew older and admitted it might be a rock.
Either way, it made her curious.
A doll floated nearby, face up, as if it were sunbathing with great seriousness. The doll’s name was Doll. It was not a very imaginative name, but Doll insisted it was perfectly practical.
“Princess,” Doll said, voice as crisp as dry leaves. Doll’s mouth didn’t move, but in the Hidden Oasis, objects were allowed to have opinions. “You’re doing the staring thing again. If you stare long enough, you’ll stare a hole into the water.”
Aria flicked her tail, sending a small wave toward Doll. “It’s not staring. It’s… investigating.”
“Investigating with your eyes and no plan.” Doll drifted closer. Its hair was a tangle of yarn, and one of its button eyes was slightly loose, giving it a permanently surprised expression. “That’s called staring.”
A flower grew at the edge of the oasis, where water kissed sand. Its petals were pale gold with red veins like tiny rivers on a map. Flower’s voice was slow and warm.
“Let her look,” Flower murmured. “Looking is the first step of many brave things.”
Aria smiled at Flower, because Flower always made her feel as if the world was a little kinder than it appeared. “Thank you.”
Doll snorted. “Brave things are overrated. I’d prefer comfortable things. Like being sewn back together properly.”
“You’ve been asking for that for three weeks,” Aria said. “And you know I can’t sew underwater.”
“That’s why I’m still waiting,” Doll replied, as if Aria were taking too long on purpose.
Aria turned, drifting toward Flower. “How do you stay so calm? You’re rooted in sand. If anything happens, you can’t even move.”
Flower’s petals shifted in the breeze. “Calm is not the same as helpless. Roots are not chains. They’re a promise. I stay, so others can return.”
Aria’s chest felt tight in a familiar way. Return. That word followed her like a shadow.
She was called Aria the Lost Princess, not because she wore a crown—mermaids didn’t, usually—but because she had been found alone as a baby in this oasis. No family. No court. No stories of her own except the ones she invented.
She had grown up with the Hidden Oasis as her kingdom and her mystery.
Then the water shivered.
Not like a ripple from Aria’s tail or a gust of wind. This was deeper, like a breath taken by the oasis itself.
Doll’s loose button eye wobbled. “Uh. Did you do that?”
Aria’s voice came out small. “No.”
A shape emerged where the water turned dark. It rose without splashing, as if the oasis had decided to grow a thought.
It was a translucent figure, tall and gentle. Its edges glowed faintly like moonlight filtered through waves. Where a face might have been, there was a suggestion of eyes—calm, ancient, and careful.
Flower bowed its head, petals dipping. “Guardian Spirit,” Flower greeted.
Doll muttered, “Oh good, it’s the glowing one. Now we’re all going to feel emotions.”
Aria felt her own emotions, loud and immediate: surprise, fear, and the sharp, bright point of hope that always arrived when something new appeared.
“Aria,” the Guardian Spirit said, and her name sounded different in its voice—like it was being returned to her, polished and whole. “The Hidden Oasis has sheltered you, but it cannot answer all questions forever.”
Aria swallowed. “Do you know who I am? Who my family is?”
The Guardian Spirit tilted its head. “I know you are missing something. Not only memories. Not only a home. A piece of you was taken and hidden. Without it, you drift between who you are and who you might become.”
Doll whispered, “That sounds bad.”
Aria’s hands tightened. “What piece?”
The Guardian Spirit’s glow dimmed, as if speaking the next words cost effort. “A pearl, once carried by your mother, then entrusted to you. It holds a map of your true name, your lineage, and the oath that binds the Hidden Oasis to your blood. It was stolen by a Sorcerer.”
Aria’s heart hammered. “There’s a Sorcerer here?”
“Not here,” the Spirit replied. “Not yet. But his influence is a thin dust on the wind. He seeks the pearl to control the oasis—its hidden water, its secret paths, its magic of survival. If he gains it, the oasis will become a cage, and you will become his key.”
Doll rotated slowly, as if trying to look brave by spinning. “I hate when villains make metaphors.”
Aria forced herself to breathe. “So what do we do?”
The Spirit’s eyes seemed to sharpen. “You must retrieve what was taken. You must find the Lost Pearl.”
Flower’s voice trembled slightly. “The pearl… is it why the water has been uneasy? Why the springs have tasted faintly bitter?”
The Guardian Spirit nodded. “Yes. The Hidden Oasis is resilient, but it is not endless. Its balance depends on truth.”
Aria felt the word truth settle on her shoulders like a cloak—heavy, but somehow fitting.
“Where is the pearl?” she asked.
The Guardian Spirit lifted an arm, and the water around it formed a small, floating sphere—a bubble that did not rise. Inside the bubble, images flickered: a canyon with black stone; a set of stairs carved into rock; a door made of salt crystals; and beyond that, a chamber where shadows moved like living ink.
“A path opens at sunset,” the Spirit said. “Beyond the oasis lies the Saltglass Grotto. The Sorcerer’s ward is there, guarding the pearl. You will not succeed alone.”
Aria glanced at Doll and Flower. “You’re coming with me,” she said, before her doubt could speak.
Doll sighed dramatically. “Of course I am. Someone has to provide commentary.”
Flower’s petals lifted, as if it were smiling. “I cannot leave the shore, Aria. But I can give you something.”
A single petal loosened and drifted toward Aria. It touched her palm and became a small, dry token shaped like a teardrop of gold.
“This petal will not wilt,” Flower said. “If you are lost, hold it and remember where you began. The oasis will listen.”
Aria closed her fingers around it, feeling a faint warmth. “Thank you.”
The Guardian Spirit spoke again, softer now. “There is one more companion who can go where roots cannot and where cloth cannot swim.”
From the water near the reeds, a slender creature rose—part fish, part ribbon of light. It darted, looped, and then steadied, as if waiting for instruction.
“A whisperfin,” Doll said, sounding impressed against its will. “They’re basically living messages.”
“This one is named Echo,” the Guardian Spirit said. “Echo can slip through cracks and carry sound. Echo will help you decode what the Sorcerer has twisted.”
Aria reached out, and Echo brushed her fingers with a cool, electric thrill.
“Okay,” Aria said, though her voice shook. “Sunset. Saltglass Grotto. We get the pearl. We bring it back.”
Doll bobbed. “And we try not to get cursed, eaten, or emotionally devastated.”
Flower added gently, “And we remember why we go.”
The day stretched long with waiting. Aria kept moving, practicing quick turns, testing her breath above water, and checking the hidden cracks along the oasis’s rocky rim. She had always thought the canyon walls were simply walls. Now she wondered what else they were hiding.
When sunset arrived, the air cooled. The sky became a layered painting—violet near the horizon, orange above it, and a thin green line where light refused to disappear.
The Guardian Spirit rose once more. “Now,” it said.
At the far side of the oasis, where reeds grew thick, the stone face of the canyon shimmered. A seam appeared, like the edge of a curtain.
Aria stared. “It was always there?”
“Hidden,” the Spirit replied. “Like you.”
Doll murmured, “I would like to point out that being hidden is not always cute. Sometimes it’s just inconvenient.”
Aria swam toward the seam. Echo darted ahead. Doll floated beside her, surprisingly steady. At the shore, Flower’s petals fluttered in a slow wave.
“Come back,” Flower said.
Aria nodded, unable to speak. She pushed through the shimmering seam.
The world changed.
The air became cooler and tasted of salt and stone. The path beyond was a narrow channel of water cutting through dark rock. Above, the canyon walls leaned close, blocking the sky.
Echo slid forward, leaving a faint trail of light.
Doll whispered, “This is officially the creepiest place I’ve been, and I’ve been in the bottom of a toy chest.”
Aria tried to smile. “Stay close.”
They swam through the channel until it widened into a cavern. The ceiling glittered with salt crystals that caught Echo’s light and scattered it into tiny stars. The water was shallower here, and Aria’s hands brushed the rocky floor.
In the center of the cavern stood the stairs from the Spirit’s vision—carved into stone, leading upward out of the water.
Aria hesitated. She could breathe air, but only for a while. Her mermaid body was made for water. Still, the pearl was not going to come to her.
Doll drifted toward the stairs and bumped the first step. “Well? Up we go?”
Aria inhaled, then pulled herself onto the stone. Her tail felt heavy in the air, scales drying slightly, but she could move by dragging herself forward. It wasn’t graceful. It was determined.
Echo zipped around her head like a concerned lantern.
They climbed the steps. At the top stood a door made of salt crystals, as tall as a giant’s handspan. It had no handle. Instead, a shallow groove ran across it in the shape of a spiral.
Doll leaned in. “Do you have a magical key hidden in your hair? Because I do not.”
Aria examined the groove. It looked like a shell’s inner curve. She touched it, and the salt chilled her fingertips.
Echo darted into the spiral, tracing it. As Echo moved, the spiral glowed faintly, as if recognizing a familiar path.
“Echo is… unlocking it?” Aria guessed.
The spiral brightened, then the door sighed open without sound.
Beyond was a tunnel lined with smooth stone, dry and dusty. The air smelled like old storms.
Aria paused, suddenly aware of the silence. The Hidden Oasis had been full of bubbling springs and palm leaves whispering. Here, even the crystals seemed to hold their breath.
Doll’s voice softened. “Still want to be a princess?”
Aria’s throat tightened. “I don’t know what I want. I just know I can’t keep wondering forever.”
They moved forward.
The tunnel led to a chamber lit by a pale, wavering glow. In the center stood a pedestal, and on it rested a pearl the size of Aria’s fist. It was not ordinary white. It shifted colors—deep sea-green, twilight purple, and a thin band of gold like sunrise.
Aria felt something inside her respond, like a string pulled tight.
“That’s it,” she whispered.
Doll stared. “I admit, that’s a very dramatic pearl. Villains love dramatic objects.”
Echo hovered above the pedestal, vibrating with urgency.
Then the shadows moved.
They rose from the corners of the chamber like smoke deciding to become solid. A figure stepped out, tall and wrapped in dark robes that looked stitched from night. His face was mostly hidden, but his eyes were bright and sharp.
The Sorcerer.
“You came,” he said, voice smooth as polished stone. “I wondered if the little mermaid would stay safe in her puddle.”
Aria’s anger flared. “It’s not a puddle. It’s my home.”
The Sorcerer’s smile was thin. “Homes are useful. They keep people in place. They make them predictable.”
Doll drifted forward a fraction, as if it could block the Sorcerer by being small and furious. “She is not predictable. She is stubborn. It’s exhausting.”
The Sorcerer looked at Doll. “A talking doll. How quaint. How easily burned.”
Aria’s stomach turned cold. “Don’t hurt them.”
“Oh, I won’t,” the Sorcerer said. “Not if you cooperate. The pearl belongs to me. It is a key. With it, I can command the oasis’s hidden streams. I can make water appear where I choose. Imagine what a desert kingdom would pay for that.”
Aria’s voice shook with disgust. “You want to sell my home.”
“Sell, trade, rule,” the Sorcerer replied. “Words are flexible. Like loyalty.”
Echo suddenly darted toward the Sorcerer’s shadow and slipped inside it. The Sorcerer’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing?” Aria hissed.
Echo emitted a thin, high note—like a whistle made of light.
The sound bounced around the chamber, and Aria realized it was not random. It was repeating, forming a pattern.
“A code,” Aria whispered. “Echo is sending a message.”
Doll murmured, “To who? The ceiling?”
The Sorcerer lifted a hand, and the shadows thickened, lunging like ropes toward Aria.
Aria reacted without thinking. She grabbed the golden petal Flower had given her and squeezed.
Warmth spread through her palm. The air smelled briefly of the Hidden Oasis—sweet and alive.
A pulse of water surged up from cracks in the stone floor, as if the oasis had heard her call from far away. The shadow-ropes hesitated, their edges dissolving where water touched.
The Sorcerer’s calm cracked. “Impossible. The oasis is sealed from here.”
Aria stared at the water she had summoned, stunned. “It’s not sealed from me,” she said, surprised by her own certainty.
Doll laughed once, sharp and delighted. “Ha! Princess privilege!”
Aria swung her tail as best she could, splashing the new water onto the shadows. They recoiled.
The Sorcerer stepped forward, anger sharpening his voice. “You don’t understand what you are. You are a doorway. A title without a throne. Give me the pearl, and I will tell you where you came from.”
Aria’s heart twisted. The offer was exactly shaped to her longing.
For a moment, she imagined it: answers, stories, a family name spoken with certainty.
Then she saw Flower at the shore in her mind—steady, patient. Roots are a promise.
She saw Doll, complaining but still here.
She heard the Guardian Spirit: truth.
“I don’t trust you,” Aria said. “If you had the truth, you wouldn’t need to bargain.”
The Sorcerer’s eyes flashed. “Then you will learn the hard way.”
He snapped his fingers.
The chamber’s salt crystals dulled, and the light dimmed. The pearl on the pedestal began to glow brighter, as if reacting to danger.
Aria moved toward it, but the air thickened, heavy like invisible syrup. She struggled, arms shaking.
Doll floated near her face. “Aria! Do the water thing again!”
“I don’t know how!” Aria gasped.
Echo shot out of the Sorcerer’s shadow and looped around Aria’s head, singing its coded whistle again. This time, the pattern felt familiar, like a lullaby she had forgotten.
A memory flickered—hands combing her hair, a voice humming a spiral melody.
The same spiral as the door.
Aria understood.
She began to hum.
Not loudly. Not perfectly. But with focus, matching Echo’s pattern. The sound vibrated in her chest and traveled down her arms into the damp stone.
The water in the cracks responded, trembling.
The Sorcerer stared. “No.”
Aria’s humming grew steadier, and the air’s heaviness loosened. The water surged higher, forming a ring around the pedestal.
Doll cheered, “Yes! Sing at it!”
Aria lunged forward, her fingers closing around the pearl.
The instant she touched it, a shock of cold and warmth rushed through her. Images burst behind her eyes: a palace beneath the sea; banners made of kelp and silver thread; a crown shaped like coral branches; and a woman with Aria’s eyes, pressing the pearl into her small hands.
“Hide,” the woman’s voice echoed in Aria’s mind. “If you are lost, follow the song.”
Aria’s breath hitched. Tears blurred her vision.
The pearl pulsed, and a thin beam of light shot upward, striking the chamber ceiling. The salt crystals lit up, and the entire cavern seemed to ring like glass.
The Sorcerer staggered back, shielding his face. “Stop!”
Aria clutched the pearl to her chest. She felt stronger—not invincible, but anchored.
The shadows around the Sorcerer writhed, suddenly uncertain.
Echo darted to the pedestal and then to the door, as if urging them to run.
“We have it,” Aria said. “We go. Now.”
Doll spun in a tight circle. “I officially vote for ‘now.’”
They rushed back through the tunnel. Aria moved faster than before, as if the pearl’s light made the path clearer. Behind them, the Sorcerer’s voice hissed, echoing down the corridor.
“You cannot keep it! You will come back! Lost princesses always return to those who promise answers!”
Aria’s jaw tightened. “Not to you.”
At the salt-crystal door, the spiral glowed again as Echo traced it. The door opened, and cool cavern air washed over them.
They scrambled down the stairs into the water. Aria felt relief hit her like a wave as her tail regained strength.
But the water churned.
The Sorcerer had followed.
He stood at the top of the stairs, robes fluttering as if the shadows were trying to pull him away and couldn’t. His eyes were furious now, no longer amused.
He raised both hands. The salt crystals above cracked, and shards began to fall, slicing through the air.
Aria’s mind raced. She couldn’t fight him directly. She couldn’t out-power a Sorcerer.
So she did what she had always done in the Hidden Oasis: she used what she had.
She pressed the pearl against her throat and hummed the spiral song again—stronger this time, because she remembered the feeling of being held, of being protected.
The water answered.
It rose in a smooth wall between them and the falling crystals. The shards struck the water and sank harmlessly.
Doll whispered, awed, “Aria, you’re… controlling it.”
Aria’s voice trembled but held. “It’s not control. It’s… partnership.”
Flower’s petal token warmed in her other hand, as if approving.
The Sorcerer snarled. “You think you can seal me out?”
Aria glanced at the narrow channel leading back to the oasis. She could escape. But if the Sorcerer remained, he could return, again and again.
Echo circled frantically, then zipped toward the cavern ceiling, pointing with its whole body at the salt crystals.
Aria understood: the crystals were fragile. The cavern was a dome of saltglass—beautiful, but breakable.
She didn’t want to trap the Sorcerer forever. But she could collapse the path.
Doll drifted close. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, I would like to note that I am not very waterproof against cave-ins.”
Aria swallowed. “Stay behind me.”
She swam upward, closer to the ceiling, and sang the spiral song in a rising pitch. The pearl vibrated, and the salt crystals resonated.
A hairline crack spread like lightning across the dome.
The Sorcerer’s eyes widened. “Stop! You’ll bury the grotto!”
“You chose this,” Aria said, voice fierce. “You tried to steal a home.”
She cut the song abruptly.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then the dome groaned.
A section of saltglass broke away, not falling straight down but sliding into the water like a slow avalanche. Water rushed up to meet it, cushioning the collapse.
The stairs shuddered. The tunnel behind the Sorcerer crumbled, sealing the chamber entrance with a thick barricade of salt and stone.
The Sorcerer stumbled back, trapped on the upper ledge, separated from them by broken steps and churning water.
His voice echoed, furious and fading as the cavern settled. “This is not the end, Aria! Lost princesses do not stay hidden!”
Aria panted, clutching the pearl. “Maybe I won’t,” she whispered. “But I won’t be found by you.”
Echo darted toward the channel. Doll followed, grumbling about near-death experiences and the lack of snacks.
They swam hard, through the narrow waterway, until the air warmed and the scent of palms returned. The shimmering seam in the canyon wall appeared ahead like a curtain of moonlit mist.
Aria pushed through.
The Hidden Oasis greeted them with soft night sounds: springs bubbling, palm leaves rustling, insects singing. The water here felt different now—cleaner, as if it had been holding its breath and finally exhaled.
Flower stood at the shore, petals lifted toward the stars.
“You returned,” Flower said, and its voice was so relieved that Aria felt her eyes sting again.
Doll floated in a triumphant circle. “We returned with dramatic treasure and minimal emotional devastation. I consider this a success.”
Aria swam to the shallows and held the pearl up. Its colors reflected on the water’s surface, painting it in ribbons of twilight.
The Guardian Spirit rose from the depths, glow gentle and approving. “You retrieved what was taken.”
Aria’s hands shook. “I remember pieces now. A palace. A song. My mother.”
The Spirit nodded. “The pearl holds memory, but also purpose. It is a royal emblem, woven into your bloodline’s bond with this oasis. You are not only sheltered here. You are meant to guard it.”
Aria blinked. “Guard it? Me?”
Doll muttered, “She’s already bossy enough. Please don’t give her official authority.”
Aria nudged Doll with her tail, but she was smiling. “What happens now?”
The Guardian Spirit extended a hand. “Place the pearl into the Heartwell.”
“The dark spot,” Aria realized. The place she had stared at for years.
She swam to the deepest part of the oasis. The water there was still, as if waiting.
Aria hovered above it, holding the pearl with both hands. She felt the weight of choice. If she placed it, would she be binding herself to the oasis forever? Would she be giving up the possibility of finding her sea-palace?
Flower’s voice drifted across the water. “Roots are not chains.”
Doll added, softer than usual, “And doors can open both ways.”
Aria inhaled. She thought of the Sorcerer’s words—predictable, trapped. She refused to let anyone define her by fear.
She released the pearl.
It sank slowly, glowing as it descended. When it reached the dark spot, the water opened like a gentle mouth, accepting it.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then light spread outward from the Heartwell in a wide, quiet circle. The oasis brightened from within, as if stars had slipped into the water. The springs bubbled more strongly, and the bitter taste Flower had mentioned vanished.
The palm trees seemed taller, their silhouettes proud.
The Guardian Spirit’s glow intensified, becoming clearer, more solid.
Aria felt something in her chest click into place—not a chain, but a link. A connection.
A faint outline appeared beneath the water: a pattern of pathways, like veins of light running through stone. It was a map—an underground river system branching far beyond the canyon.
“The Hidden Oasis is larger than it seems,” the Guardian Spirit said. “It is connected to forgotten waters. With the pearl restored, those paths awaken.”
Doll gasped. “Secret tunnels. I love secret tunnels.” Then, catching itself: “I mean, I love being safe and not crushed by salt.”
Aria stared at the glowing map below. “These lead… outward?”
“Yes,” the Spirit replied. “Some lead to the open sea. Some lead to other hidden places. And one—one leads to the ruins of your mother’s court.”
Aria’s throat tightened. “Ruins?”
The Spirit’s voice was gentle but honest. “Time and conflict changed it. The Sorcerer was not always alone. But the past is not only tragedy. It is also proof that you came from somewhere, and that you can choose what to rebuild.”
Aria looked down into the water and saw her reflection layered with the oasis’s inner starlight. She still looked like herself—curious, stubborn, sometimes afraid. But now she also looked… less unfinished.
Flower spoke quietly. “You brought balance back.”
Aria turned. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Flower’s petals fluttered. “I only gave a petal. You gave a voice.”
Doll drifted closer, as if uncomfortable with sincerity. “And I gave outstanding moral support and many important warnings.”
Aria laughed, a real laugh, the kind that felt like bubbles rising. “You did.”
The Guardian Spirit lifted its hands, and from the water near Aria rose a small chest made of polished driftwood and banded with silver shell metal. It floated to her, buoyant and patient.
“A reward,” the Spirit said. “Not as a bribe. As recognition. The pearl’s return has unlocked the oasis’s royal cache—gifts saved for the rightful guardian.”
Doll’s button eye gleamed. “Chest. CHEST. Open it.”
Aria placed her hands on the latch. It clicked easily, as if it had been waiting for her touch.
Inside lay three things.
First: a slender circlet made of coral and moonstone, sized to fit her head. It was not heavy, not showy, but when Aria touched it, it hummed faintly with the spiral song.
Second: a spool of thread that shimmered like fish scales—waterproof, strong, and sparkling.
Third: a small, folded sailcloth map, inked in shifting lines that resembled the glowing pathways beneath the oasis.
Aria stared, breath caught.
The Guardian Spirit said, “The circlet is a sign, for those who recognize the old bond. The thread is for repairing what has been torn—fabric, friendship, promises. The map will update as the underground rivers change. It will guide you, but it will not force you.”
Doll practically dove into the chest. “THE THREAD. Finally. I am going to be so stitched.”
Aria picked up the spool and smiled at Doll. “We’ll fix you first.”
Doll went very still, as if trying not to cry and refusing to admit it. “Good. Because this loose arm has been an insult to my dignity.”
Flower’s voice held amusement. “Dignity is important.”
Aria placed the circlet on her head. It settled perfectly, cool against her hair. She didn’t suddenly feel like a different person, but she felt… recognized.
She unfolded the map. The lines shimmered, then steadied, showing the oasis at the center and a branching route marked with a tiny symbol like a shell-crown.
Aria looked toward the canyon seam, now quiet again, as if resting.
“So,” Doll said, voice bright with mischief, “when do we go exploring? Preferably somewhere with less collapsing architecture.”
Aria glanced back at Flower. “I won’t leave right away,” she said. “The oasis needs time to settle. And I want to learn this song properly.”
Echo, the whisperfin, spiraled around her circlet, then settled near the surface like a floating ribbon of moonlight.
The Guardian Spirit nodded. “Wise. Courage is not only in the leap. It is also in the preparation.”
Aria gazed at the water, now filled with starlit pathways, and felt something new: curiosity without the sharp edge of desperation.
She was still the lost princess, but lost was no longer her only description.
She was Aria—mermaid, guardian-in-training, singer of spiral doors, friend to a blunt doll and a steady flower, and someone with a real treasure chest to prove her story was moving forward.
That night, under the desert stars, Aria used the shimmering thread to sew Doll’s loose arm back into place. Doll complained about her technique, but leaned close anyway.
Flower listened to Aria practice the spiral melody until it sounded less like guessing and more like remembering.
And deep beneath them, the restored pearl glowed quietly in the Heartwell, keeping the Hidden Oasis open—not as a hiding place, but as a home with doors in every direction.