Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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PROLOGUE

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The forest withers and dies in Deet’s wake. Rian casts one last look back towards Stone-in-the-Wood, before he rushes in after her. 

He can’t match her pace, not when he’s having to hack and slash through every twisting vine, every gnarled branch that winds its way in front of him, but her trail is unmistakable, and so he follows, slow, but sure. The forest is silent, no chattering birds or creatures, just the creaking of trees as they contort into horrible shapes, leaves turning purple, then black. 

Half a day passes like this, trekking deeper and deeper into the Dark Woods. Deet’s headed towards the Castle of the Crystal, but Rian has no way of knowing if that’s truly her destination, or if she’s just trying to get away from Stone-in-the-Wood. The image of Deet, turning away as the woods swallowed her up, is burned into his mind. He’s lost too many people already, he won’t lose any more. Whether it’s to the Castle or the very ends of the earth, wherever Deet’s headed, that’s where he’ll go.

It’s nearly sundown when he finally catches sight of her. She’s standing in the center of a copse, surrounded by seven trees. Her back is to him, and she’s completely still, her hands hanging loose at her sides.

“Deet?” Rian calls, stepping closer to the edge of the ring. The Darkening works its way up the trunks of all seven trees one-by-one, bark sloughing off to reveal sick purple veins underneath. At the sound of his voice, Deet tilts her head just a fraction, and even from here he can see the same purple veins spider-webbing across her skin. He holds up his hands in a gesture of peace, showing he means her no harm. “I just want to help you, Deet. Please, let me help you.”

Deet does nothing, says nothing, and Rian takes another step closer, breaking the treeline. There’s a terrible crack, just overhead. Rian glances up in time to see a branch falling from the canopy above, but too late to get out of the way. It comes careening down towards him.

He feels a flash of pain, and then he feels nothing at all.

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Chapter Text

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ONE

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The Gelfling gathered at Stone-in-the-Wood tend to their dead at sundown, returning them to Thra with the honor and ceremony that the fallen heroes deserve. Then, at night, they celebrate those sacrifices, and the newfound unity of the seven clans, and their victory over the SkekSis. The war is far from over, but today they’ve proven it’s a war they can win, so long as they stand together, and if that’s not cause for celebration, then Gurjin’s not sure what is.

He’s had more than a little wine, so when a hand darts out from the shadows and drags him into a darkened doorway, he’s slow to react. His drink sloshes and spills as he goes to shove the offender off, but then he sees their face, and goes still.

“Rian!” he hisses, glancing at their surroundings. They’re standing in the entryway of a seemingly empty home -- Rian’s family home, if Gurjin had to guess, assuming Rian had family left in Stone-in-the-Wood. His father, Ordon, had always been stationed at the Castle for as long as Gurjin had known him, and Rian had never spoken of anyone else. “Where have you been? People were looking for you.”

Honestly, Gurjin had just figured that Rian had slipped off somewhere with Deet, hopefully dealing with whatever it was that was going on between them. But then he hadn’t shown up when they laid Maudra Fara to rest, and he’d started to doubt, but managed to brush it aside. Now, seeing the grim look on his best friend’s face sobers him right up -- something is very wrong.

Rian is cloaked in shadow, and Gurjin’s reminded of another moment just like this one, his back against the stone walls of the castle, the day Rian showed him what happened to Mira. The memories are so strong and clear he’d almost think it was a dreamfast, except Rian’s already let go of his arm, and is looking about furtively. “Meet me in the clearing on the south edge of town,” Rian says instead of answering his question, his voice low and steady. “Bring Naia, if she’ll come.”

“Bring Naia?” Gurjin says, glancing his friend over as best he can in the darkness. “Are you hurt?” The Hunter had just about torn Rian’s head off, and from what Gurjin’s heard, Rian’s fight with the General had been rough. Now that he’s really looking, he can see bruises on his neck, and dried blood on his forehead. Gurjin reaches for Rian’s shoulder, but the other boy takes a quick step back.

“The clearing south of town,” Rian repeats, taking one more step back out the door. “As soon as you can. Please.” And then he’s gone, the door creaking closed behind him as he slips off into the night.

“Yeah, sure,” Gurjin says, to the empty room. “Sounds great. I’m sure I won’t regret this.” He drinks the last of his wine, and heads back outside, in search of his sister.

-+-

Naia’s been to plenty of parties in her life -- back in the Sog, they had festivals and tournaments, celebrations that went into all hours of the night. Still, she’s never been to party quite like this one. What started as a couple of drinks to honor the fallen turned into a raucous occasion. It was something to see -- Gelfling from all seven clans singing and dancing and drinking, and generally just enjoying each other’s company. The SkekSis had sown discord and distrust for so long, but now all those years of animosity fell away.

Kylan’s scrounged up a lute from who knows where, and has gathered a crowd as he tells an old folk song. It’s a familiar one -- even Naia, who’s never had much use for songs, knows the words by heart. Most of the crowd is singing along, their voices rising in the cool night air, and for once, Kylan looks entirely in his element. Nearby, her mother, Maudra Laesid, along with the Grottan Maudra Argot, are steadily drinking a couple of Vapran boys under the table. 

It’s a good night, and after the past few days, they’ve all earned this reprieve. Naia sticks to the back of the crowd, nursing a drink and just soaking it all in -- the chiming voices, the steady heat from the bonfire, the stars, clear and bright in the sky overhead. 

She catches movement, out of the corner of her eye, and turns to see Gurjin, skulking in the treeline. She jerks her chin, beckoning him over, but her brother shakes his head, once, and stands his ground. Naia sighs, drains the rest of her cup all in one go, and ambles over to him.

Gurjin is her twin, she knows him like she knows her own heart, but the brother she pulled out of the SkekSis dungeon, half-dead and delirious, is not the same as the brother she grew up with. He refuses to tell her the exact details of what happened to him, won’t even share it in a dreamfast, but between what she’d seen in Rian’s memories and the weariness that had clung to Gurjin like a cloud, she can make a good enough guess. She’d healed cuts and bruises and burns, but she hadn’t been able to heal the worst of what had been done to him.

Still, even after all that he’d endured, there was only one person who could put such a dark look on her brother’s face. Naia sighs, and says, “What’d he do this time?”

“I don’t know,” Gurjin admits. Knowing Rian, it could be just about anything. The boy attracted trouble like a moth to a flame. “But we should probably hurry. He asked for you.” Gurjin glances up at Kylan, still captivating the crowd. “Should we bring him?” 

Naia mulls it over for a moment, before shaking her head. “No, let him have this,” she says, and motions for Gurjin to lead the way.

-+-

It’s only a few minutes walk to the clearing Rian mentioned. The sounds of the party fade the further they get from town, until finally the woods are silent. Gurjin approaches carefully, Naia at his heels. She has her dagger drawn, silver glinting in the moonlight. At least he’s not the only one unsure of what to expect.

Rian’s waiting for them in the clearing, illuminated by the moonlight and the stars above. He’s not alone.

“Rian?” Gurjin calls, stepping out of the brush, moving carefully. “Deet?”

Rian turns to face them, looking startled for just a moment, before he calms down, his face set. He waves them forward but puts a finger to his lips, motioning for quiet. Deet still has her back to them, and something about her posture seems...unnatural. Gurjin isn’t sure what’s going on, but whatever it is, he’s sure he doesn’t like it.

The twins exchange a glance. Gurjin shrugs, then heads towards Rian and Deet, twigs and fallen leaves crunching under his feet as he steps into the clearing.

“What’s all this about?” Naia asks, her voice low, but Rian just shakes his head, turning back towards Deet. The Grottan girl still hasn’t moved, or seemed to notice them at all.

“Deet,” Rian says, and his voice is soft, gentle. “Naia and Gurjin are here. They’re our friends, remember?”

There’s something pleading in Rian’s tone, he sounds all at once broken and determined, but Gurjin only has a moment to let his friend’s sorrow wash over him, because that’s when Deet turns around to face them.

Naia takes a step back and draws a harsh breath. “She’s darkened,” she says, and it’s undeniably true, Deet’s eyes are crackling with violet energy, sick tendrils of the darkness spreading across her face. She’s looking right at them, but she is utterly, unnaturally still.

“The Emperor did this to her?” Gurjin asks, barely able to tear his eyes away from Deet long enough to glance at Rian. He’d hardly understood what had happened between Deet and the Emperor at the end of the battle, but whatever it was, the effects on Deet are obvious, and they are devastating.

When Rian speaks, he sounds mournful. “Down in the caves, the Sanctuary Tree gave her its power, so she could absorb the Darkening. I’ve seen her do it before, with the Nurlocs. She saved them, just like she saved us.”

“Did this happen to her then?” Naia asks, and Rian shakes his head.

“She only fainted,” he explains. “After she woke, she was fine. She said she felt fine.” He trails off, and must notice that Naia’s still got her dagger in her hand, because his eyes narrow and his voice sharpens as he says, “She won’t hurt you. She’ll do what you ask, she’s calm now.”

The word now rings heavy in the air. From what Gurjin knows of darkened creatures, they are absolutely violent, and on top of that, out here in the moonlight, he can plainly see the cut on Rian’s temple, still sluggishly bleeding, and too fresh to have come from the battle. Gurjin shifts his stance uneasily.

Naia nods at Rian’s words, though she still doesn’t tuck her dagger away. “I know what you’re going to ask,” she says, looking right at him, and her tone is firm, but not unkind. “It’s not going to work.”

“Will you try?” Rian asks anyway, sounding desperate, and Naia sighs, turning back to Deet and assessing her, a frown etched on her features.

“I don’t like this,” Gurjin says, because somebody has to be the voice of reason here, and somehow, it’s fallen on him. “It seems dangerous.”

“He isn’t asking you to do it, is he?” Naia points out, finally sheathing her dagger, and taking another step in, closing the distance between her and the Grottan girl. Deet’s eyes are fixed on Naia, but her gaze is distant.

“The Darkening spreads, though, doesn’t it?” Gurjin argues, not ready to concede just yet. “What if it spreads to you?”

“Then pull her off me,” Naia suggests, her tone light, and then she calls, “Deet? Will you sit with me?” As she talks, she sits herself down in the tall grass of the clearing, legs folded, back straight, open palms resting on her knees. After a moment, Deet mirrors her, moving without a sound. She sits so their knees are touching, and lays her palms in Naia’s waiting ones. Her eyes are open wide, and unblinking.

“Thank you,” Rian says, sounding breathless, but Naia only rolls her eyes.

“I need to concentrate,” she tells him. Her eyes flutter closed, and Deet’s do the same. “Go back into town, get something to eat. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Rian says, his voice measured, his feet firmly planted. “I’d like to stay.”

Naia huffs out a breath and cracks one eye open just long enough to glare at him -- across from her, Deet does exactly the same. It’s eerie, and Gurjin thinks he’s the only one who notices. “Go, Rian, before I make Gurjin carry you.”

Rian glances at Gurjin, who shrugs, and then he raises his palms in defeat.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, but if he’s addressing Deet, she doesn’t even react, her eyes closing along with Naia’s. He hesitates only a second longer before he disappears back into the treeline.

“This is a terrible idea,” Gurjin announces.

“Probably,” Naia agrees, and then her hands glow blue, and she falls silent as her healing magic starts to do its work. Gurjin sighs, flops down to sit beside the two girls, and settles in to wait.

-+-

Rian hates to leave Deet behind, but he’s already asking so much of Naia, he’s not willing to push his luck. He trusts Naia and Gurjin to keep Deet safe, just like he trusts that Deet won’t try and hurt them. She hadn’t even meant for him to get hurt, although the wound on his head throbs in time with his heartbeat all the same. It had been an accident, simple as that, and when he’d woken, on his back on the forest floor, he’d found Deet leaning right over him. Her eyes still glowed that sickly purple, and the Darkening still festered within her, but it stopped spreading to the forest around them. It was like seeing him hurt had gotten through to her, somehow, or unlocked something within her.

He knows, without a doubt, that she’s still in there, that she’s still Deet, underneath the Darkening’s hold. She still couldn’t speak, or wouldn’t speak, and she seemed to be looking right through him, but when he’d asked her to come with him back to camp, she’d followed. He’d left her to wait just outside of town, not sure of how the other Gelfling would react to seeing her like this.

Now, he’s walking back into Stone-in-the-Wood without her, again, but at least this time he knows she’s in good hands. He’s not sure Naia’s healing magic can do anything to combat the Darkening, but it’s worth a try.

The closer he gets to the center of town, the louder it gets -- but it’s not the noise of a party, like when he’d found Gurjin just a little while ago -- it’s the sound of an argument. He rounds a corner, and finds a surprising scene laid out in front of him.

“I refuse to accept that!” Brea is shouting, her hands balled up into fists, and she’s arguing with none other than Mother Aughra, standing near one of the larger bonfires.

“Accept it, don’t accept it,” Aughra replies calmly, biting into a peachberry. “Doesn’t matter. Won’t change anything, will it?” She’s lounging in a chair, pulled from a hastily built furniture barricade, abandoned after the fight this morning. She looks entirely unbothered, while Brea looks absolutely furious, the light from the fire flickering on her face. 

“What’s going on?” Rian asks, glancing between the two of them. The rest of the Gelfling are clustered nearby, giving Brea and Aughra a wide enough berth, but everyone is quiet, and listening. Even Kylan, lute in his hand, is only strumming idly, obviously paying more attention to the conversation than his music.

“Rian!” Brea exclaims, temporarily distracted by his arrival. She hugs him quickly, then holds him at arm's length, checking him over with a critical eye, no doubt noticing the wound on his brow, the bruising on his throat. She doesn’t comment on his injuries, and instead she lets him go. She throws a glare over her shoulder at Aughra, who is too interested in her peachberry to even notice, and she tells him, “Mother Aughra says we can’t heal the Crystal.”

“No,” Aughra corrects, “I said you can’t heal the Crystal.”

Brea’s silent for about half a second, and then erupts, “That is exactly what I just said!”

Aughra tosses the rest of the fruit in her mouth, chews noisily, and then spits the pit an impressive distance. It pings off of the Crucible, and ricochets into the fire. “The Crystal can be healed. Will be healed. I think. I hope,” she adds in an undertone. She mutters something under her breath, then looks back up at Brea and Rian. “By Gelfling hand, or else by none. Just not by your hands. Not by you.”

Brea’s grip tightens, and Rian realizes she’s clutching the crystal shard. “By Gelfling hand or else by none,” she repeats. “Why not us, then?”

“Plenty of Gelfling,” Aughra says with a shrug. “Must be a different one.”

“What are we supposed to do, then?” Brea demands. The firelight glints off the crystal in her hand. “Just sit around and wait?”

“Survive,” Aughra says, and now she sounds grim. Then, without warning, she settles into her chair, tips her head back, and lets out a mighty snore, her mouth hanging open as she falls instantly asleep.

“I can’t believe this,” Brea says, shaking her head. “I know she’s the heart of Thra, but she’s just so--”

“Mysterious?” Rian prompts.

“Infuriating!” Brea scrubs a hand across her eyes, and then tucks the crystal into her bag for safekeeping. She gives Rian another once over. “Where have you been? We laid Maudra Fara to rest, but you weren’t there.” She sounds concerned, not accusatory, and reaches out to take his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Rian says, and he means it. He’ll have to pay his respects to his fallen Maudra later, but right now, there’s no time. He drops his voice, looks around to make sure that no one is listening. Most of the surrounding Gelfling have wandered away, and Mother Aughra is snoring so loud it’s a wonder she doesn’t wake herself with the noise. “I went after Deet.”

“Did you find her?” Brea asks, squeezing his hand.

“Yes, but.” Rian struggles for the right words. “She’s..not well.”

He realizes belatedly that Brea’s still got ahold of him, and is tugging him forward. He lets her guide him to a seat by the fire. Kylan joins them not long after, a lute slung across his back, and carrying a bowl of stew, which he pushes into Rian’s hands. He and Brea wait patiently as Rian recounts the story, too tired and wrung out for dreamfasting. He tells them what happened with the Sanctuary Tree and the Nurlocs, and about tracking Deet down after the battle.

When he’s done, Brea is staring off into the woods, her brow furrowed. “How long did Naia say she needed?”

“I don’t know.” Rian sighs. Now that he’s sitting down, his whole body feels heavy, a thousand aches and pains from the day making themselves known. “Honestly, I think she just sent me away to try and get some rest.”

“You do look terrible,” Kylan says, and then pats him on the knee apologetically.

Brea hums in agreement, but pushes herself up to a stand anyway, and offers a hand down to Rian to pull him up. “I think it’s time we check up on them, don’t you?”

-+-

The scene in the clearing is much the same as Rian left it. Naia and Deet are sitting face to face, both with their eyes closed, as if in meditation. Gurjin is sprawled beside them, peeling grass stalks apart into fibers. He offers a little wave as the trio approaches, but neither of the girls react.

“How’s it going?” Rian asks, not daring to hope for much.

Gurjin starts to open his mouth, but it’s Naia who answers. “I’m sorry, Rian.” The blue light fades from her hands as she opens her eyes. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

“Thank you for trying,” Rian says, even as he dips his head. It’s not as if he really thought this was something Naia could fix, but fearing something and knowing it as the truth are two very different beasts.

Naia stands in one fluid motion, and steps closer to him, a frown on her face as she looks him over. She reaches up and pressed two fingers to the cut on his forehead. Her hand flashes blue, and he feels the strange sensation of his skin slowly knitting itself together. The wound doesn’t heal completely, but it is closed, and even the ache of the bruises on his neck fades a little.

“Injuries I can heal,” Naia tells him, even as he mumbles his thanks. “But Deet isn’t injured, she’s--”

“--Infected.” Everyone except Deet jumps in alarm at the new voice, and then turns as Mother Aughra trudges into the clearing. She brushes past Rian and the others, and drops to the ground unceremoniously in front of Deet. Gurjin barely scrambles out of the way in time. “Not even your mother’s healing magic can fix this.” Rian sighs. Only the Drenchen possessed healing magic, and Maudra Laesid was the most skilled of her clan. If not even she could fix Deet, then how--

“What about you, Mother Aughra?” It’s Naia who speaks up. “Can you help her?”

“I’m afraid not.” Aughra sighs, and she does sound mournful. She takes one of Deet’s hands in both of her own, examining the purple veins spreading under her skin. “Deet will have to win this battle herself.”

“But how?” Brea presses. Aughra huffs and throws her hands up in the air.

“Bah, how should I know?” Aughra scoffs. “Do I look like a Mystic to you? All Aughra sees is the paths, laid out before you. Don’t know which one leads away from this .” She gestures at Deet, quiet in the grass, overtaken and overrun by the Darkening.

“Are you saying the Mystics could help her?” Rian asks, and Aughra grumbles an affirmative. He glances around at his companions and says, “We could head back to the Circle of the Suns, maybe the Wanderer--”

“Bah!” Aughra says again, louder this time. “Those old fools. No good! You need the wisest of the Mystics. Maybe he can help Deet. Maybe!” She adds, but right now, even maybe is good enough for Rian. It’s better than nothing at all.

“Where do we find him?” Kylan asks, already reaching around to his bag, probably to rifle through his journals and maps.

“Follow the Black River south, through the Dark Wood,” Aughra recites. “A valley sits north of the Spriton Plains. There, you will find urSu, master of the Mystics. Now, go! Time is short! The Darkening eats away at her, you wait too long, might be nothing left to save!”

That grim proclamation hanging in the air, Aughra flops back backwards, already asleep before she hits the ground. Deet doesn’t stir, still sitting with her legs crossed and her eyes closed.

There’s an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by Aughra’s snores. Rian clears his throat and says, “I won’t ask any of you to come with me.”

“Shut up, Rian,” Gurjin says, but his tone is mild, and there's no heat behind his words.

“We’re coming with you,” Brea chimes in, and Naia and Kylan nod. Rian feels a warmth, blooming in his chest, for the first time since losing Deet to the Darkening.

“In that case, gather your things and be ready to move,” Rian tells them. “We’ll leave at first light.”

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Chapter Text

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TWO

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“I wish you would stay,” Seladon says, her hands gentle but sure as she braids back Brea’s hair. She can barely remember a time when her eldest sister was this soft with her -- their relationship has been so fraught for so long. Even now, the weight of Seladon’s betrayal hangs heavy between them, even as Brea tries to move forward. Seladon’s the only sister she’s got left, and Tavra would have wanted Brea to forgive her. That doesn’t make it easy.

Brea tries to clear her mind, the loss of her sister still too fresh, and checks herself as best she can in her borrowed mirror. She’s actually planning to go on an adventure this time around, so she’s dressed more practically -- comfortable breeches and a pair of sturdy boots.

“You know why I have to go,” Brea finally answers, turning around to face her sister as soon as she’s tied off the braid. “Deet’s my friend, she would do the same for me.”

“I know,” Seladon says. She reaches up to cup Brea’s cheek, and seems to struggle with what to say. Brea isn’t sure what she wants to hear: I’m sorry, I love you, Forgive me. In the end, Seladon settles for, “Be careful.”

“I will,” Brea promises. “You do the same.” As All-Maudra, Seladon would be overseeing their growing resistance. There were troops to arrange, armor and weapons to organize, and a siege to plan, if they were going to take the Castle of the Crystal. If all went well, Brea and her friends would be back in time to help, after Deet was healed from the Darkening.

Brea bids her sister goodbye, and heads out to meet the others. She finds them gathered around the Crucible, as the first rays of sunlight peek over the horizon. They’re leaving without much fanfare -- only a few people have gathered to see them off, as most of the Gelfling are still sleeping in after last night’s festivities. Brea managed only a few hours of fitful sleep herself, and she doesn’t think her friends fared much better. Gurjin is bleary-eyed, Naia is stifling a yawn, and she’d be surprised if Rian slept at all.

Nearby, the twins are saying their goodbyes to their mother, and Rian is standing with Deet’s family. One of her fathers is holding little Bobb’N, the other has a hand on Rian’s shoulder. Brea is too far away to hear their conversation, but she watches as Rian nods solemnly. Deet’s father steps in and hugs him. Rian tenses for just a moment in surprise, and then returns the gesture gratefully. Brea looks away.

Within a few minutes, they set out, heading south out of town. They’ve all packed light, expecting only a few days journey to the Valley of the Mystics. Brea notices that Gurjin and Rian are both carrying two packs each -- for Kylan and Deet, she’d wager, who are waiting for them just outside of Stone-in-the-Wood. Rian had offered to stay with Deet through the night, and had immediately been voted down by the rest of the party. They chased him off to get some sleep, not that it had done much good. Instead Brea had taken a shift sitting with Deet, until the twins had replaced her, and finally Kylan took over not long before dawn. Brea assumes he’s already bid farewell to Maudra Mera. 

Apparently their song-teller had no problem keeping himself occupied -- Brea hears the high, clear notes of Kylan’s firca before they even reach the clearing, the sounds of his bone-flute echoing through the trees. It’s not a melody she recognizes, but if it’s a Spriton song or one of Kylan’s own creations, she’s not sure. She wonders if he’s written any songs about their journey so far, and makes a mental note to ask him later.

As soon as they reach the edge of the clearing, he stops, and practically jumps to his feet. “Oh, there you are!” He lets the firca drop to hang on its cord around his neck, and dusts himself off. Deet’s still sitting cross-legged in the grass, but she does look up as they approach, which is definitely an improvement from when Brea left her last night.

“Good news, I think,” Kylan starts, but he’s interrupted -- by Deet.

“Why did you stop?” she asks, her voice plaintive. She mostly sounds like herself, and just the sound of her voice sends a jolt of surprise through the group. Brea and Naia exchange a glance, and Rian looks like he’s been struck.

“Our friends are here,” Kylan answers, sounding honestly a little anxious as Deet reaches out and wraps her fingers around his ankle, squeezing tight. “Uhm, well.”

Rian is across the clearing and at Deet’s side in a heartbeat. He drops to his knees just in front of her. “Deet?” he asks, sounding worried and hopeful all at once. “Are you..feeling any better?”

Deet’s silent for a moment, just staring at him. Her eyes are still glowing an eerie violet. Finally she says, “Rian?” and to Brea, she sounds lost, and confused. She lets go of Kylan’s ankle, and he quickly steps away as Deet reaches towards Rian instead. Rian sits completely still, allowing it, but when her hand is only inches away from his face, her skin crackles with energy, and Deet pauses. She flexes her fingers, seeming to marvel at them, and then drops her hand back into her lap.

“Deet?” Rian tries again, but it's no use, she’s back to staring blankly, and doesn’t seem to hear him. Nearby, a bird bursts into song, but the meadow is otherwise silent.

“She’s been going in and out like that,” Kylan explains in an undertone, shifting from one foot to the other. “She liked the music, it -- it woke her up, I think.”

“That’s a good sign!” Brea exclaims, smiling for what feels like the first time in days, and earning a nervous smile from Kylan in return.

“Yeah, nice work,” Gurjin says, and then he tosses Kylan’s pack right at his chest. He catches it with an oof, and Gurjin adds, “Me and Naia couldn’t get anything out of her.”

“You slept the whole time,” Naia reminds him, rolling her eyes. “You were snoring louder than Mother Aughra.”

“Where did she go?” Brea asks, suddenly noticing the woman’s absence. The clearing is empty, not counting the six of them, but she’s left an imprint in the tall grass.

“Wandered off not long after you left,” Naia answers. She hikes a thumb at her brother. “Said she couldn’t sleep with all his racket.” Gurjin looks unashamed. 

“I can try again,” Kylan offers, running a hand along the smooth surface of his firca. “Maybe it will help, having all of us here.”

“Later,” Rian decides, still not taking his eyes off Deet. “We need to get moving.” When he stands, Deet follows him. Brea notices that he keeps her pack slung over his shoulders.

They fall into formation as they head south, away from Stone-in-the-Wood and deeper into the forest. Rian’s most familiar with the area, so he takes the lead, with Naia right behind him. Brea and Kylan keep to the middle, with Deet between them, silent but keeping pace, and Gurjin takes up the rear. Brea’s not sure what they’ll find at the end of this journey, she just hopes it’s enough to save her friend.

-+-

Their first day of travel is uneventful, and Kylan is grateful for that. Between sneaking into, and out of, the SkekSis castle, two carriage heists, and fighting in a war, a nice walk in the woods is a welcome change of pace. Sure, it would be even better if they weren’t in the middle of rebelling against their murderous overlords, or if one of his friends wasn’t possessed by a terrible and violent force, but still. He supposes beggars can’t be choosers. 

As they walk, Kylan reflects on everything that’s brought him to this point. Just a few weeks ago, he’d struck out from Sami Thicket, hoping for an adventure worth singing about. He’d gotten all of that and more when he’d met up with Naia, on a mission to rescue her brother from the SkekSis, no matter the cost. He doesn’t regret joining up with her -- quite the opposite. He can’t even imagine where he’d be now if he’d stayed behind. He’d followed her all the way into the Castle of the Crystal once before, and he’d do it again, no hesitation.

Well, he thinks, shivering as he remembers the dark, dank dungeons. Every shadow looked like a SkekSis, and he was certain they’d be caught and drained. The walls seemed to close in around them, choking them, as they half-led, half-dragged a barely conscious Gurjin to safety. Maybe a little hesitation. 

Still, despite all the dangers, they’d saved Gurjin, just like they were going to save Deet. And after that they’d defeat the SkekSis once and for all, and he’d have plenty to sing about.

Rian keeps them at a steady pace all day long, not even stopping for lunch, so they forage as they go. When Brea presses some nuts and berries into Deet’s waiting hands, she absentmindedly eat them, alleviating one of their unspoken fears. Whatever hold the Darkening has on her, at least she still has some self-preservation. 

The last of the suns is nearly setting by the time Rian finally relents. They make camp in a meadow, between the treeline and a gentle slope, leading down to the banks of the Black River. Here, the river is wide and slow, but still plenty deep. Naia and Gurjin are put in charge of dinner, and head into the water, already bickering over who will catch the biggest fish. Kylan and Brea gather firewood, while Rian sets up camp and gets Deet settled in. He’s talking to her in a low voice -- Kylan does his best not to listen, wanting to give his friends some privacy. 

“You know,” Kylan says, as he and Brea pick their way out of the treeline, their arms full of branches and bramble. “I really miss Hup.”

Brea laughs just a little, no doubt thinking of their strange, yet endearing Podling friend. But a moment later she frowns, glancing towards Rian and Deet -- he’s laying out her bedroll, and she’s sitting, curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees. She stares ahead, eyes crackling with violet energy but still completely blank. “I miss him, too, but...maybe it’s for the best, that he’s not here right now. It would break his heart to see her like this.”

Kylan hums thoughtfully, thinking she’s probably right. The Deet they’re travelling with now is so far from the sweet, cheerful person he knows her to be. He isn’t as close to her as Brea, or Rian, but it still hurts to see her like this. He can’t imagine how they’re dealing with it.

Not well, he thinks to himself, studying the slump to Rian’s shoulders. He isn’t sure what Rian will do if the Mystics can’t help Deet, but he's willing to bet it won’t be anything good.

Together, he and Brea get the fire going, as Rian coaxes Deet to sit with the rest of them. Naia and Gurjin hike back up the slope from the bank of the river and into camp, dripping water everywhere as they haul in their catch. Naia’s easily won their competition, but Gurjin isn’t giving in that easily.

“Yours just has longer fins,” he argues, flopping his fish around for emphasis, despite Kylan’s quiet protests, and Brea’s much louder ones. When Naia only waves him off, ignoring his barbs, he escalates things, saying, “Doesn’t matter, bet mine tastes better, anyway.” His comment gets a fierce grin out of his sister, and just like that, the competition is back on. 

In the end, Kylan isn’t even sure who wins. Fish cooked over a campfire tastes the same no matter what. He doesn’t even like fish. Still, the twins’ antics lighten the mood, which was probably the point all along.

After dinner, the six of them gather around the fire as the last traces of daylight fade away, and the stars begin to dot the sky. Deet is silent, but Kylan thinks she might be listening. She’s sitting completely still, but her eyes are tracking the conversation, her lips pressed together as if she’s deep in thought.

“All this walking,” Gurjin complains, sprawled on his back in the grass. “We’re going along the river anyway, might as well swim.”

“Most of us can’t breathe underwater,” Rian says mildly, poking at the fire with a stick. He’s sitting just to Deet’s left, like he doesn’t want her out of his reach.

“Yeah, but you can swim,” Gurjin points out, sitting up and crossing his legs as he leans a little closer to the flames. In the firelight, Kylan can’t help but notice the gills all down his neck, and across the tops of his bare shoulders. They’re sealed now, out in the open air, but Rian’s point still stands. 

Gurjin must catch him looking, because he grins, and says, “What about you, Song-Teller? You do much swimming in Sami Thicket?”

Naia flicks her brother on the shoulder, interrupting him. “The Black River flows North, remember? Not even you can swim against the current for that long.”

“Maybe I could,” Gurjin says, flippantly. He’s still watching Kylan, waiting for an answer. Kylan feels himself squirming, just a little, under his gaze.

“Not much, no,” he admits, and Gurjin’s grin only widens. “I think I could, you know, not drown, hopefully in a ...forward...direction.”

“I can’t swim,” Brea says, and both twins turn to look at her. Kylan breathes a sigh of relief, off the hook, at least for now. “Har’Rar is so high in the mountains, it’s much too cold to swim. I imagine you’d just freeze to death, wouldn’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, before adding, “I have been down to the coast, you know, but we weren’t allowed in the water.” She sighs, a little wistful, and Kylan is suddenly struck by the image of a younger Brea, an exasperated caretaker trying to keep the curious childling out of the sea.

“You weren’t allowed in the water?” Naia asks, sounding scandalized, and Brea nods quickly. Naia and Gurjin stare each other down, apparently having a silent conversation that mostly involves eyebrow movements.

“Yeah?” Gurjin finally says, breaking the silence.

Naia sighs. “Fine.” Without another word, the twins rise. Naia fixes with Kylan and Brea with an intense stare. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Wait, really?” Kylan asks, as Brea hurries to unlace her shoes, bubbling with excitement. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Gurjin agrees. “No time like the present, isn’t that what people say?”

Kylan imagines a dozen horrible scenarios -- a sudden current, sweeping him out to the Silver Sea, or some unseen beast, rising from the depths of the water. He opens his mouth, closes it, and says, “It’s dark.”

“Plenty of light to see by.” Gurjin motions at the moons shining overhead, as Brea hops to her feet, ready to go.

“Yes, but what if,” Kylan scrambles for a reason that this is a terrible idea, and and an excuse to stay right here, on dry land. “What if the SkekSis attack?”

Naia scoffs, waving for Gurjin and Brea to head down to the water without them. “The SkekSis are still cowering in their castle. And anyway, how would they even find us out here?”

Kylan glances to Rian, hoping that he’ll put an end to all this, but his friend almost looks amused, the tiniest of grins playing on his lips. “Go on, then,” he says, “I’ll keep watch.” At some point, Deet’s leaned in close, resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes lidded, and Kylan doubts that Rian is going anywhere anytime soon.

Accepting defeat, Kylan tugs off his shoes, leaving them beside Brea’s, and heads down the slope towards the bank after his friends. Gurjin’s already in the deepest part of the river, and he whoops as Kylan picks his way down to the shore. Brea wades in after Gurjin with a fearless determination, and soon enough the water is up to her waist. Kylan takes his time, edging his way in, letting the gentle waves lap over the tops of his feet.

“We won’t let you drown,” Naia says, just a few feet ahead of him. Her hand is outstretched, and she sounds kind, not teasing him at all. A little bit of the fear recedes, and he takes another step toward her. 

A howl splits the night air, freezing all of them in their tracks. It sounds animalistic and horrible. He’s never heard anything like it before.

Gurjin ducks underwater, and when he resurfaces, he’s nearly at the shore. “Was that...Deet?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound sure of himself.

“I don’t think so,” Kylan answers, and then the sound comes again, closer this time. Naia grabs his elbow and squeezes, tight.

“We need to move,” she hisses. “Now.”

-+-

Rian stares into the fire as his friends make their way down to the bank of the river, their voices carried through the night air. Honestly, he had half a mind to ask them to stay up at camp, but quickly dismissed the thought. Yes, their quest was urgent, but they were stopped for the night anyway -- and Naia was right, the SkekSis were surely up at the Castle, not looking for them out here in the wilds. And with the Arathim on their side, there wasn’t much out here to fear -- at least not much that Naia and Gurjin couldn’t handle. 

Not to mention, he’d been hoping for a moment alone with Deet, without the others hovering nervously nearby, and now he’s finally got that chance.

“I know you’re in there, Deet,” he says, keeping his voice low. Her head is still resting on his shoulder, her breathing even, but he doesn’t think she’s asleep. He’s not even sure if she can sleep, in this state. “I know you must be scared. I’m scared, too,” he admits, and then he takes a deep, steadying breath. “But I need you to keep fighting. And I need you to know, no matter what it takes, we’re going to fix this. I promise.”

Before they’d left Stone-in-the-Wood, he’d told Deet’s fathers that he’d bring her back safe, and he’d meant it. Hopefully the Mystics would have a solution, and if not, he’d find another way. He wouldn’t give up, and he wouldn’t go home without her.

Next to him, Deet lets out a little breath, like a sigh, and relaxes against him. At least she seems to know that she’s safe with him, Rian tells himself. At least there’s that.

For just a moment, the world is still. He listens to the quiet crackling of the fire, he listens to his friends, splashing about in the river below, he listens to the hum of the forest, thrumming with life even at night. Deet’s hand twitches, then moves, almost of its own accord, her fingertips brushing the back of his hand. Without hesitation, Rian flicks his wrist, offering her his palm, and she presses their hands together, interlacing their fingers.

It’s not like any dreamfast he’s experienced before. Deet doesn’t share any memories, just a swirling haze of violet. For a split second, he feels like he’s treading water, being dragged down and pulled apart all at once, caught in the surge as the Darkening’s wrath washes over him. And then, a voice, cutting through the waves of dark energy.

“Rian!” Deet sounds like she’s far away, or underwater, but his heart soars all the same, because it’s her, she really is in here, somewhere, lost in this maelstrom. “Rian, it's me, I’m h--”

The moment shatters before he can answer her call. Without warning, Deet sits bolt upright. She squeezes his hand so hard it hurts, jolting them both out of the dreamfast.

“Deet?” he asks in alarm. Her nails are digging into him, sharp enough to cut, but the flash of pain grounds him. He watches in horror as purple veins writhe and pulse just under her skin. She’s practically crackling with dark energy. “What’s wrong?”

Deet turns her head ever so slowly, looks him dead in the eyes, and speaks in a voice not her own.

“Run.”

Out in the woods, something screams, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He doesn’t know what sort of creature made the awful sound, but whatever it was, it’s close. 

He’s on his feet before he even realizes he’s moving, drawing his sword and kicking dirt over the fire to extinguish it, but he’s got a feeling it’s too little, too late. Something is out there, and it knows where they are.

“Stay down,” he tells Deet, and then the creature screams again, even closer now. He thinks he sees a shadow, slipping between the trees. Deet doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t react at all, and Rian adjusts his stance, putting himself between her and the unseen danger. 

The rest of the party hurries back up the slope, dripping wet and barefoot, but Rian has only a second to glance at them over his shoulder, before the beast bursts out of the treeline.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THREE

-+-

Rian’s first, wild thought, in the seconds before the creature attacks, is that the Arathim have betrayed them. Illuminated by moonlight, it looks like a Spitter -- or at least, the base of it does, with its many skittering legs. There’s more to it than that, rising up from where the body of the Spitter should end. This creature, this thing, holds itself nearly upright, with arms that end in terrible, curved claws, and it’s charging straight for him.

His second thought is that it’s some kind of Darkened creature. It’s definitely enraged, and he knows, without a doubt, that this thing would very much like to kill him. Except, its eyes aren’t glowing purple, they’re just hollow, and sunken into its expressionless face.

He doesn’t have time for a third thought, because the monster -- whatever it is -- is on him. Easy as breathing, he falls back on his training, reacting on instinct rather than thought, relying on skills hammered into him as a castle guard, and the captain’s son. He stands his ground, cutting a wide arc with his sword, and hacks into the meat of the monster’s closest leg. It screams, and then brings the blunt side of its claw down on him.

It’s only a glancing blow, but still it catches Rian upside the head, knocking him aside effortlessly. He keeps his grip on the hilt of his sword, but loses his footing, and he hits the ground.

“Rian!” Several voices shout his name, as Rian pushes himself back up to his feet, ears ringing. Whatever it is, it’s strong -- and armored, he notes, as the moonlight glints off some kind of carapace. Look for a weak point, he thinks, and of course his inner voice sounds like his father. He’s suddenly, fiercely grateful for the endless drills. If he’s lucky, they just might keep him and his friends alive for one more day.

By the time he’s back on his feet, the creature lunges again. This time it aims for Gurjin, who’s gotten ahold of his sword, but isn’t wearing his armor. Before it can cut him to ribbons with its claws, Brea launches into the air, her sudden movement and the buzzing of her wings distracting it just long enough for Gurjin to duck out of the way. The creature seems unsteady on its feet, and the momentum of its failed attack sends it careening forward, giving them a few seconds to regroup.

“What is this thing?” Gurjin shouts, as Brea touches down across from him, on the other side of the creature. Rian and Naia move in as well, and even Kylan has his sword drawn, although he’s obviously uncertain about it. The five of them make a ring around their attacker, while Deet remains stock-still, staring into the fire, seemingly oblivious to the fight going on around her.

“I don’t know,” Rian admits, sizing up their options. They need to move the battle away from Deet -- she’s completely out of it. He doesn't know if she’ll sit there and let the thing kill her, but he isn't about to find out. The problem is, their only other options are the woods or the river, and he likes neither of them.

“I have an idea,” Naia calls back, gripping her dagger with one hand, and with the other, swinging her bola, once, twice, three times. “Let’s ask it after we kill it.”

Naia lets the bola fly, the rope-and-stone weapon spinning end over end as it arcs through the air. Her aim is true, and it strikes the creature right between the eyes. It howls, bringing one clawed hand up to its face, but it doesn’t slow down, it only seems to get angrier. 

This time, it rushes Naia, who takes advantage of its unsteady movement, and weaves between the flailing claws, trying to bury her dagger in its chest. It’s no use, the blade only bounces off the plated armor lining the creature from its underbelly to its throat. She tucks and rolls underneath the creature, scooping up her bola and narrowly avoiding getting trampled by its half dozen skittering legs. Brea grabs her arm and pulls her up, and Naia readies for another attack the second she’s upright.

“Come on,” Gurjin calls, sounding equal parts annoyed and alarmed, swinging his sword and cutting into the same leg that Rian hit earlier. There’s a horrible crunching sound, and the creature screams. “Maybe you shouldn’t roll around underneath it?”

“Maybe you should put your shirt back on,” Naia shoots back, launching her bola again. This time, it pings off the back of the monster’s head, and it doesn’t even react.

“We’re not getting through this armor,” Rian calls out, trying to get them organized. “Focus on the legs, maybe if we can knock it down, we’ll have a chance.” As he speaks, he targets one of the back legs, taking another small chunk out of it, but it’s slow going. 

“Way ahead of you,” Gurjin answers, and his next swing very nearly severs the leg he’s been hacking at. The leg starts to buckle, and the creature screams again, lashing out with its curved claws. This time, Gurjin’s not fast enough. It cuts two shallow stripes across his chest, and he curses colorfully.

Naia strikes out with her dagger, this time aiming for one of the legs. “What did I tell you?” 

Without warning, Brea gasps and takes flight again, this time headed straight for their packs. Rian’s not sure what she’s planning, but Brea’s clever, and he trusts her. He swings again, and thankfully this time, he slices right through. The right-rear leg falls away with a gush of foul-smelling blood.

“Yeah, okay, you win!” Gurjin’s got one hand pressed against the bleeding wounds on his chest, the other still brandishing his sword. He seems more irritated than anything else, so maybe it looks worse than it actually is. “Next time I’ll give swimming lessons in full armor, how does that sound?”

“Is this really the time?” Kylan cuts in, exasperated. He swings his sword at one of the flailing legs, but he’s clumsy and unsure of himself, and it costs him. The creature whips back around at full speed, its claws catching Kylan square in the chest. 

Rian watches, helpless, as the force of the impact sends Kylan flying -- there’s a terrible crack as he crashes into the trunk of the closest tree. He crumples to the ground, and he doesn’t get back up.

-+-

It all happens very quickly -- the beast hits Kylan, Kylan hits the tree, and then he hits the ground, and then he doesn’t move anymore. Naia’s been running on adrenaline since the battle began, but now all she feels is a swoop of fear.

“Kylan!” she calls out, but he doesn’t answer, and he still isn’t moving, crumpled at the base of the tree. “You’d better not be dead!” The creature whips back around at the sound of her voice, but with two legs disabled it staggers and swings too wide. Naia neatly ducks under its reach and slashes at the remaining front leg, while Gurjin hacks at the only leg he can reach. The sooner they deal with the beast, the sooner she can help her friend.

“Brea, can you get to him?” Rian asks, not taking his eyes off the creature as he parries a blow from one of its flailing legs. The monster’s blood is splattered across his chest. 

“Yes,” Brea answers, and it sounds like she’s still over by their packs. Naia can’t look up to check, too preoccupied with the creature, bearing down on her with those wicked claws. “I just need to -- oh, I found it!” There’s the flutter of wings, and then Brea is zipping right overhead, flying low. The beast abandons Naia, instead rearing up to swipe at Brea as she sails above it. Brea neatly swerves out of the way, and drops something on the creature’s face.

There’s a sound, like a minor explosion, and a cloud of dust. The creature howls again, clawing at its own eyes. A smoke bomb, Naia realizes, stepping out of the monster’s grasp. Brea doesn’t let up or lose momentum, sailing towards the treeline and their fallen friend.

“Clever,” Rian mutters, nodding in approval. He glances left and right, catching Naia’s eye, and then Gurjin’s. “Let’s finish this.”

The creature’s wailing, blinded, wobbling and unsteady, as Naia takes the front leg, and Gurjin and Rian cripple the last leg on its right side. With that, the creature can’t support its own weight any longer, and it collapses, hitting the ground with a jarring thud. Its blood oozes across the ground, thick and tacky. 

With the creature’s face at eye level, Naia sees what they’ve been looking for all along -- a chink in the armor, the fleshy place where the creature’s neck meets the plate mail chest. Rian moves first, lifting his sword and driving it in deep, his face grim but determined, as if his whole world has narrowed down to this one purpose. In this moment, Naia thinks, maybe it has. The creature bucks and howls as he pushes the blade in, nearly to the hilt, and Naia can see his every muscle is tense with effort as the beast convulses, but he holds on tight.

There’s a crunching sound, another spray of blood, and one last howl, ripping through the night air. The scream cuts off suddenly, mid-breath, as the creature finally, finally, shudders, and dies.

The second it’s over, Naia takes off running. She’s heading for the treeline, to the place where Kylan fell, afraid of what she might find when she gets there, hoping for the best but imagining the worst. 

She feels a surge of relief to see that he’s conscious -- Brea’s even helped him to sit up, with his back against the tree. He’s pale and clammy and his arm is very obviously broken -- he’s got it cradled to his chest and the angle’s all wrong -- but he’s alive, and awake, his eyes flitting between Brea, who’s crouched beside him, and Naia, who’s skidding to a halt in front of him.

“That’s it, no more swimming lessons,” Naia announces, dropping to her knees beside Brea and Kylan, and reaching out to probe his injured arm as carefully as she can. “As soon as I fix you up, you’re learning how to use a sword.” She can’t keep her ebbing fear from her voice, but thankfully no one calls her on it.

“Rian tried to show me,” Kylan says, his own voice tight with pain, “But it didn’t do much--”  He breaks off with a gasp, as Naia slowly straightens his arm, trying to assess the damage. “Naia--”

“I know,” Naia says, her voice low and as calming as she can manage, with her own pulse thundering in her ears, the adrenaline from the fight starting to recede. The break’s halfway between his elbow and wrist -- thankfully it didn’t puncture the skin, but it feels like the bone snapped clean in two. “Either you didn’t listen, or he’s a bad teacher.”

Kylan huffs out a strangled laugh, but seems too busy catching his breath to try and speak.

“Can you heal him?” Brea asks. She has her hand on Kylan’s knee, trying to offer some comfort, but her eyes fixed on Naia.

“Yes,” she says, laying Kylan’s arm back against his chest as gently as she can, “But it will take some time.” She turns and glances Brea over, but the princess seems unscathed -- good news, because healing Kylan is going to take a lot of effort. She nods towards their ruined campsite, and says, “Help me get him back over there.” Brea nods, and Naia turns back to Kylan, warning him, “This is going to hurt.”

“It already hurts,” Kylan offers, sounding calm but looking absolutely terrified.

“That’s the spirit,” Naia says, and pulls him to his feet.

-+-

There’s an eerie quiet, once the fight is done. Gurjin can’t calm the thrumming of his heart, even as the beast lies dead before him. The others have scattered in the aftermath, but haven’t gone far. Rian’s fretting over Deet, who didn’t move a muscle throughout the entire encounter, while Naia and Brea shuffle an obviously injured but thankfully alive Kylan towards their campsite. 

Gurjin, for his part, shrugs back into his armor, careful of the scratches on his chest -- they’re shallow and mostly superficial, but they sting like nothing else -- and he examines the felled creature. He has no idea what to make of it.

Naia gets Kylan settled, beside their smothered campfire, and Brea leaves them to stand beside Gurjin. She covers her face with her arm, and he can’t say he blames her. The beast’s corpse already reeks of death and decay, even though they’ve only just killed it -- a pungent, rotting smell that’s almost strong enough to make him gag. 

“What do you think?” Gurjin asks, glancing between Brea and the ruined thing at their feet. “You seen anything like this in that library of yours?”

“No,” Brea replies, leaning in closer than Gurjin is honestly willing to -- whether she’s truly unbothered, or her curiosity just outweighs her disgust, he isn’t sure.  “It almost looks like an Arathim.”

“The legs, yeah,” Gurjin agrees, poking at one of the stumps with the point of his sword, and then barely jumping out of the way of a spurt of thick, stinking blood. 

“But the other parts are all wrong,” Brea points out, waving at the body -- and now that’s he’s really looking, it almost seems like it’s deflating, folding in on itself as he watches, rotting away much faster than should be possible. “The plating doesn’t even look natural, it’s almost like--”

“--Like it’s been cobbled together,” Rian says, stepping up to join them. Deet’s still sitting in the same exact place, not moving, not even blinking. “This creature wasn’t born, it was made.”

There’s a moment of silence, only broken when Gurjin sighs. “Look, we’re all thinking it, so I’m just gonna say it. Who do we know that could build a monster like this?”

“The Scientist.” Rian’s face twists up into a grimace. He glances around, taking stock of their group. Just a few feet away, Naia mutters something to Kylan, and then stands up to join them. “We’ve all seen where he works.” 

They all fall silent again, and Gurjin shifts uneasily. If he lets himself start thinking about his time as the SkekSis prisoner, even for a moment, all the memories he’s been trying very hard to repress come flooding back to the surface. The nightmares are bad enough, he doesn’t need to think about it when he’s awake.

Perceptive as ever, Naia reaches out and squeezes his wrist, and her silent gesture of support is enough to quiet Gurjin’s mind. She keeps a tight hold on him, and asks, “It is possible? Could the SkekSis use the Crystal to create a monster?”

“Why not?” Gurjin shrugs. “If they can pull the life right out of you, who’s to say they can’t pour life into something else. Something dead. That’s what they’re doing already, isn’t it? Draining us so they can drink our essence and live forever.”

“That’s different,” Brea argues, finally stepping back from the ruined creature as it dissolves even further, seeping into the ground at their feet. “The SkekSis aren’t dead, and this thing -- whatever it used to be -- clearly was.”

“Look, I know you’ve seen what the Dark Crystal can do,” Gurjin says, feeling a little more sure of himself, and a lot more frustrated. “But I’ve felt it. Who knows what all the SkekSis can do with that kind of power.” Brea’s still frowning, uncertain, and so Gurjin pushes on. “Out of everything that’s happened, this is what you can’t believe?”

“Felt it?” Rian echoes, sound horrified and heartbroken all at once. Gurjin realizes with a wince that he never did tell Rian what all happened to him back in the Castle. He never told Naia, either, no matter how hard she pressed, but he figures she’s guessed by now.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gurjin says, pointedly not making eye contact with the rest of the party, instead staring at the trees just over Rian’s shoulder. Naia’s grip on his wrist tightens, just a fraction, at the confirmation of what she’s surely suspected all along. It’s quiet for a moment, and Gurjin can’t stand it, so he clears his throat and says, “The SkekSis made this thing, and they sent it here to kill us. It’s the only answer that makes any sense.”

“I think you’re right,” Brea says, shaking her head, and Gurjin nods, letting out a tiny sigh of relief. “It’s just, this one answer only leads to more questions. How many are there? How did this one find us? Did they send others to Stone-in-the-Wood?” She pauses, just a moment, and asks, “Are there more of them, coming for us right now?”

They all go quiet, letting that last thought sink in.

“We need to move,” Rian says, almost to himself. And then, louder, “Get your things, we need to leave, right now.”

“Rian!” Naia shouts, even as he scoops up his sword and stalks away from the dead thing. “We can’t just -- Kylan’s hurt!”

“We can’t stay here,” Rian argues. He glances between Naia and their injured Song-Teller, Kylan’s been quiet, but he’s awake, and was obviously listening to their entire conversation. “You can heal him, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” Naia scoffs. “But his arm is broken, Rian, that’s not a quick fix. Without magic, it would take weeks to heal.” When Rian still looks hesitant, she adds, “This is serious, if I don’t do it right, his arm might never be the same.”

“Oh,” Kylan says, sounding faint. 

Rian holds his ground, and waves his sword at what’s left of their attacker, barely more than bones, and a few scraps of flesh at this point. “We have to put some distance between us and this place. I’m sorry, Kylan,” he adds gently, looking at their friend with obvious regret. “Just a few hours, and we can rest again, I promise.”

“It’s alright, Rian,” Kylan says, his voice soft, barely a whisper in the night air. “I don’t need my arm to walk, anyway.”

“I need time to splint it,” Naia says, and his sister has never been one to compromise, but here they are. Maybe it really is the end of the world, after all. “So you can either let me do that, or you can leave me here.” Ah, there it is, Gurjin thinks. An ultimatum. That’s the sister he knows and loves.

“Do it quick,” Rian says, and he sounds sorrowful and decisive all at once. Something in his face flickers, and for the first time in days, Gurjin doesn’t see Rian, lighter of flames, wielder of magic swords, hero of the Gelfling resistance. He just sees Rian, his very best friend, with purple-black bruises on his neck and bags under his eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. And then, just like that, the moment passes, Rian’s face set and determined once again. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

-+-

Rian packs up camp while the others tend to Kylan. Just looking at his injured friend sends a wave of guilt rocking through him -- but it doesn't change anything. They can’t just sit here and wait for more of the monsters to come, they have to keep moving. Every beast for miles around must have heard that fight. They don’t have a choice. Soon, they can rest, and Naia can heal Kylan properly. Soon, they’ll be safe. Soon.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gurjin is saying cheerfully. He’s moved to Kylan’s side, clapping him on the shoulder -- maybe a little too hard, because Kylan winces. “Naia’s healed plenty of broken arms. The last person even kept most of his fingers!”

“He’s lying,” Naia says, rolling her eyes and fishing a roll of bandages out of her pack, as Kylan goes two shades paler. 

“I am,” Gurjin admits. “Naia’s never healed anyone’s broken arm--”

“--Will you shut up?” she hisses, and Gurjin does, but only because Brea is back from the treeline, with two sticks for the split, nice and sturdy and straight, just like Naia instructed.

Rian’s no help when it comes to healing, so he gives them space to work, picking his way to the river bank. He is absolutely covered in the creature’s stinking, rotting blood, and figures he should maybe do something about that while he’s got the chance. 

He’s crouched by the river, trying to wash the worst of the muck from his face and clothes, when he hears gentle footsteps behind him. He tenses, still on high alert after the battle -- but it’s only Deet. Her eyes are still wide, shimmering violet, her gaze straight ahead and unblinking, but her steps are steady and sure as she makes her way down to him.

Rian glances up at the slope, back the way Deet came. He sees Gurjin at the top, obviously keeping a careful eye in case Deet was wandering off. Rian nods, to say that he’s got it from here, and Gurjin offers a wave before heading back to help Naia.

“Deet?” Rian asks, his voice low. He sounds much calmer than he feels. “Can you hear me?” 

All of a sudden, the memory of their dreamfast rushes back to him -- in the heat of the battle, he’d almost forgotten -- the crushing purple wave, the feeling of being torn apart, and of course Deet, lost in the swirling storm, calling out to him from the void.

Deet doesn’t say anything, but does she wades into the water after Rian. She reaches out, and grabs his hand. Not to dreamfast, just a warm, comforting weight. I’m here, she’d tried to say, as the Darkening swept her under, away from him. I’m here.

“I’m here, too, Deet,” Rian says. He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The Darkening might have its hold on her now, but soon, she’d be free of it. He had promised her that, and nothing would stop him from keeping that promise. “We’re here with you.”

The two of them stand there, on the banks of the Black River, with water up to their ankles. Neither one says a word, but for ten minutes, with Deet’s hand in his, Rian closes his eyes, and lets himself rest.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

FOUR

-+-

"Here you go," Gurjin says, guiding Kylan to sit at the base of an absolutely massive tree. The branches are hanging low, like a curtain. They nearly touch the ground, and effectively hide them from anyone, or anything, that might come their way. "Nice and cozy."

"Sure. Cozy," Kylan echoes. There's no point in complaining -- Rian had said they needed to keep walking, and so, he had walked. It was only supposed to be a few hours. Kylan lost track of time after the first twenty minutes. His broken arm, once radiating with a sharp, stabbing pain that lanced down to his fingertips and all the way up to his shoulder, was now just a dull, throbbing ache, encompassing most of the right side of his body. It was worse, before Naia set it, and also while Naia was setting it, for that matter. At least he isn’t feeling dizzy and nauseous at the sight of his own arm, bent in a way it definitely should not bend. This is better, but it still hurts. 

A few feet away, Rian, Naia, and Brea are all talking in hushed voices. Kylan doesn't bother trying to listen in, he just focuses on the press of Gurjin's fingertips, his hand still on Kylan's shoulder, either grounding him to the moment or holding him down. Kylan doesn't think he could stand up, even if he wanted to, and he really doesn't want to. His body feels heavy and hot, and he is very, very tired.

He shifts, trying to get comfortable, and then quickly gives that up for a lost cause. Rian and the girls are still talking, probably deciding if they should camp here, or go a little father. Gurjin is turned towards them, listening. Kylan has to clear his throat twice to get his friend's attention.

"I can keep going." He doesn't want to, he would much rather sit here at the base of this tree for maybe forever, or at least until his arm stops hurting so much, but if they need to go, then he'll go.

Gurjin squeezes his shoulder. "No. You can't," he says. His voice is kind, and as serious as Kylan's ever heard him. "We all need a rest. Can’t fight if we can't even stand."

"Hmm," Kylan says, because it sounds like a good argument, and because he's too tired for conversation, anyway. The forward momentum was the only thing keeping him going. Now that he's sitting down, and as close to comfortable as he's likely to get, it's easy to drift. Gurjin frowns, and presses the palm of his free hand to Kylan's forehead. His touch is cool, and Kylan leans in automatically.

The crunching of leaves jolts Kylan back into awareness. Gurjin drops his hand and looks back over his shoulder as someone moves closer.

"Here, let me see him," Naia says, shrugging out of her cloak as she approaches. Gurjin shuffles out of the way, making room for his sister, but staying close enough that Kylan could reach out and touch him, if only he could summon the energy. 

"Is he supposed to have a fever?" Gurjin asks, and he sounds worried. Naia only nods, and settles herself down to sit cross-legged in front of Kylan.

"It’s to be expected." She leans forward and taps Kylan on the cheek. He blinks, and does his best to focus on her. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Kylan admits, and he'd shrug if he wasn't sure it would hurt.

Naia hums, and then she takes Kylan's injured arm in both of her own. He honestly can't tell if the movement hurts more or less at this point. "Well, let's see what we can do about that." She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath, and then her hands glow blue with a steady, gentle light. The healing magic creeps from her hands and crawls up Kylan's arm like flames, all the way to his elbow. It doesn't hurt, but beyond that, he doesn't think he could describe the feeling if he tried.

"You should get some sleep," Gurjin advises, still sitting by the pair of them. He's frowning still, his eyes focused on their hands, but his words directed at Kylan. "This is probably gonna take a while."

Kylan thinks he would like to stay awake, to watch Naia's magic, to try and understand how it works, but it's no use. The exhaustion is like quicksand, pulling him under. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier, finally fluttering close, and he drifts off to sleep.

-+-

They run as far as they can, for as long as they can, before finally making camp for the night. It’s only a few hours until the first sun’s rise, but they’ll take what little reprieve they can get. Rian remembers working with Brea to set up the camp and start a small fire, while Naia and Gurjin saw to Kylan. He remembers getting Deet settled, coaxing her to lay down and try to rest. After that, there’s nothing. He falls asleep the second he’s lying down, thoroughly exhausted.

He wakes to a beautiful morning -- birds are chirping in the branches overhead, and he can see the sky filtered through the leaves, painted with pinks and purples as the first sun rises. They’re too far away to see the river, but close enough to hear the rushing water, tumbling over rocks and little eddies as it makes it way north. The grove is almost entirely shaded by the leaning boughs of an enormous tree, with gnarled bark, and the tops of its tangled roots exposed by weathering, and time. Last night, they’d picked this place for their campsite because it was relatively well hidden. Now, Rian thinks they must have stumbled on something ancient, something sacred. 

He’s not the only one thinking it -- Brea’s journal is open in her lap, with a half-finished sketch of the tree. The princess has her head bowed over her work, filling in the leaves with exactly the right shade, but she glances over as Rian sits up, and flashes a smile.

“Good morning,” she says, marking her place with a ribbon before she closes her journal. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Well enough,” Rian says, sitting up and surveying their camp. The rest of their friends are close by. Gurjin is sitting upright, but fast asleep, with his back against the trunk of the tree, and Naia and Kylan are sprawled over him. Naia must have finished healing Kylan’s broken arm, since his splint is gone, and he seems to be sleeping peacefully. Deet is still curled up on her bedroll, making herself small. Rian doesn’t think she’s moved an inch since she laid down. He turns back to Brea, who seems wide awake, her eyes bright and clear. “Did you sleep...at all?”

“A little,” Brea answers, tucking her journal away in her bag, and sounding awfully chipper for this early in the morning. “Gurjin woke me a couple hours ago, and asked if I would take the next watch.” She sounds excited, and Rian supposes that she hasn’t been on enough night watches for them to get old, just yet. That will change, if they’re going to make a habit of adventuring. 

“I told him to wake me up,” Rian says, remembering a hazy conversation from just before he drifted off to sleep. Gurjin had volunteered for the first watch -- her healing magic left Naia in a meditative trance, and he had admitted that he couldn’t sleep with her vulnerable like that. He had agreed to wake Rian for the second watch. Obviously, that hadn’t happened.

Brea purses her lips, glancing over at their sleeping friends, all tangled limbs and gently rising and falling chests. “He was just looking out for you.” She pauses, and seems to be weighing her words before pressing on. “When was the last time you slept, Rian? Because the last time I know of was before the Circle of the Suns, and that was days ago.”

She isn’t wrong, not that he’ll admit to any of it. Rian had tried to get a couple hours of sleep before the battle at Stone-in-the-Wood, but his mind was racing, wondering if the other Gelfling had really heard him, if they would come, if he and Deet were just sitting there, waiting for slaughter. He couldn’t even close his eyes. Before that, the last time he had slept through the night was on the edge of the Crystal Desert, while Lore kept watch over them all.

“Rian?” Brea prompts, still waiting for an answer, and when he doesn’t say anything, she sighs and adds, “Rian, you have to take care of yourself, too.”

“I will,” Rian says, a little defensive. “I am. I just,” he scrubs a hand over his eyes, but it does nothing to chase away the headache already building as he thinks about everything that still lays before them. They have miles to go, a hidden valley to discover, and probably horrible monsters to avoid along the way. And then, once they get there, they have to hope the Mystics can save Deet, that it’s not already too late. And then, and then --

He’ll take care of himself, he will -- after he takes care of everyone else. It’s more important to take care of the others, first. He doesn’t know how to say that in a way that won’t upset his friends, so instead he pushes himself up to stand, and says, “I’m -- I’m going to find us some breakfast.” He parts the hanging branches like a curtain, and steps back into the woods.

“Rian!” Brea calls after him, and he hesitates, pausing just long enough to hear her sigh, but he doesn’t turn back, heading deeper into the forest.

-+-

True to his word, Rian really does find food, returning to camp laden down with sweet, ripe berries. By then, the rest of their friends have stirred and woken, one by one. Gurjin pokes at the fire, while Naia pokes and prods at Kylan’s newly healed arm. Even Deet is sitting up, cross-legged and staring deeply into the fire.

They make a breakfast of foraged fruit and some dried meat from their rations. Rian tips a handful of berries into Deet’s cupped palms, and seems relieved when she slowly starts to eat. Deet is still silent, her eyes hollow and glowing purple, but Brea’s almost gotten used to it by now, as much as she hates to admit it.

Based on Kylan’s maps and Mother Aughra’s instructions, they hope to reach their destination with just one more day of travel. The problem is, they don’t have an exact location for this Valley of the Mystics, and they have no idea how easy it will be to find once night has fallen. They break camp quickly and get on the move, not wanting to waste any more time, and not wanting to spend another night in these woods.

Brea keeps to the back of the pack. Behind her, Gurjin is whistling a tune she swears she recognizes, but cannot place. Ahead of her, Deet marches silently on, her gaze fixed straight in front of her, never straying from the path ahead. It tugs on Brea’s heartstrings -- the real, uncorrupted Deet would be reveling in every new sight and sound the surface world had to offer her. 

Thra is a beautiful world, Brea thinks, and like Deet, she has seen so little of it before now. A part of her had always wanted to see the world, to ask all the questions, to learn anything and everything. Her library had so much to offer, but it was only a window to the world outside. She loved it nonetheless, the peace, the quiet, the words and worlds of knowledge at her fingertips.

She had never imagined being on adventure quite like this. She was the scholar, happily locked away in her in the library. Seladon was the heir, groomed to follow in their mother’s footsteps. And Tavra -- Tavra was the soldier, the hero, the one Brea could imagine on an epic quest. She would know what to do, if she was here. She would find a way to save Deet, to save everyone.

Brea would give anything, anything , to bring Tavra back. There's an ache in her chest where her sister used to be, and it is a pain that Brea can't describe, not with all the prose in all her books. It's a pain she thinks might never fade. She isn't even sure if she wants it to fade, or if that would be betraying Tavra’s memory, somehow.

She doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. She does let out one hitching breath, nearly a sob, before she composes herself. Too late, she realizes, because Gurjin stops whistling. She hears hurried footsteps, as he catches up to her, and then feels a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” Gurjin says, dropping his hand as Brea slows to a stop, and turns to face him. He looks worried, glancing her over. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Brea insists, her voice a little steadier than she hoped. Maybe all those times she only halfway listened to diplomacy lessons are paying off after all. 

Except, this isn’t the Castle, and she’s not at court. It’s strange to think that in another life, another time, she might have met Naia and Gurjin as envoys for their mother, the Maudra of the Drenchen clan. They might have discussed diplomacy, or security, might have worked to improve relations between their clans. But in this life, in this time, they’re standing on a barely worn track deep in the Dark Woods, and Gurjin is her friend. 

Who else can she talk to about all of this, if not her friends? She thinks of Rian, stomping off into the woods to avoid her conversation. She says, “That’s not true, I’m not fine.” She takes a breath to steady herself. “I was thinking about Tavra.”

Gurjin’s quiet, the expression on his face shifting from worry to sorrow. “Your sister?” he asks. Brea only nods, unable to speak around the sudden lump forming in her throat. Gurjin puts his hand back on her shoulder, and says, “I’m so sorry, Brea.” 

It’s a warm, sunny day, but he shivers, no doubt imagining what it would be like to lose Naia. Brea hopes he never has to find out. 

Gurjin shakes his head, clears his throat, and asks, “Do you want to talk about her?”

Brea considers his offer, before admitting, “I don’t think I’m ready.” Just the thought of Tavra hurts, and she’s afraid if she starts talking, she’ll start crying, and if she starts crying, she might never stop. They have to much to do still, too many people to save. She will mourn her sister, just not until after they’ve saved Deet, and hopefully, everyone else. Not until then.

“That’s fine,” Gurjin says, and he lets her go, and takes a half step back. “But, Brea? When you are ready, I’m here, alright? If you want to talk, or if you need something. Anything” He grins suddenly, then adds, “I give good hugs, you know -- you can ask anybody, even that Spitter from back in Stone-in-the-Wood.”

“I know,” Brea says, with a laugh, but still truly grateful for her friend’s kindness. “Thank you, Gurjin.”

“Don’t mention it,” Gurjin tells her, with a wave of his hand. “I’m serious, don’t mention that part about the Spitter, Naia would never let me live it down.”

As they walk, they fall back into a companionable silence, but the quiet isn’t doing her any favors. It must be obvious, because Gurjin starts talking, about anything and everything. He starts with his family -- he talks about his two youngest sisters, still back at home, and their father -- even the stories he shares about his mother casts the stoic Maudra Laesid in a light Brea has never even imagined before. 

Gurjin’s no song-teller, but he speaks with such reverence and love for his family and his home that Brea can almost see it -- the boardwalks criss-crossing the swamp, the Drenchen clan gathered in and around the Great Smerth, the ancient tree sheltering and sustaining its clan. Even Deet slows her pace, and turns her head like she’s listening.

“You should visit sometime,” Gurjin says, when his story is done. “I don’t know the last time a Vapran set foot in the Sog. You might even be the first.”

“I think I’d like that,” Brea says, and she means it. Things can’t be terrible forever, she reasons -- she hopes -- so she might as well have something to look forward to, some adventures with lower stakes than the end of life as they know it.

Deet stops dead in her tracks. She cocks her head to the side, but is otherwise still. Brea and Gurjin exchange a glance, and then Brea asks, “Deet?” She reaches out, fingertips brushing the back of her friend’s shoulder.

Without warning, Deet extends her wings and takes flight, nearly knocking Brea over as she launches herself into the canopy, and then away from them, away from the river and into the heart of the forest.

Brea and Gurjin stand there for maybe a half second of stunned silence, before Gurjin starts shouting for Rian, and Brea realizes what she has to do.

“I’m going after her,” she tells Gurjin, but doesn’t wait for a response, taking flight and following Deet’s frantic path.

It’s a terrible thing, trying to fly through the treeline, but she doesn’t have much choice, if she wants to keep Deet in her line of sight. Brea does her best to avoid most of the branches, but it's a losing battle, earning countless cuts and scrapes and she fights her way through the canopy, swerving and weaving as best she can. 

She can still see Deet, and thankfully she’s not too far ahead, but Brea has no idea how the others will catch up to them. That’s a problem for later, she decides. She can hear her friends behind her, in the distance. They’re shouting her name, and Deet’s, but even those sounds fade as she hurtles deeper and further into the woods.

-+-

“She was fine!” Gurjin insists, sword drawn. He and Rian are trying to hack through the undergrowth, but they’re not having much luck, finding themselves practically walled in to a thicket. “I mean, not fine , she was still all--” he pauses, and waves his free hand around vaguely. “-- you know . But she didn’t seem any worse!”

“It’s not your fault,” Rian says. He’s focused and determined, but even his well placed strikes are barely getting them anywhere. “We just have to find them, if we can just--” he breaks off with a curse, misjudging a swing and nearly dicing his hands on the thorny, tangled briars.

Kylan watches the exchange, and swings his own sword clumsily with his left hand. His right arm is sore, but still feels worlds better than it did last night. Naia sealed the break, but it’ll take time for him to truly heal. She’d done away with the splint, but insisted on wrapping his arm with bandages, for support, and told him to take it easy with his right hand. As if he wasn’t bad enough with swords before.

Now, Naia’s standing at the base of what must be the tallest tree in this section of the woods, towering nearly twice as high as all the rest. She’s got one hand on the lowest of the branches, and is staring up into the canopy, a calculating look on her face. Naia’s Drenchen wings aren’t built for flight the same way Brea and Deet’s are -- they’re meant to help her soar underwater. Kylan would bet she could glide, if she jumped from a high enough place, and -- oh .

“No way,” Gurjin says, putting two and two together just as Kylan does the same. He lets go of the branch he was hacking at, and it smacks Rian in the face, earning another muffled curse from his best friend. “Oh, sorry, Rian -- don’t even think about it, Naia. It won’t work.”

“It might work,” Naia says, giving the lowest branch a little shake, testing to see if it will hold her weight. 

“Or you might crash into a tree and die.” Gurjin argues. He waves his sword, and points it in Kylan’s general direction. “Think about it, Naia -- if you die, who’s gonna heal him the next time he breaks something?”

“Hey.”

The twins both ignore Kylan’s protest, and Rian is ignoring all three of them, still sawing at the thicket furiously. Naia says, “Why do you get to have all the bad ideas? What if I want to try something stupid, for once?”

“Naia,” Gurjin says. “Please.” 

Finally Naia, huffs out a sigh and stalks over to him drawing her dagger as she gets closer. “Fine,” she says, and Gurjin looks relieved as she starts to hack at the thicket alongside him. “We’ll do it your way.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

FIVE

-+-

Deet heads west, cutting a straight path into the forest. At first, Brea’s afraid they’re heading towards the Castle of the Crystal, but Deet doesn’t fly very far before swooping down for a landing. They’ve only traveled a mile deeper into the woods, or maybe a little more, if Brea had to guess. Here, the trees are spread farther apart, and the ground is soft, when she touches down, just a few feet behind Deet. She sees the basic shape of a muddy creek, wandering down a gentle slope. Instead of continuing north, and connecting with the Black River, it has meandered and overflown, turning this whole area into a swamp.

Brea has absolutely no idea why Deet has come here, or what she should do next. Should she try and coax Deet back to join the others, or wait for their friends to find them, and hope that Rian can get through to her? Even though she’s been corrupted by the Darkening, Deet has been calm and compliant for their journey so far. All this time, Brea has believed that meant Deet knows they are trying to help her, that she wants them to help her. There are other explanations, of course, but Brea can’t accept any of those. She has to hope for the best. 

She takes a step forward, her feet sinking in the thick mud, one hand stretched out uncertainly. “Deet?”

“Shh,” Deet says, and the sound of her friend's voice shocks Brea into stillness. “Listen.”

Brea listens. She doesn’t hear anything. It takes a moment for the strangeness of that thought to really sink in -- she doesn’t hear anything. No birds, no chattering life, not even the wind rustling in the trees. She concentrates, and listens for their friends’ voices in the distance, hoping against hope that they are catching up, that they’ll be here soon, but there's nothing. The forest is still, holding its breath, waiting for...something.

“Do you hear it?” Deet asks, and Brea shakes her head. Still nothing, and then--

--and then, she does hear it. A squelching sound, as something pulls itself free of the muck, great slops of mud sliding away as a massive shape rises from the swamp, towering above them, casting them both in shadow.

Brea’s read all about Nebries. She’s seen detailed illustrations, and studied notes and diagrams, and even seen a few in person -- she’s lived a sheltered life, true, but not that sheltered. It’s a common enough animal, one that many Gelfling farmers tend to and depend on. It’s the creature’s eyes that make her blood run cold with fear -- two hollow pits stare back at her, glowing purple and filled with rage.

The Nebrie screams, breaking the silence of the woods, loud enough that Brea clamps her hands over her ears, but Deet doesn’t even flinch. The good news is, if their friends didn’t know where they were before, they definitely know now. The bad news is, this Darkened Nebrie will definitely try to kill them before their friends can get here.

Brea didn’t have time to think, when Deet took off into the woods, and she doesn’t have time to think now, so she just reacts. She reaches for her friend’s shoulder, and then huffs in frustration when Deet shrugs out of her reach. “Deet, we have to leave, now,” Brea hisses, but Deet ignores her, taking a step towards the creature.

“I can help you,” Deet offers, in the mud up to her knees, one hand outstretched, fingers splayed as she lays one hand on the Nebrie’s squirming body, either unafraid or unaware of the danger. Brea’s not sure it would make a difference either way.

Deet had absorbed the Darkening before -- Rian had told them what happened in the Caves of Grot, with the Nurlocs, and they’d all seen what happened at Stone-in-the-Wood. Both of those times, the Darkness had come to Deet, but this time, she’d sought the Nebrie out. Brea’s mind raced, questions circling around and around. Had Deet somehow sensed this Darkened creature? Could she really save it? Should she? Or would absorbing more of the Darkening only send Deet further down the path they were trying so desperately to save her from? If Deet didn’t heal the Nebrie, would it kill them both where they stood?

For just a second, nothing happens. And then -- a flash of light and sound, too loud and too brightbrightbright for Brea to comprehend. There’s a rushing, crushing wave of force, and then it’s over, just as quickly as it began. Brea blinks the spots away from her vision just in time to watch the purple light in the Nebrie’s eyes fade, the Darkening’s tendrils shrivel and retract, the energy flow down the trunk of its body, and into Deet’s waiting palm.

The Nebrie stays upright only a moment longer, enormous body swaying gently, before it burbles and coos. It sinks back down in the mud, happily blowing bubbles as it slithers away, deeper into the swamp and out of sight. Overhead, the birds and creatures in the trees chatter back to life, and the forest lets out its breath.

“You did it,” Brea says, still standing in mud up to her ankles, shocked by what she’s just witnessed. “Deet, you did it , you -- Deet?”

Deet’s shoulders are heaving, her whole form trembling as she turns, slowly, slowly. The purple glow in her eyes is magnified, the Darkening practically crackling through her skin as she fights to contain all of the energy within her frame. Brea watches with dawning horror as the grass around Deet starts to wither and die. The Darkening spreads, spiraling out from her. Flowers blacken and crumble, bark curls and peels away as the sickness spreads up the trunks of the closest trees.

“Deet, listen to me.” Brea takes a step back. Deet takes a step forward. She raises her hand. Brea remembers the battle at Stone-in-the-Wood, the Emperor’s attack rebounding off of Deet, the way the purple bolt shot from her palm absolutely destroyed one of the SkekSis. “Deet! It’s me, it’s Brea, I’m your friend.” Brea steps back again, but slips in the mud and loses her balance. She goes sprawling, but Deet doesn’t slow her march, and she doesn’t lower her hand. “Deet, please!”

Deet’s face is expressionless, unaffected by Brea’s cries. She makes a fist, then spreads her fingers, and bolt of sick purple energy builds, and then bursts from her hand. Brea closes her eyes --

--and opens them a moment later, as someone, something, behind her screams. It’s an unholy, unnatural sound -- a sound she’s heard once before -- just yesterday, on the banks of the Black River. 

Deet’s eyes roll up in the back of her head and she collapses, sinking down into the mud, lifeless and still. Brea feels a flash of guilt for thinking that Deet, even a Darkened version, would ever hurt her. There’s no time for guilt, though, so she scrambles to her feet, and turns, finally seeing what Deet was really aiming for.

-+-

“They’re fine,” Naia insists, but Rian isn’t having any of it -- she can feel the anxiety radiating off of him. As far as they could tell, the thicket went on for miles in either direction, so here they were, still clawing their way out of the seemingly endless briars. “It’s a Nebrie, what’s it going to do, chase them down?”

“What if it’s Darkened?” Rian asks, frustration obvious in his voice, and in the wide, sloppy arc of his sword. If they weren’t trapped by the thicket, Naia imagines he would have bolted the second they heard howling, just a little to the west.“You didn’t see those Nurlocs, or what they did the Sanctuary Tree.”

“We don’t even know if that’s where they are,” Naia continues. They really are almost at the end, just a few more feet of brush to clear, and beyond that, the trees start to thin out, and the ground gently slopes upward. “They could be anywhere.”

Rian turns to look at her, exasperated. “That doesn’t help!”

“Can’t she, you know, heal it?” Gurjin asks. He’s a little further back in the thicket, patiently untangling Kylan’s hair from the mess of branches he’s caught up in. His braids are a mess, full of brambles and leaves, but he’s nearly free. Gurjin pulls loose the last of the branches, and adds, “Or blow it up, either way works.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rian says grimly. “Both of those things made her worse.”

Finally, he slashes through the last of the brush, clearing their path. Not even a moment later, there’s a flash of brilliant purple light on the horizon. Another howl splits the late morning air, and a flock of birds takes off from the canopy overhead. This noise is louder than before, and horribly familiar.

“That wasn’t a Nebrie,” Kylan says slowly. Naia shakes her head, and tightens her grip on her dagger. Rian takes off at a run, and Naia goes after him, hoping they’re not already too late.

-+-

Rian sees the monsters first, their hulking forms scuttling through the woods, coming from the northwest -- from the Castle of the Crystal, his brain supplies. Maybe the monsters were here looking for them, or maybe they heard the Nebrie and came to investigate -- it doesn’t matter, either way, what matters is they’re here now.

Three more of the Scientist’s horrible creatures are advancing on his friends -- a moment ago, there must have been four, but judging by the flash of purple light they’d seen, and the remains floating on the wind, Deet already obliterated one of them. Monster bits are settling to the forest floor, but the other three don’t even acknowledge their fallen companion, pressing on relentlessly.

Brea has drawn a sword, the same one Rian pressed into her hand before the battle of Stone-in-the-Wood, and she’s standing over Deet’s prone form. Rian’s heart drops to see Deet, sprawled and lifeless on the ground, but he can’t worry about that right now. If she’s not already dead, she will be if those monsters reach her, and so will Brea. He won’t let that happen.

Rian doesn’t have time for a plan, or strategy, which is a shame, because his first idea is, admittedly, a terrible one.

“Hey!” he shouts, and all three monsters turn their heads. They hesitate for just a moment, confused by the noise. The closest two start shuffling towards him, but the third keeps heading for Brea. It’s a start, anyway. “Yeah, that’s right! Over here!”

“Great plan,” Gurjin mutters. He flanks Rian on the left, and Naia takes the right, with Kylan just behind them. All the while, the monsters keep advancing. “This is a great plan, Rian. Call the monsters over here, ruin the element of surprise. Perfect.”

Naia readies her dagger in one hand, and her bola in the other. She asks, “Do you have any idea how we’re supposed to kill three of these things?”

“No,” Rian says, and then he raises his sword, and charges.

-+-

Rian rushes in, with Naia on his heels. Gurjin pauses only long enough to turn back to Kylan, and say, “We’ll take these two, you go help Brea.” He seems to hesitate, and then reaches out to squeeze Kylan’s shoulder. “Please don’t die.”

“I wasn’t planning on it!” Kylan calls out after him, and Gurjin flashes him a grin as he heads into the fray after his sister and Rian.

If there was more time, Kylan would take a moment to feel very inadequate, standing here in the woods, with a borrowed sword in his clumsy left hand, and the fate of his friends and probably the entire world on their collective shoulders. He makes good music and decent broth. He should be back in Sami Thicket, studying dream-stitching under Maudra Mera, not out in the Dark Woods fighting monsters.

There isn’t time for that, though, and if he lets himself think, he’ll think himself in circles. Mother Aughra called on him to help save the Crystal of Truth, so that’s what he’s going to do. He clears his mind, and just moves. Rian, Naia, and Gurjin all veered to the right, corralling two of the monsters, so Kylan heads left, towards Brea and the third beast.

Brea looks more confident with a sword than Kylan has ever felt, but she’s not even using it. Instead, she unfurls her wings and launches herself up into the air, hovering just out of reach of the monster. It swings for her with its terrible claws, and Kylan nearly shouts, but Brea pulls back in time, leaving the creature to swipe at the empty space she left behind. And then, she does it again, swooping in close, pulling back before the creature can touch her.

She’s leading it, Kylan realizes, away from Deet -- no, he thinks, as the monster’s feet start to lose purchase, slipping in the mud -- she’s leading it into the swamp. 

“Brea!” Kylan shouts. He waves his sword, immediately feels silly about it, and lets it hang by its side.

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” Brea answers, rolling to dodge another swing of the creature’s claw. It’s a near miss, but her plan seems to be working, and she keeps gaining ground as the creature edges further and further into the muck. 

“I can see that!” Behind him, he can hear the sounds of a fight, as the others take on the remaining monsters. Kylan tries to put it out of his mind for now, and focus on the task at hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Brea weaves, ducks, and pulls back again. She shouts, “Can you check on Deet?”

“I -- yes, I can do that,” Kylan says. He casts about, reorienting himself. Deet is lying facedown on the ground maybe ten feet away, still and unmoving. Kylan does his best to keep out of the swamp, and away from the flailing claws and legs of Brea’s monster, and hurries towards his fallen friend.

-+-

“Would you look at this one?” Gurjin calls. He spins his sword, and cuts a clean arc through the air, and then one of the beast’s legs. “It’s just two Spitters stacked on top of each other. Look at it -- Naia? Are you looking?”

“Focus,” Naia snaps, but he’s not wrong. The monster really does look like two Spitters sewn together -- and hastily done, with an ugly seam right down the middle. Of course, on top of that it’s got a set of deadly-looking claws, and plate armor that’s once again rendered her bola mostly useless. She’d hit the beast once, striking it right in the face. It hadn’t done much damage, but it had gotten the monster to separate from its partner, leaving one for her and Gurjin, and one for Rian to tackle on his own. 

Hopefully Brea and Kylan are handling their target, but she doesn’t have time to check on them. She can barely keep track of Rian, out of the corner of her eye. What she can see of his fight doesn’t look good. The faster they can finish this one off and help him, the better. At least it’s going relatively well -- the monster is coming apart as quickly as it must have been put together.

“I’m just saying,” Gurjin continues, wrenching his sword free of the monster’s chitin, “The Scientist --” He cuts off as the beast whips around, catching him in the face with the blunt side of its larger claw. He staggers, but keeps his footing, and brings one hand up to cradle his jaw. “Ah, that hurt -- isn’t he supposed to be an evil genius? This is just sloppy!”

“Gurjin, I swear,” Naia grits out, trying to push away the spike of fear in her chest that comes with seeing her brother hurt, focusing instead of the rage that comes next. The monster swipes at her, but she ducks, and sinks her dagger into the closest leg. Two Spitters means twice as many legs, unfortunately, so they have their work cut out for him. “Stop talking and help me kill this thing before it kills us!”

“Maybe he was in a hurry,” Gurjin says thoughtfully. He leans over, spits out a mouthful of blood, and curses. “I think that was a tooth.”

“For Thra’s sake!” Naia would throttle her brother, if she wasn't busy fighting for their lives. “If I die here because you wouldn’t shut up- -”

“Alright, alright,” Gurjin says. He huffs dramatically, blowing out his breath, but Naia knows its all for show. “You wanna kill this thing? Fine.” He grins, blood on his teeth, as he readies for another attack. “Let’s kill this thing.”

-+-

Close up, Kylan can see the foliage all around Deet has withered and died, blackened under the Darkening’s poison touch. It doesn’t seem to be spreading, at least not anymore. Kylan hopes its safe to touch her. He drops to his knees beside his friend, and reaches out to gently roll her onto her back.

“Deet?” he asks, and she doesn’t answer. Her face is lax and her eyes are closed but she is breathing. He reaches out, tries to scrub some of the mud from her face, but she doesn’t react. Her skin is warm, but not feverish. The Darkening’s tendrils still snake and wind just under her skin, bathing her in an eerie purple glow from the inside out.

“Kylan?” Brea calls, her voice terse as she waits for a report. “How is she?”

“Just unconscious,” Kylan answers. He wishes he could get her to safety, but there’s not much cover. The best thing they can do for her, he thinks, is deal with these monsters, and get out of here. He gives up cleaning the mud from her face, and lets his hand flutter to her shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and then he pushes himself to stand, scooping up his sword and hurrying back to Brea.

By now, the monster is halfway out into the swamp, and seems to be regretting its decision. It screeches and swings its claws, but Brea is hovering just out of reach. It sinks deeper into the swamp with every movement -- now, its legs are trapped, somewhere below the surface, the mud of the swamp too thick for it to break free.

“Come help me with this,” Brea says, as the creature slips further below the surface, losing one claw to the swamp.

“You want me to come out there?” Kylan asks, eyeing the swamp, and the creature trapped inside, with a healthy amount of skepticism. “I can’t fly.”

“It’s not so deep here.” To prove her point, Brea touches down, and the mud only comes up to her ankles. Kylan realizes that she’s very cleverly led the monster to some kind of sinkhole, in the very middle of the swamp. “Just keep to the edges, you’ll be fine.”

There’s nothing else for it, so Kylan wades into the swamp, wincing at the squelching sounds his feet make, and silently praying that his shoes are laced tight. It’s slow going, but he picks his way over to stand beside Brea.

They’re silent for a moment, staring at the monster, with just its head and one claw left above the surface. Kylan had hoped the swamp would swallow it completely, but it seems to have sunk as far as it’s going to. The exposed claw is more of a pincher, not hooked and wickedly sharp like its other hand. Thankfully the beast can’t get much range of motion, nearly submerged in the swamp as it is. Kylan still doesn’t want to get too close.

“What do we do now?” Kylan finally asks, transfixed and more than a little horrified as the creature writhes in the mud, howling all the while.

“I think we should stab it?” Brea replies, and Kylan is relieved to see that she is just as terrified as he is, her eyes wide and wild. She nods to herself, and says, sounding a little more certain, “We should stab it. With our swords.” She tightens her grip on the hilt, and adjusts her stance.

“Alright. Okay,” Kylan says. From this angle, they’re above the creature, and there’s no armor protecting its face. He raises the sword, feels the heft of it in his hand. It’s heavy, and unwieldy, but he can handle this. He can probably handle this. “Let’s do that, then.” He takes a deep, steadying breath, closes his eyes, and brings the sword down, hard.

-+-

The monster swings, and misses, and swings, and misses, and swings a third time, and --

It doesn’t hurt, at first. Rian doesn’t even feel it. He looks down at his side, and he sees that the beast’s claw has torn straight through his light armor. He thinks, well, that could have been worse, and then he moves on, striking out with his sword, aiming for a leg. 

This strategy worked before, he thinks -- of course, there was only one monster that time, and he wasn’t fighting it alone. At least this one seems poorly constructed, with plating that isn’t fastened quite right. It’s a stroke of luck, one that might be the difference between winning this fight and dying, here, today.

Rian swings, and he doesn’t miss, arcing upwards and at an angle. He cuts through a leg, and wedges his sword in the gap in the creature’s plating. It catches, and in the next movement he twists, and pulls, ripping the armor plate away as the creature screams. It strikes out, wielding its claw like a club. The blow sends Rian reeling, and he sees stars. He doesn’t know how he manages to stay standing, but he does, or how he keeps his grip on his sword, but he does that, too.

A few things happen very quickly, after that.

First, Rian raises his sword, ready to lunge forward, and drive it into the creature’s exposed chest, except it hurts to lift his arm, and his side is hot and wet. His grip on his weapon falters, and he presses one hand to his side on instinct. When he pulls it away, his palm is slick with blood.

Second, the creature’s scream is echoed, not by the other monsters here in the swamp, but by three more monsters, cresting the top of the slope, and skittering through the trees, heading straight for them.

Third, there’s something else, moving through the woods, almost too fast for Rian to comprehend. He should recognize it, he thinks, his mind hazy. He should know this.

Right before the world goes dark, he sees a blur of stone collide with the monster towering over him, and he hears a familiar Podling battle cry.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

SIX

-+-

There’s a hand on Rian’s shoulder, shaking him awake, and a voice calling his name. Gurjin, his brain supplies sleepily, probably waking him up for patrol. Except -- except that’s not right, is it? It was always the other way around, Rian shaking Gurjin awake, his best friend grumbling all the way to their post. And anyway, he hasn’t been on patrol in days, not since he left the castle, not since Mira--

Rian opens his eyes. He’s lying on his back, in the mud, somewhere deep in the Dark Woods, and Hup is leaning over him, the Podling’s face mere inches from his own.

“Up, up!” Hup is shaking his shoulder, and Rian tries to focus on him, but his vision is swimming -- why are there two Hups, he wonders wildly, and why is the world spinning, even though he’s lying down?

There’s a sharp, stinging pain across his cheek, and Rian’s world snaps into focus. Hup -- just one of him, this time, wearing a scowl, with a hand raised and at the ready.

“Hey,” Rian says, feeling cross as he bats away the Podling’s attack with more effort than he’d like to admit. “Did you -- did you slap me?”

“Ye,” Hup says, and he rears back, ready to do it again, but Rian stops him, a little more coordinated this time. Hup drops his hand, only to shove at Rian’s shoulder once more, and he says, “We go. Now.”

The longer Rian lays here, the more aware he is of the stones and branches digging into his back, the water and mud seeping into his clothes and chilling him -- and the more aware he is of his injures. He has a throbbing headache from where the beast clobbered him, and a steady ache from the cut in his side, slowly oozing blood. He says, “Go where?”

His question is answered just a moment later, when a shadow falls over them both. Rian’s eyes widen, and he has only a split second to grab hold of Hup and roll them both out of the way. Lore crashes to the forest floor where they were only just laying, tackling one of the horrible beasts to the ground as he goes. The thing is only vaguely recognizable anymore, Lore has absolutely pulverized it. Rian guesses the lump of misshapen flesh used to be the creature that very nearly killed him -- the one he was fighting before he blacked out.

It seems he wasn’t out of it for long, Rian thinks, forcing himself up to his feet. His friends are close by, all still engaged in combat. Gurjin and Naia are graceful and efficient, working in tandem to dispatch one monster, while Brea and Kylan are messily hacking at another, knee deep in the mud themselves and looking utterly terrified.

“Rian!” Hup calls, and Rian blinks, long and slow, before focusing on him. Hup says something in Podling, and when Rian shakes his head, he says, “Sword.” He brandishes his own spoon for effect, and motions at the ground. 

Rian blinks again, and sees his sword, lying in the mud at his feet. Leaning down to scoop up his weapon is almost enough to send Rian sprawling again, but he keeps his balance, and ignores the flash of pain in his side as he stands back up. 

Behind him, Lore rushes the monsters picking their way down the hill. He careens into the closest one, stone fists raining down, cracking straight through the armored plating, and squashing the unprotected flesh into jelly. Rian has no love for these monsters, but the sounds are terrible all the same, and he does his best not to listen. Whatever they are now, these creatures were alive, once -- more victims of the SkekSis’s cruelty. 

Hup is eyeing him suspiciously, sizing him up. Maybe he’s noticed that Rian is still unsteady on his feet, or the slash in his armor. Instead of commenting on it, he just says, “Hup help Deet. Rian help friends. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Rian nods, and tightens his grip on his sword as Hup hurries away, darting across the muddy ground to Deet’s side. Rian takes a moment, while the others are distracted, to peel away his torn armor and get a look at the wound in his side. It’s a clean cut -- deep, and bleeding steadily, but slowly. He’ll tend to it when the battle is done. He has some time before things get dire, and anyway, the longer he’s awake, and upright, the clearer he feels. He’s hurt, but he can keep going. 

He has to keep going.

-+-

Gurjin tries not to lose focus when Rian goes down, or when Hup and Lore suddenly reappear, the stone guardian making short work of the three new monsters cresting the top of the hill -- he focuses instead on the beast right in front of him. 

Slowly and steadily, he and Naia have hacked through its legs, trying to ground it. They’re making progress, but it isn’t going down without a fight, and they’ve taken a lot of damage themselves in the process. Gurjin has a bloodied lip, a jaw that will bruise spectacularly by tomorrow morning, and a half dozen other cuts and scrapes -- most notably, a gash from his cheek down to his neck. It’s shallow, but it caught the edge of a gill and that hurts. He’s less worried about himself, though, and more worried about his sister -- Naia has a cut on her upper right arm that’s bleeding heavily. They need to finish this fight, and soon.

“What’d I miss?” a voice asks, and Gurjin turns, surprised to see Rian back on his feet. The last Gurjin saw, Rian had taken a blow to the head and collapsed, but now his sword is drawn as he closes in on the beast. 

“Rian!” Gurjin swings his sword, neatly separating another leg from the beast. The limb hits the forest floor, still twitching. “Have a nice nap?”

“I’ve had better,” Rian says. He slices halfway through a leg, wrenches his sword free, and slashes out again. “Is it just me, or is that two Spitters on top of each other?”

“Yes, thank you!” Gurjin gives Naia a pointed look. “That’s what I was saying!” 

Naia ignores him, her dagger flashing as she disables one last leg, and the beast crashes to the ground with a thud. Naia doesn’t hesitate, and leaps forward, burying her dagger in one of the hollow eyes. The creature screams as it tries to buck her off, but Naia plants her feet and holds her ground as it spasms.

The beast dies, and the forest goes silent. All Gurjin can hear is his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears, and his own heavy breathing, and a lone bird, chirping in the trees overhead. 

“Well,” he says, glancing between his sister and his best friend, all three of them covered in mud and blood and monster bits. “That could have gone worse.”

Rian takes a step towards the crumbling beast, but stumbles, seeming to trip over thin air. Gurjin’s hand shoots out, catching his best friend by the elbow and steadying him before he loses his balance completely.

“Hey, take it easy, Rian. You sure you’re alright?” Gurjin tightens his grip on Rian’s elbow, and glances him over. Rian is pale, his lips pressed tight together, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I thought that thing had you for a second.”

“I’m fine.” Rian says, a little too quickly. He steps back, shakes Gurjin off, and sheaths his sword as glances out towards the swamp. “I’m going to check on Deet.”

“Yeah, that’s--” Gurjin breaks off as Rian turns without another word. He hurries towards Deet, a little steadier on his feet this time, but Gurjin still feels a swoop of worry in his chest. “Alright, then.” 

Naia just watches Rian go, a thoughtful look on her face, then she huffs out an exasperated sigh. She stalks over to Gurjin, her feet squelching in the mud as she closes the distance between them. She doesn’t say anything at first, just grabs him by the chin and tilts his head one way, then the other, examining his swollen jaw and bloodied lip.

“Naia.” Gurjin tries to twist out of her reach, but she only tightens her grip. She probes at the tear in his gill, and he hisses in a sharp breath. “Naia, it’s fine. Leave it.”

“You’re hurt.” Naia’s teeth are gritted, her face twisted into a scowl, but the anger's just a mask. Gurjin can read the fear in her eyes plain as day. 

“You’re hurt worse!” Gurjin protests, and this time he does manage to shrug her off, only to reach for the wound on her arm. It’s only a few inches long, but it’s deep -- more of a puncture than a cut, he realizes. Either way, it’s bleeding, a lot, rapidly staining Naia’s shirtsleeve. He wraps one hand around the wound, clamping down to try and slow the bleeding. Naia winces, but otherwise keeps still and lets him tend to her injury.

“Maybe you should heal this,” Gurjin suggests, his tone light despite the terror that comes with having his sister’s actual blood on his hands. “Preferably before you bleed to death.”

“Just bandage it for now.” Naia waves her free hand, motioning at the pack she’d dropped just a few feet away. Gurjin raises his eyebrows, and she rolls her eyes. “I’ll take care of it, calm down. I just want to check on the others first, make sure none of them are dying.”

“That’s fair,” Gurjin concedes. “Keep ahold of this.” Naia takes over for him, applying pressure with her left hand, while he fetches her pack. He rifles around in her bag until he finds a roll of bandages, and wraps a few layers around Naia’s wound, binding it tightly. He might not have the gift of healing, like his mother and his sisters, but he can manage basic field medicine.

“Uhm,” Brea calls, her voice floating over from out in the swamp. “Could we have some help out here?”

“Go,” Naia says, as Gurjin ties off the bandage. She nods towards Deet, Rian, and Hup. “I’ll check on them. Right after I--” She breaks off, and darts one hand out, pressing her fingertips to Gurjin’s torn gill. He feels the hum of her healing magic, knitting the sensitive skin together.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Gurjin mutters, poking tenderly at the newly healed gill just as soon as Naia pulls her hand away. He would have been miserable while it was healing, true, but it would have healed, and they had more serious wounds to worry about. “Don’t waste your energy on me, Naia. It would have been fine.” 

Naia just grins -- the first real smile he’s seen on her face since before he left to be a Castle Guard. She reaches up to pat him on the cheek. “I love you, too. Now, please go see what Kylan’s gotten himself into this time.”

-+-

By the time Rian makes his way to Deet’s side, Hup is already crouched beside her. She’s lying on her back and her eyes are closed, but Rian is relieved to see the steady rise and fall of her chest. For a moment, he’d feared the worst. 

“Deet?” Hup calls, sounding desperate. He shakes her shoulders, and when he gets no response, he raises a gentle hand to her face. His fingertips hover over the crackling spirals of the Darkening’s energy, thrumming just under her skin. He lets out a sound, almost a sob, before looking up at Rian, unshed tears in his eyes. “What wrong Deet?”

It takes every ounce of Rian’s energy to dredge up the words, but he presses on anyway, filling Hup in on everything he's missed in his absence. By the time he finishes, Naia has joined them, kneeling at Deet’s other side. She presses two fingers to Deet’s throat, but her hands don’t light up with her healing magic. They know by now that it’s pointless. 

Hup cradles one of Deet’s hands in both of his own, and sniffles quietly while Naia examines their Darkened friend. Rian thinks about sinking to his knees beside Deet, brushing the hair from her face. He thinks if he sits down now, he might never get back up. 

Naia’s face creases into a frown, and she shakes her head once as she pulls her hand away, absentmindedly tugging at the bandage on her own arm. 

“What is it?” Rian asks, dread pooling in his gut. The wind whispers through the tress, but otherwise, the forest is eerily quiet. When Naia doesn’t answer, he asks again. “Naia. What’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong,” Naia answers. Rian can’t tell if she’s angry with him, or if she pities him, and he doesn’t know which one is worse. “It’s killing her.”

Naia’s words hang heavy in the air, cutting deeper than the wound in his side. His chest feels tight, like he can’t catch his breath, like there’s not enough air in the world to fill his lungs. It takes him two tries to ask, “How long?”

Before Naia can answer, Hup gasps. Rian turns just in time to see Deet’s eyes blink open. 

-+-

The good news is, the monster is dead. It was horrible and messy and took forever, and all three of them -- Kylan, Brea, and the monster -- screamed the entire time. But, it’s dead now, and rapidly decaying as its remains are sucked down into the sinkhole.

The bad news is, Kylan is waist deep in the mud himself, and sinking deeper.

“Stop squirming!” Gurjin says. He’s still on mostly solid ground, apparently deciding on the best path into the swamp, and to Kylan’s rescue. Brea had taken off the moment Gurjin joined them, leaving Kylan in the Drenchen boy’s (hopefully) capable hands, to go and reunite with Lore. Gurjin takes a half step in, then pulls his foot back out and shakes his head. He looks down at Kylan and says, “You know, moving around just makes you sink faster.”

“I’m not moving!” Kylan insists, and it’s true, he’s gone still, his muscles tense. He sinks another inch into the mud. He yelps, “I didn’t even move, I’m just breathing !”

“Well.” Gurjin pauses, thinking it over. “Maybe don’t breathe so much?”

“I’m about to be breathing a lot less!” Kylan says, hysterical. He sinks a little further. “Gurjin!”

“Alright, alright.” Gurjin sighs, and wades in right behind Kylan, wrapping his arms tight around his chest. He heaves, hauling them both out of the muck, and depositing Kylan on solid ground, on his own two feet. He gives the Song-Teller a once over, and says, “There, that’s better. Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride, I think,” Kylan says. He pats himself down, finds that everything’s in order, and is promptly horrified at the amount of mud covering his person. He looks up at Gurjin,finally getting a look at the state of his battle-worn friend. Kylan frowns, and asks, “Are you hurt?”

Gurjin’s face is a mess, and there’s blood on his teeth. He shrugs, and says, “It looks worse than it is.” It looks very bad, in Kylan’s opinion, but before he can say so, Gurjin shakes his head and adds, “Good thing Lore showed up when he did, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Kylan glances from his own monster, to the twisted remains of the others -- including the three newest arrivals, lying dead and decimated after Lore tore his way through them. “Do you think more will come?”

“With our luck? Probably.” Gurjin reaches out, and uses his sleeve to scrub at the mud on Kylan’s face. Kylan holds perfectly still, stiller even than when he was sinking in the swamp. Gurjin’s lip is bloodied, his face mottled with cuts and blooming bruises. Kylan does his best not to stare. “I’m glad you’re alright,” Gurjin eventually says, dropping his hand from Kylan’s face, apparently satisfied with his work.

“Me too,” Kylan says quietly. Then he pauses, clears his throat, and rushes to say, “I mean, I’m glad you’re alright, not that -- I don’t mean -- well, I do mean that --”

Gurjin laughs, and claps a hand on Kylan’s shoulder, the strange tension of the moment broken, not that Kylan feels any calmer for it. “Let’s get the others and get out of here, how does that sound?”

“That is the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Kylan says, and Gurjin laughs again, and guides him out of the swamp.

-+-

“You’re sure she won’t run off again?” Naia asks. She’s watching Deet carefully, like she’s expecting the Grottan girl to bolt at any moment. Deet doesn’t seem to notice -- she’s sitting with her legs crossed, her eyes staring straight ahead. Hup sits across from her, and waves a hand in front of her face. Deet mirrors the movement with her own hand, almost mechanically. She doesn’t meet his eyes, and she doesn’t even blink. 

“Yes. No.” Rian sighs, and then winces, brushing a hand against his side automatically. Naia’s eyes flick towards him, but she doesn’t say anything. “I don’t think she’ll run again,” Rian finally says, doing his best to stand up a little straighter. 

“Unless she, what? Senses another Darkened creature?” Naia’s frown deepens. “I don’t think I need to tell you this, Rian, but if she keeps doing that --”  Naia trails off, leaving the rest of her thought unspoken, but Rian understands perfectly. If Deet keeps absorbing the Darkening, and using it as a weapon, she will die. If they can’t get her to the Mystics, and soon, she’ll die anyway -- and that’s assuming the Mystics can help her. 

They’ll all be dead a lot sooner than that, if more of those monsters show up. They have Lore now, and Rian is grateful for that, but he imagines even the stone guardian could be overrun, if enough of the beasts swarmed them. He doesn’t want to sit around and wait for that to happen. He shakes his head, trying to clear away the spots in his vision, and says, “We should get moving.”

Naia is looking at him, now, really looking at him, and she doesn’t bother to hide her concern. “Rian,” she says, speaking slowly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Rian hesitates. The wound in his side has gone from sharp and stabbing to dull and throbbing, an ache that intensifies every time he moves, every time he breathes. His blood is hot, clinging to the inside of his armor, but he is starting to get cold. He’s beginning to realize that he might, actually, need help. 

He opens his mouth to say so, but Naia goes still. She raises one hand to cut him off, her voice hushed as she asks, “Did you hear that?”

-+-

For just one, terrible moment, Brea is afraid that Lore won’t know her. After all, he’d been deactivated -- would he still remember their time together? Or would he be a blank page, starting over from scratch? The thought is almost too terrible to bear.

The stone guardian stands tall, and Brea has to look up, up, up to see his face. He’s made quick work of the creatures on the hillside, their carcasses decomposing even as they twitch and spasm, still in their death throes. Brea tries not to look at them, focusing instead on her friend.

Lore tilts his head, regarding her curiously. He’s quiet for a moment -- maybe the longest moment of Brea’s life -- and then he rumbles, a sound like great stones grinding against each other. He takes one halting step forward, spreading his arms wide.

Brea can’t contain herself -- she launches forward, and hugs Lore, pressing her face against his stone belly. His arms tighten around her, returning the embrace.

“Oh, Lore, I missed you so much!” She squeezes him again, and then steps back to look up at him, staring into the gentle green glow radiating from inside his face. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

Lore doesn’t speak -- can’t speak, not for himself, anyway -- but he brushes one stone hand across Brea’s cheek. The gesture is impossibly gentle for such a fearsome being, and it tells Brea everything she needs to know. Lore missed her, too.

“Thank you for saving us,” Brea says, laying her hand flat against his. “Again.”

Lore clicks and rumbles, and despite everything, Brea smiles, happy to be reunited with her friend. It’s one bright spark in an otherwise dark time. She’ll take every little bit of brightness she can get.

Suddenly, Lore’s head snaps up. He looks to the northwest, his whole body going rigid. A moment later, a creature howls, somewhere in the distance. By now, Brea recognizes the cry of the Scientist’s terrible monsters. 

“We should go,” Brea says slowly. She barely finishes speaking before a dozen more howls ring out in chorus, and her blood runs cold.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

SEVEN

-+-

In no time at all they clear out of the swamp, and hike back to the path they’d carved through the briar just a little while ago. As soon as they’re close enough to see the Black River, they change course and continue their journey south. It’s a harried, frantic flight -- they’re running towards this Valley of the Mystics, running away from terrible monsters that would kill them on sight, and they’re running out of time.

Their marching order has changed, this time around. Naia is still up front, now joined by Kylan, who’s pouring over one of his maps, trying to come up with a possible location for the Valley. Lore takes the rearguard, with Brea at his side. Gurjin winds up near the middle, walking with Hup and an eerily silent Deet, and Rian treks along silently just behind them.

“So that’s it?” Gurjin asks, keeping his voice low. It’s late afternoon now, and they haven’t seen or heard any signs of the monsters since they left the swamp, but he’s not going to risk it. To the south and the east, the forest tapers out, and they can catch glimpses of wide, rolling plains through the gaps in the treeline, and the beasts could be anywhere. “He just...fell?”

Hup shakes his head. He pauses, and seems to search for the right word, tapping his spoon against his head as he thinks. Finally, he says, “Not fall. Jump.”

“Huh.” Gurjin frowns thoughtfully, doing his best to imagine the scene. He hadn’t made the journey across the Crystal Desert, and he'd never met the Archer, but Brea had shared her memories from the Circle of the Suns in dreamfast. Still, he wouldn’t pretend to truly understand the connection between the SkekSis and the Mystics. It sounded too fantastical to be true, like something out of Kylan’s folk songs. The truth, just a little bit nicer. ”What happened next?”

Hup tells the rest of his story, complete with sound effects, recounting how he reactivated Lore, and their frenzied dash across the Crystal Desert. Lore seemed to know exactly where to go, and Hup just held on tight. Gurjin only catches bit and pieces -- the story’s told half in Gelfling, half in Podling, Hup switching between the two languages sometimes mid-sentence.

It doesn’t help that Gurjin’s distracted, only halfway paying attention to the story in the first place. He keeps glancing up at Naia, at the front of the pack, consulting with Kylan and his maps. She’s holding her arm carefully, doing her best to not jostle it. They’ll have to stop for a rest eventually, and when they do, Gurjin will check on her injury for himself, and hopefully badger her into healing it properly.

“Rian?” Brea calls, her voice worried, and that’s all the warning they get before Rian goes down. 

Gurjin doesn’t see it happen, but he does hear it, the thud of a body hitting the ground, and he hears Brea’s surprised shout. By the time he turns, Rian is already face down on the forest floor, and he’s not moving. In a flash, Brea’s kneeling by his side, one hand hovering just over his shoulder, like she’s afraid to touch him. Gurjin doesn’t hesitate, he drops to his knees and rolls Rian onto his back, looking for an injury.

The first thing Gurjin sees is the steady rise and fall of Rian’s chest, and he feels a weight lift seeing that his best friend is at least still breathing. His skin is pale, though, almost gray, and he’s clammy and cold to the touch. Brea leans in now, taps his cheek and calls his name, but gets no response.

There’s the sound of footsteps, leaves crunching underfoot as Naia jogs back to join them, Kylan on her heels, his journal tucked under his arm. Naia looks Rian up and down critically as she asks, “What’s going on?”

“He was stumbling,” Brea explains, scooting aside to give Naia better access. “I thought everything was just catching up with him, he’s barely slept since all this started. Then he just collapsed.” She doesn’t bother to hide the fear in her voice. As Brea talks, Naia feels along Rian’s scalp, checking for a head wound. She peels open one eyelid, and then the other, and then shakes her head and continues her examination.

Gurjin doesn’t see any obvious wounds -- but it’s hard to see much of anything, they’re all of them caked in muck and monster gore. He searches with his hands, instead, carefully feeling along Rian’s arms, and down his torso. Finally, he finds it -- a tear straight through Rian’s mud and blood-soaked armor, low on his right side, just a few inches above his hip. Gurjin’s heart leaps into his throat as he pushes back the fabric, revealing an ugly wound, deep and steadily oozing blood.

“Naia,” he says. His voice is sharp, catching the rest of the party’s attention. Brea gasps and Naia curses -- with good reason. Gurjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen this much blood in his entire life. He’s honestly not sure how much blood one gelfling can afford to lose. It certainly explains the pallor of Rian’s skin, his labored breathing, his quiet and reserved nature these past few hours.

Gurjin can’t help the wave of guilt that crashes over him. He’d known that Rian had taken a few hits, could tell he was unwell. He’d even tried to ask, after they’d felled the monster but Rian had brushed him off. Gurjin shouldn’t have let him, he should pressed -- he knew Rian better than anyone here, knew that he’d try and handle something himself before he ever asked for help, no matter how much trouble it would land him in later. Gurjin himself had been too distracted -- Naia was hurt, there were monsters in the woods, they had to run, there was no time.

“He told me he was fine,” Gurjin says, resting a hand on Rian’s shoulder as Naia leans in to examine the wound, her expression grim. “I shouldn’t have believed him.”

“He shouldn’t have lied,” Naia counters, but Gurjin sees a flash of the same guilt in her eyes. She lays her hands on the wound and presses down, hard. It has to hurt, it hurts Gurjin just to look at it, a phantom pain in his side and in his heart, but Rian doesn’t react, doesn’t even twitch. Naia takes a deep, steadying breath, and when she exhales her hands light up with a gentle blue glow, illuminating her fingers, and filling the ugly gash in Rian’s side.

The others gather in close, and wait in anxious silence. Gurjin’s eyes dart between Rian’s face and Naia’s -- one slack and gray, the other furrowed in concentration -- only occasionally glancing up at the others. Brea is solemn and uncharacteristically quiet, and Kylan is standing just behind her, wringing his hands and looking terrified. Lore stands guard over them all, a silent sentry.

Hup and Deet are a little further back, the Podling clinging tightly to Deet’s hand and watching the scene with wide eyes. Deet’s eyes are blank, staring straight ahead, and she is unnaturally still. Gurjin wonders if she knows what’s happening, if she’s awake in there, a prisoner in her own body, or if the part that makes her Deet is somewhere far away. He’s not sure if one of those things would be better, or if they’re both equally terrible.

In a rare stroke of luck, the woods stay silent, until finally Naia’s magic fades and she opens her eyes. She’s gone a shade paler, and she’s breathing heavy, like she’s winded. “I slowed the bleeding, but it’s not enough. It’s going to take some time to stabilize him.” She glances at their gathered party, and their surroundings, calculating what it’ll take to try and save Rian. “We need shelter, but it has to be close. I don’t want to move him very far.”

“We’ll find something,” Brea offers, standing quickly. She turns to Kylan, who nods in agreement, and the two hurry off into the treeline. Lore turns his head slowly, and then lumbers after Brea, pushing through the undergrowth relentlessly.

“Could have used him back here,” Gurjin says, less because he means it and more because he’s found that pointless complaining is the quickest way to lighten the mood. The weight of this present, terrible moment is almost enough to crush him, and he’s sure it’s weighing on Naia, just the same. It works, because his sister huffs out a laugh, and then winces as she settles herself to sit a little more comfortably. 

“You sure you’re up for this?” Gurjin says. Naia’s still injured, he can barely tear his eyes away from her bandaged arm, and she used so much energy healing Kylan -- last night? This morning? Their lives recently have been one bad thing after another, it’s all starting to blend together.

“I suppose I’ll have to be.” Naia shrugs, and presses two fingers to Rian’s throat, feeling his pulse. She sighs, and Gurjin doesn’t have to ask what that means. “We’ll be fine without Lore. If the monsters come back you and Hup can deal with them.”

“Yeah?” Gurjin glances over at Hup, who’s guiding Deet to sit on Gurjin’s other side, next to Rian. Almost automatically, she reaches out and takes Rian’s hand. Rian doesn’t stir, but Gurjin thinks he might have an answer to his question. He turns away and asks, “What about you, Hup? Do you think we can take ‘em?”

Hup says something in Podling -- Gurjin doesn’t know a bit of the language, but he is very sure it’s a curse word. “Kill monsters? With gelfling and spoon?” Hup blows a raspberry. “Babolim!  We die!”

“That’s very helpful, thank you,” Gurjin drawls. Across from him, Naia flashes a grim smile, her eyes already closed as she settles in to meditate, gathering her energy for the task ahead. 

-+-

It feels like a lifetime since Brea last set foot in her library. That had always been where she put her clever mind to use, pondering dusty volumes, puzzling over ancient riddles. Out here, in the wilds, on the run, there are no texts or tomes, so she puts her mind to other uses. She watches for a change in the trees, listens for silence in the woods when it should be full of chattering life. Little signs and portents that might mean the difference between making it to the Valley of the Mystics, or being killed by the creatures that seem to be hunting them.

Cut off from her books, Brea reads her friends, instead. The lines of tension in Kylan’s shoulders as he studies his maps tell her how desperate he is to lead his friends to safety. She could fill pages and pages just by studying the twins, who show their love through constant bickering, masking genuine fear and concern with well timed-barbs. And then there’s Hup -- his unyielding devotion to Deet is as plain as words on paper, as is his devastation at seeing what she’s become.

Brea had read Rian, too, decoding his cautious movements, the way he favored his side, and grit his teeth. He was hurt, but managing it. She’d let it go, because Rian could be reckless, yes, but only because he was brave, not because he was foolish. She’d trusted that he wouldn’t keep a serious injury to himself, that he’d understood that even though they didn’t have time to wait, they would have made time. If he was badly hurt, she reasoned, he would have said so.

Brea doesn’t like being wrong, but here she is, desperately combing for shelter on the edge of the Dark Woods, while Rian lies wounded and unconscious. She is going to have words with him, once he’s feeling better. 

She and Kylan find themselves up on a ridge -- here, the treeline breaks at last. After miles and miles and miles of forest, they’re finally overlooking rolling fields of tall wheatgrass. They're in a hurry, but Brea can’t help but stop and stare -- she’s never seen anything quite like this before. It reminds her of the coast, north of Ha’Rar, the breeze rustling the grass like ocean waves. In the distance, a herd of landstriders grazes peacefully, bathed in the yellow-orange-red light of the setting sun. There’s no picture on any page in any book in Brea’s whole library that could do the sight justice. It is beautiful.

“The Spriton Plains,” Kylan says, coming to stand beside her. Brea glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and sees a frown creasing his features. Homesickness, she thinks, but no, that’s not quite right. It’s something else -- she can read sorrow in his features, but no longing.

“You’re from Sami Thicket, aren’t you?” Brea asks, finally turning away from the view. She spots Lore nearby, ambling around in the underbrush. She starts walking again, careful to keep within the forest -- the plains are a sight to see, but they don’t offer any cover. “How far is it from here?” 

“Less than a day,” Kylan answers, and there’s an odd tone to his voice, but Brea is too focused on picking her way through the rough terrain to turn back and look at him. He’s quiet for a moment, before adding, “I live in Sami Thicket, yes, but that’s not where I’m from.”

“Oh?” Plenty of Spriton gelfling make their lives on their own little farms and homesteads, scattered all across the plains, but Brea suspects that’s not what Kylan means. “Where are you from, then?”

“Here,” Kylan says, and now Brea does stop and turn, as Kylan motions at the forest around them. 

“Here?” Brea repeats, tilting her head to the side as she puzzles over his answer. “Here, as in, the Dark Woods?” She imagines Kylan, some sort of wild childling, wandering around in the forest, with mud streaked on his face and twigs in his hair -- a smaller version of his current state -- but that can’t be right -- can it?

Brea has exactly enough time to realize that she is, once again, probably being terribly rude in her haste to know, before Kylan laughs quietly, a sad smile replacing his frown. “Yes, in the Dark Woods. My parents built a little cottage, after they were married. That’s where I was born. It wasn’t far from here.”

“But, why?” Brea presses, curiosity winning out over tact, yet again. Making a home on the outskirts of a settlement was one thing, but gelfling living far out in the woods, away from the safety of their clan? It was unheard of. Unless--

“Ah, well.” Kylan tugs at one of his braids nervously, his smile faltering. “Their families didn’t exactly approve of their marriage. My mother was a Spriton, born and raised in Sami Thicket. My father was a Stonewood.” 

“Oh.” Brea blinks, taken aback, but only for a moment. Marrying outside of one’s clan wasn’t strictly forbidden, but it was certainly uncommon, and often looked down upon, at least among certain clans. It explained why Kylan’s parents would have struck out on their own, but it didn't explain the rest of the story. Brea thinks she can fill in the blanks for herself, but she asks anyway. “What happened to them?”

“They died.” Kylan lets out a sigh, barely a breath, and turns to stare out into the plains. “Maudra Mera took me in, brought me to Sami Thicket. It’s been my home since then, but it’s never really been home. If that makes any sense.”

“It does.” Brea searches for the right words, but comes up woefully inadequate. She thinks of her own mother, her blood pooling on the floor as the light faded from her eyes, and feels a flash of grief, like a knife in her chest. She imagines that Kylan has felt that way for a very, very long time. She says, “Kylan, I am so sorry.”

Kylan smiles, but it’s sad, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Me too,” he says, and he touches Brea’s elbow gently. Nearby, there’s a shuffle and cracking of branches as Lore moves gracelessly through the trees. The moment passes. Kylan clears his throat and says, “Let’s try this way. I think he’s found something.”

-+-

The suns are setting, now, and they’ve put aside their hopes of reaching the Valley of the Mystics by nightfall. Naia doesn’t know what that means for Deet, what that means for any of them. The woods have been silent all day, but will the monsters attack again at night? If they do, will they survive another round?

Their shelter isn’t much, just the barest impression of a cave down in a gully, shielded by a rocky outcropping overhead. Kylan and Brea brought them to a spot on the bank of a shallow creek, beside a slow-moving waterfall, and the whole area is lush with vegetation. It’s peaceful, and about as hidden as they could ask for on such short notice.

They’ve decided to risk a small fire, for Rian’s sake. Lore stands guard while Kylan and Brea make quick work of gathering kindling and lighting the flames. Deet moves silently, slowly, as Hup guides her to sit. The Darkening has been steadily consuming her -- deep down, Naia fears the battle was lost the second Deet absorbed the Emperor’s attack, not that she’ll admit it to the others. Either way, Deet won’t last more than a few days, by Naia’s count. 

She’s not sure Rian will last the night. She helps Gurjin lay him out on his bedroll, and her heart sinks as she takes in the pallor of his features, the icy feel to his skin. Gurjin had carefully carried Rian the short trek down to their campsite, brushing off Brea’s suggestion that Lore could could do it. Now, his hands are gentle as he makes tiny adjustments, trying to make sure his friend is comfortable. Naia isn’t sure it matters, now, as far gone as Rian is, but she doesn’t stop him. 

“Gurjin,” she says, working to keep her voice firm, but kind. This needs to be said, but she doesn’t have to be cruel about it. “I’ll see what I can do for him, but -- this doesn’t look good.”

Gurjin doesn’t answer at first, just wraps his fingers around Rian’s wrist. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t meet her eyes. He must know, he has to know. Rian’s so close to the edge, Naia’s not sure she can bring him back, even with her magic. Gurjin says it anyway. “You can heal him, though, can’t you?” 

“I can heal his wound,” Naia agrees. As she speaks, she peels away the hastily applied bandages, and examines the work she’s already done. The wound looks scabbed over, but still ugly and violent. “But he’s lost so much blood, Gurjin. That’s not something I can fix.” Her voice is rising slightly, and she realizes that she’s angry -- angry at Rian, for hiding this, angry at herself for being so distracted that she missed it, angry at her brother for having such blind faith in her, angry at the SkekSis and the monsters and this whole terrible situation. 

“I know.” Gurjin scrubs a hand over his eyes, and heaves a deep, rattling breath. It’s hard to see her brother like this, to see his calm exterior crumble. “It’s just. Do you remember when I left to join the Castle Guard?”

“When they took you,” Naia corrects, and there it is, she’s got one more thing to be angry about, the memory of watching her brother being carted away to serve the Lords at the Castle, leaving her, one half of a whole, all alone.

“Yeah, when they took me.” Gurjin looks up, and finally he meets her gaze. “Those first few weeks were terrible. Rian and Mira were the only people who were kind to me.” Just hearing Mira’s name triggers the dreamfasted memories of the girl’s harrowing final moments, and Naia shivers. Gurjin presses on, sounding miserable, “Mira’s gone, now, and there’s nothing I can do for her, except hurt the people who murdered her. I can’t lose Rian, too.”

Naia sighs, her brother’s sorrow hanging heavy on her own heart. “Gurjin--”

“Promise me you’ll try,” Gurjin cuts in. He reaches across Rian’s still form for her hand, and squeezes it. “I know it’s bad, and I know you’re hurt, too. I know what I’m asking, Naia. Just promise me that you’ll try to save him.”

“I promise,” Naia says, her voice soft.  “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Gurjin says. He gives her hand one more gentle squeeze before letting go, and settling back on Rian’s other side. No matter what happens next, it’s comforting to know that her brother will be here watching over them both. 

Naia leans forward, presses the palms of her hands to Rian’s wound, and tries to quell to twinge of worry when he doesn’t even stir. She clears her mind, breathes out, breathes in, breathes out, and lets her healing magic do its work.

-+-

Night falls, and no one talks. Kylan sits up with his knees pulled in to his chest, and stares into the flickering flames of their tiny campfire. He thinks Brea has drifted off to sleep, and Hup definitely has, judging by the Podling's gentle snoring. Deet’s lying on her side, but he can see the firelight reflected in her open eyes. Awake, but not present. Lore stands only a few feet away, silently guarding his charges. 

Across the fire, Gurjin and Naia are on either side of Rian -- Naia is deep in a healing trance, her hands glowing blue, pressed into Rian’s wound, and Rian hasn’t stirred or made a sound since he collapsed this afternoon. If Gurjin is awake, he isn’t saying anything, his eyes fixed on the still forms of his sister and his best friend.

In the quiet, and the dark, Kylan lets his mind wander. He replays the events of the past few days -- from the battles that they just barely keep surviving, to his conversation with Brea this afternoon. Kylan was a song-teller by trade, but he hadn't much practice telling his own story. Back in Sami Thicket, everyone already knew, and if they treated him differently because of it, well. Kylan had already put a lot of work into accepting that their judgement said more about them than it did about him. It was different, with Brea, just like it had been different when he’d told Naia, early into their journey together, and it would be different when he told the others.

“Kylan?” Gurjin’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. Kylan blinks to focus on his friend’s face, illuminated in the orange glow of the fire. “Can I ask for a favor?”

“Yes,” Kylan says, without hesitation. He moves to stand, desperate to be useful. “Do you need me to get something, or--”

“--No, that’s not--” Gurjin breaks off, and sighs. The firelight casts his face in sharp relief, as he frowns, seeming to weigh his question before asking, “Will you sing?”

It is a very, very long moment before the world rights itself, and the static white noise buzzing in his ears goes quiet, but eventually Kylan finds his voice. He clears his throat, and manages to ask, “Any requests?”

“Something happy,” Gurjin says, and Kylan feels his heart seize up at the sorrow in his voice, almost enough to choke him, but he nods. This much, he can do.

It’s an old song, and a good one, a tale of hope and heroes and triumph over evil, the sort of song they sorely need on a night like tonight. Kylan keeps his voice low, wary of lurking monsters and beasts, but his song is clear and strong enough that he hopes it can bring his friend some comfort. 

There’s a rustle, in the bushes nearby. Kylan breaks off, going still and silent, and Gurjin stands in one fluid motion, drawing his sword. Lore doesn’t move an inch. Kylan holds his breath, and he waits.

“Well, now,” comes a voice, followed by a massive shape, stepping into the glow of their fire. A long, sloping neck, four strong arms, and a wise, kind face, carved with a pattern of intricate wrinkles. “Don’t stop on my account.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

EIGHT

-+-

Coming out of the healing trance feels like surfacing from deep underwater. There’s always a moment, before her gills seal themselves against the open air, when she feels like she’s suffocating. Naia was built for the water, and she was built for her magic, and disconnecting from one or the other always sends her reeling, just for a second.

This time is no different. The hum of Naia’s magic fades, not because her work is done, but because her reserves are spent. She’s wrung out and exhausted, and her injured arm throbs in time with her heartbeat. Beside her, Rian still lays unconscious, but he’s breathing a little easier, she thinks, and he has a little more color to his cheeks. She tries to sit up straighter, to examine him better, but she’s dizzy and disoriented. She lists sideways, and collides with something -- someone -- crouched just behind her.

“Naia?” Gurjin’s worried voice is right in her ear as he catches her, and guides her to slump back against his chest. “Just breathe for a minute, alright?”

Naia breathes, keeping calm and still as Gurjin shifts to sit more comfortably, all the while keeping her tucked against his chest. They stay that way until the world stops spinning, and Naia feels strong enough to sit upright on her own.

“You good?” Gurjin asks, one hand still on Naia’s back for support -- he doesn’t let go until she nods. He’s quiet for a moment longer, and then he asks, “And Rian?”

Naia leans forward, pressing two fingers to Rian’s pulse point, counting seconds and heartbeats. “He’ll live,” she proclaims, satisfied by his steady pulse, the warmth of his skin. He’d looked like a dying thing, but she’d pulled him back from the edge. Her mother would be proud of her work. She turns to face her brother, keeping Rian in the corner of her eye. “He needs somewhere to rest, and he won’t be swinging a sword anytime soon, but he’ll live.”

Gurjin lets out a breath, and Naia swears she can feel his stress and tension release with it. “Thank you, Naia.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let him die.” She’ll need to bandage Rian’s wound, it will be some time before he’s truly healed, but for now Naia surveys their surroundings. She isn’t sure how much time has passed, but it is fully dark, the stars and moons shining brightly overhead. “Even if he is the stupidest Gelfling I’ve ever--” 

Naia breaks off suddenly as she focuses on the rest of their party -- specifically, the strange, four-armed creature chatting animatedly with Kylan and Brea at the fireside.

“Oh, right,” Gurjin says, following her gaze. He hikes a thumb at the Mystic, who offers a little wave. “You should probably meet our new friend.”

-+-

The Mystic, urSol, leads them out of the woods, and into the Valley. As close as they’d come -- and they had come very close -- Kylan doesn’t think they would have found this place on their own. It was lucky that urSol had been out in the woods himself, in search of a place to practice his own song, when he heard Kylan singing, and spotted their campfire.

“You picked a nice spot for it,” urSol had complimented in his rumbling voice, waving his arms at the walls of the little gully, while they had waited for Naia to finish healing Rian. Kylan could only nod, wonderstruck in the presence of the Mystic. “Good acoustics.” 

Now, dense foliage gives way to steep rock walls, a dry ravine carved into the earth. Kylan’s fingers itch to open his journal, to record every sight and sound. He imagines Brea feels the same way, but the Vapran princess is up front with urSol, filling him in on their journey so far, explaining what’s happened to Deet, and of course, peppering in plenty of her own questions about the Mystics and the Valley.

Kylan puts the thought of his journal aside, and focuses on getting to their destination. Naia’s got a death grip on his left elbow, still spent and off-balance after saving Rian, and his right arm is still bandaged and sore after his injury. Anyway, he’s got to watch where he’s going, or risk tripping over the rocks and broken bits of the stone path, and urSol’s tail, sweeping from side to side. Hopefully there will be time later, to write it all down.

It takes barely an hour to get there, the steep ravine walls opening up into a spiral-shaped canyon. There are dozens of caves, all with wide, arched openings -- much bigger than a Gelfling would need, but perfect for the hulking Mystics. All around are towers of stones, stacked one on top of the other, and the whole place smells of incense. It’s strange and beautiful even now, in the dark, lit only by the moons and stars overhead, and Kylan is eager to see what it looks like in the daylight.

“I will take your friend to meet with urSu, our Master.” As urSol speaks, he lays one hand on Deet’s shoulder, and with two more he gestures at the cave entrance in front of them. “He will want to see her right away. The rest of you, please, get some sleep. We will see what solutions the daylight brings us.”

The rest of them exchange wary glances. Rian wouldn’t want to leave Deet alone, but then again, Rian also hid a terrible injury and very nearly bled to death, so Kylan supposes he loses his vote. 

It’s Gurjin who speaks up, adjusting his grip on the still-unconscious Rian. “Brea, you said a Mystic helped build Lore and the Dual Glaive. And the Archer gave his life to save us.” He glances from Deet, standing quietly at urSol’s side, her violet eyes staring straight ahead, and then back to the rest of them. “This is why we came here, isn’t it? So the Mystics could help Deet? We have to trust them.”

“We can see her in the morning?” Brea presses, and urSol dips his head in agreement. She looks to the others for confirmation, and then nods, drawing herself up and looking very regal before saying, “We thank you for your hospitality. We will wait here and speak with you tomorrow.” 

urSol bows, and then whisks Deet away, their Darkened friend following without complaint, along a walkway and further down the canyon, and until they finally round a bend and disappear from sight.

“You too, Hup,” Naia says, when Hup moves to follow the Mystic and Deet. “They can help her, we should let them work.” 

Hup sputters and mutters under his breath, but trudges into the cave entrance with the others. Brea speaks quietly to Lore, one hand on his stone arm as she asks him to wait outside. She motions for Kylan to head in without her -- Kylan takes one last look at the strange sights before following his friends inside.

The interior is just as marvelous at the canyon itself -- carved from the same pale rock, with high, reinforced ceilings. The driftwood overhead is painted, diagrams showing the stars and their courses. Kylan marvels at it, the scope and detail more intricate than anything he’s ever seen before. Then again, the Mystics have had untold time to study the movement of the stars, and the mysteries of this world, and others beyond.

Kylan finally tears his eyes away long enough to help the rest of the party get settled for the night. There are still hours to go before the first sun rises, and they are all exhausted after their journey, and the trials of these past few days. The room is mostly barren, no beds or other furniture, save for a basket in the corner, heaping with linens and pillows. There are blankets, some knitted, others woven and embroidered, along with finely detailed quilts and soft furs.

“We’re filthy,” Brea says, gesturing at the state of their party. They’d washed the worst of the mud and muck away at their creek-side camp, but they’re still covered in dust and dirt from their travels.

“I don’t care,” Naia says, letting go of Kylan’s elbow and making a beeline for the basket of linens. “It’s blankets, they can wash them. I could sleep for an entire trine.”

Naia’s right, and anyway they’re all too tired for further discussions or logistics. In the end they pile all the blankets in the very middle of the room, making a bed large enough for all of them to share. Gurjin settles Rian in first, covering him with a quilt, before flopping down beside him. Naia sinks down on her brother’s other side, while Brea brackets Rian, a knitted blanket the colors of the sunset draped around her shoulders like a cloak. Hup stares wistfully out the door for a moment longer before diving into the pile, and burrowing under the blankets at Rian’s feet.

Over the past few days, Kylan has fought horrible monsters, broken his arm, and nearly drowned in a sinkhole. None of that was half as harrowing as staring the tangle of his friends and trying to decide where to lay down for the night.

Naia makes the decision for him, reaching up and grabbing his wrist. She tugs him down to the narrow spot between her and Gurjin, and says, “Right here, Kylan, I can’t deal with him tonight. He kicks.”

“Do not,” Gurjin mumbles, already half asleep. His foot brushes Kylan’s ankle. Kylan holds his breath, and releases it slowly. It’s a good thing he’s so exhausted, sleep already tugging his eyelids closed. Otherwise, this would be a very, very long night.

-+-

Rian remembers the fight, remembers realizing he was injured, although he didn’t feel the swipe of the monster’s claws. He remembers almost telling Naia that he was hurt, and then changing his mind when he heard a dozen more beasts howling in the woods. He remembers thinking, I have made a terrible mistake, right before the ground rushed up to meet him, and the world went dark.

He does not remember arriving at the Valley of the Mystics, but as soon as he opens his eyes to stone walls and a star chart painted on the ceiling, he somehow knows that is exactly where he has ended up. He’s lying in a pile of furs and blankets, a thick quilt laid over him, and a pillow beneath his head. It’s the softest place he’s slept in a long while, if not ever. 

Sitting up takes effort -- he’s exhausted, his limbs impossibly heavy, even though he’s only just woken up. Moving earns him a dull throb of pain in his side. His wound has been bandaged, and when he carefully peels away the bright white linens, he finds the cut scabbed over and closed, looking days old, no longer fresh and violent. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sleeping. Someone’s removed his torn armor, but he’s otherwise dressed, both his body and his clothes still covered in dust and grime from travel, and a frankly alarming amount of his own dried blood, so it can’t have been that long.

The last time he saw the wound, it looked and felt a lot worse, and he thinks he knows who he has to thank for his recovery. Sure enough, Naia is nestled in the pile of blankets nearby, just out of arm’s reach, deep asleep. There’s no one else here, but the two of them, and there is light streaming through the cave entrance just ahead of him.

Standing hurts about as much as sitting up did -- that is, a sharp flash of pain at first, that quickly settles into a dull background ache. It’s nothing he can’t manage. He’s more concerned about this weariness that’s settled over his bones, leaving him as weak as a newborn. He puts the thought aside, and puts one foot in front of the other, determined to find the rest of his friends, and then a bath, and then something to eat, in that order.

There’s no door, not even a curtain, just a rough arch hewn into the stone. Rian blinks as he steps out in the bright morning sunshine. He keeps one hand on the doorframe for support as he takes in the strange surroundings, filing away details as best he can, with his mind fuzzy from sleep and healing magic.

Rian doesn’t have long to admire the scenery. He hears hurried footsteps coming up the spiraling path, and then he sees Brea. She’s wringing water out of her hair, and while her face is covered in day-old scratches from her frantic flight through the trees, she looks clean. Surely she knows where Rian can find the others, and a bath. Two down, one to go.

“Rian! You’re up!” Brea stops dead in her tracks at the sight of him. Her expression flickers from surprised to relieved, and then her eyes narrow, and when she speaks her tone is sharp. “Why are you up? You should be resting.”

“I feel fine,” Rian says, trying to be subtle as he leans more and more of his weight on the doorframe, his legs threatening to give out from under him. “Where’s Deet?”

Brea sees right through him, her eyes widening in alarm as she rushes forward, pulling one of Rian’s arms over her shoulder to take his weight. She helps him hobble back inside, and dumps him on the nest of blankets. “Deet’s safe, she’s with the Mystics.” Rian breaths out a sigh of relief, while Brea fusses with a quilt. “You feel fine? You better not let Naia hear you say that,” she hisses, keeping her voice low as she casts a look at their sleeping friend. “She’s upset with you for lying.”

“I didn’t lie,” Rian counters, and then he yelps as Brea smacks him with a pillow. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry,” Brea says. She doesn’t sound sorry. She adjusts Rian’s pillows, adding another, so that he can at least sit propped up. She opens her mouth, snaps it closed, and then huffs in frustration. “I can’t even yell at you yet, it’s not my turn.”

“It’s not...your turn,” Rian repeats slowly, and Brea nods.

“Gurjin says he gets to yell first, because he’s your best friend,” she says, while Rian’s hazy brain does its best to keep up. “The rest of us had to draw straws.”

“What?”

“Don’t move,” Brea says, leveling him with a glare. “I'll go and fetch him.” With that, she scurries back out the door, leaving Rian with more questions than he started with.

He doesn’t have to wait for long. Just minutes after Brea disappears, he hears more footsteps thundering up the path. Gurjin bursts into the room, breathing heavily, as if he’s run all the way here. His face is a mess -- a scab on his bottom lip, a deep purple bruise blooming from his jaw to his cheekbone, a half-dozen other cuts and scrapes.

“Gurjin,” Rian says, as cheerfully as he can manage, considering he’s too tired to even sit up on his own. “It’s good to see you. You look terrible.”

“You!” Gurjin heaves another breath, his shoulders rising and slumping back down. He casts a look at Naia, still tangled up in the blankets. “You are lucky my sister is asleep, or else I would--”

“I’m awake,’ Naia mutters, kicking off her blankets and sitting up, looking between Gurjin and Rian mutinously. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep with all this racket.” 

“Sorry, Naia,” Rian and Gurjin both mumble automatically.

Naia just rolls her eyes. She stretches, and pushes herself out of bed. She socks Gurjin lightly in the shoulder and says, “Tear him apart.” Gurjin nods, his jaw clenched. Naia offers Rian a little salute, and then slinks out into the sunshine, leaving the boys alone.

Gurjin doesn’t say anything, so Rian thinks maybe he should talk first. He takes a breath, and says, “Gurjin, listen. I know you’re upset--”

“--Stop.” Gurjin cuts him off, rubbing at his temples. “Unless you’re going to tell me what in Thra’s name you were thinking, and why you lied to us, I don’t want to hear it.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Rian says, instantly on the defensive. He knows he must have frightened his friends, but he isn’t sure what to do in the face of their anger. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“So, what?” Gurjin scoffs. “You accidentally didn’t tell anyone you got stabbed? Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I was going to tell Naia. I was,” Rian insists, when Gurjin rolls his eyes. “But there wasn’t time. What if the monsters had attacked while Naia was healing me?”

“What if they’d attacked after you passed out?” Gurjin counters, not missing a beat. Rian falters, and Gurjin presses on, “You almost died, Rian, and you put everybody else in danger while you were doing it.” He takes a sharp breath in, nostrils flaring, and asks, “What’s this really about?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rian says, fidgeting with the hem of the blanket, unable to look Gurjin and his anger in the eye. 

“I mean, why are you doing this to yourself?” Gurjin asks, still worked up. “Hiding injuries, rushing into battle -- Rian, you challenged a SkekSis to one-on-one combat.”

“And I won! I had the Dual Glaive,” Rian cuts in, but Gurjin just shakes his head.

“Yeah, alright, you had a magic sword.” Gurjin stares just past Rian, like it hurts to look directly at him. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because I’m telling you, it won’t bring Mira back, and it won’t save Deet.”

As soon as he says it, regret flashes in Gurjin’s eyes, but it’s too late. Just the thought of Mira cuts deep, and throws Rian’s whole world out of balance, for a moment. He’s been trying to lock those feelings away, and focus on getting his friends through one danger after another, but just hearing her name releases them all. 

“I’m not trying to die,” Rian says, his blood cold, his voice even, measured. “But if that’s what it takes -- if I could trade my life to bring Mira back, or to save Deet from the Darkening, or -- or to save anyone, even one person, then I would do it, gladly. Saving my friends, healing the Crystal, stopping the SkekSis -- if that means my death, then so be it.” Rian doesn’t have a word to describe the way Gurjin’s face twists up, but it’s terrible all the same, sorrow and fury and fear all tangled into one. He clenches his fists, his own anger building as he continues. “I don’t even know why you of all people are upset about this. You made me leave you in the Castle, remember?”

“That was completely different,” Gurjin says, instantly riled up again. 

“How?”

“How ? How about, Naia has healing powers and could have fixed you right up!” Gurjin’s shouting now, and probably everyone in the entire valley can hear him, but somehow Rian doesn’t think he cares. “And anyway, if you hadn’t left me, the SkekSis would have killed us both, and no one would know that they were draining Gelfling, and then where would we be?”

“Well,” Rian says, his voice light. “I can’t speak for the others, but I suppose you and I would be on the SkekSis Lords’ dining table.”

Gurjin makes a sound -- half a laugh, but mostly a sob, as he drops down onto the bed beside Rian. “Their dining table,” he gasps, still laughing as he scoots in close as he can, near enough to touch but still mindful of Rian’s injury. “You’re terrible, Rian, how could you say that?” 

Just like that, the tension is broken, and their fight set aside. Rian cracks a wry smile. “I am sorry, Gurjin. Not for the joke, that was clever.” Gurjin snorts, and wipes away tears with the back of his hand. Rian schools his expression, so his friend will know he’s being serious. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m sorry I brought up Mira,” Gurjin replies, looking guilty. “It wasn’t fair.”

Rian can hardly speak around the lump in his throat, but he manages. “What would she say if she could see us now?”

Gurjin laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. He says, “Probably she’d tell us to stop crying and grow some wings.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” The thought of Mira is like a knife, twisting in his gut, but at least Rian knows he’s not missing her alone. “I really am sorry, Gurjin. I should have told you I was hurt, I was being stupid. I thought I could handle it.”

“You were wrong.” Gurjin looks annoyed again, but then his lips twitches, and he just looks sad. “I don’t want you to die, Rian. You’re my best friend, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t want to die,” Rian says, his voice small, and blinking away tears of his own. “I’m just afraid I might have to, before this is all done.”

Gurjin leans forward, and pulls Rian into a tight hug. Rian’s head is tucked against Gurjin’s chest, and he can hear his heartbeat, going a mile a minute, still terrified. “Yeah, well, not if we have anything to say about it, alright?”

“Alright,” Rian mumbles into Gurjin’s shoulder. Finally, Gurjin leans back, and holds him at arm’s length, looking him over critically before letting go. Rian shifts a little, and asks, “Hey, Gurjin?”

Gurjin sniffs, and wipes his eyes again. “Yeah?”

“Do you know where I could get a bath?” Rian asks, and Gurjin laughs again, a real smile stealing across his features.

“Yeah, come on.” He stands, and offers Rian a hand, pulling him up, and snaking one arm around his back to keep him steady. “You do smell terrible. I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“How kind of you,” Rian quips, and he lets Gurjin lead him out into the canyon.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

NINE

-+-

The Mystic Valley really is a strange and beautiful place. Through the course of this journey Rian’s seen the suns rise over the Crystal Desert, he’s traveled along the Breath of Thra to the Caves of Grot, he’s glimpsed the glimmering capital of Ha’Rar and traveled mile after mile through the Dark Woods. He’s seen so much of Thra, and so many of its wonders, but he’s never seen anything quite like this.

He’s sitting on a smooth stone in the basin of the canyon, eating a bowl of porridge that one of the Mystics had brought to him. It’s oddly bitter, but he’s too hungry to worry about that. He’s clean for the first time in days, and wearing plain, borrowed clothes, his own set aside for washing and mending. He’s not sure why the Mystics have Gelfling sized clothes in the first place -- he can’t imagine they get many visitors, out here, but maybe they just like to be prepared. He’s too tired to worry about it -- a bone-deep ache has settled over him, his movements slow and sluggish. From what Gurjin’s told him, he had barely survived his injury, and it will be some time before he builds his strength back up.

It’s not long before the others pounce, ready to take their turns to scold him. Brea and Kylan team up, and thankfully they don’t yell. Brea explains, in great detail and with sources, why Rian is the most foolish Gelfling in recorded history, while Kylan sits behind him, nimble fingers fixing Rian’s hair, and occasionally chiming in to agree with Brea. Hup does yell, but entirely in Podling, and he stops when Rian shivers, despite the warm, sunny morning. Hup huffs and stomps away, only to return a few minutes later with a thick, knitted blanket, tossing it at Rian’s chest and then grumbling off, either to seek out Lore, or to pester the Mystics into letting him see Deet.

Naia is the last to visit, and the one he’s been dreading most, after his confrontation with Gurjin. She sits beside him, and presses a strange fruit into his hand, and takes a bite of her own. 

“I don’t know what it is, but it’s good,” she says, and before she’s even finished speaking he’s already bitten into it. Either he’s still starving, even after the porridge, or its the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted, tangy and sweet, the juice practically exploding on his tongue. 

Naia finishes her own fruit, and then says, conversationally, “You know, I hated you, when we first met.”

“I picked up on that,” Rian says, around another mouthful of ripe, juicy fruit. “You did threaten to kill me.”

Naia shrugs, unashamed. She says, “When I pulled my brother out of that dungeon, he was delirious. He didn’t even recognize me at first.” Rian’s blood goes cold, and the fruit goes sour in his mouth as Naia continues. “They beat him, burned him. I think they’d kept him chained, there were marks, from the cuffs. And two puncture wounds, right here.” She reaches up, touches her own back, and Rian shivers. “Seeing him that way made me hate you even more, because you left him to that.”

“Naia, I’m sorry,” Rian says, though it doesn’t feel like near enough, like it will ever be enough. Naia raises a hand to cut him off, and he falls silent.

“I know you are,” she says, and Rian breathes out a sigh of relief. “And I forgave you for it, because I know you didn’t have another choice, and because I know Gurjin told you to run, and I want to honor the sacrifice he made.” She pauses again, and something in her expression shifts, just a fraction. “Since then, I have come to respect you, Rian, and even consider you a friend.”

“Thank you,” Rian says humbly. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“Maybe not,” Naia tells him. “It doesn’t matter, and that’s not what I came here to say.” She takes a deep breath. “You are my brother’s best friend, Rian. But one of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed, and it’s going to break his heart.” Naia doesn’t sound angry, is the worst part of it all, she just sounds very, very sure of herself. “I’ll put him back together, because I always do, but I will never forgive you for it. Do you understand?”

Rian’s heart is in his throat. “Naia, I--”

“Rian.” Naia’s voice is steady and sure, her eyes locked on his. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Rian nods, returning Naia’s stare. “I understand.”

“Good.” Naia reaches out and pats him on the knee before standing up. “Now, eat the rest of that. You’re wasting away, and I’m too tired to save your life again.”

Rian does as he’s told, barely even tasting the fruit as he chews, Naia’s words echoing in his skull.

-+-

Here, in the Mystic Valley, time slows to a crawl. The suns inch their way across the sky, the morning dragging into early afternoon. It’s kind of nice, Gurjin thinks, having the chance to rest after everything they’d been through. Still, he doesn’t think any of them will be able to relax completely until they’ve heard from Deet.

It’s mid afternoon now. Their little party has been gathering at the bottom of the spiral canyon one-by-one, keeping to the edges, and away from the strange circle of stones. Kylan suggested it was some kind of holy place. Gurjin figured it was probably cursed. Inside, one of the Mystics -- urZah, as he had introduced himself, was busy drawing strange symbols in the sand. Other than giving his name, he had only spoken in riddles, which Gurjin had absolutely no interest in.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Brea exclaims, pacing back and forth, back and forth, kicking up dirt every time she turns on her heel. The princess had spent her morning badgering every Mystic she could get in earshot. She boldly interrupted them as they worked at weaving, and cooking, and performing strange rituals, asking each one to take her to Deet, but always getting the same response: Soon. “They should have let us see her hours ago. What’s taking so long?”

No one knows what to say, so no one says anything at all. Gurjin shifts, trying to get more comfortable, but quickly gives it up for a lost cause. He’s sitting cross-legged on the dusty canyon floor, and Rian is fast asleep, slumped against him and cocooned in a blanket. Gurjin’s right arm has gone completely numb, but he’d sooner chop it off than wake Rian from his much-needed rest. 

Instead, he passes the time watching Kylan record their journey so far, and his observations of the Mystic Valley, into his notebook. Gurjin’s torn between watching Kylan’s hands, deft and sure, his fingertips glowing with magic as he traces the words -- and his face, his brow furrowed in concentration as he dream-etches the details onto the very pages. It’s enough of a distraction that Gurjin doesn’t notice footsteps echoing down the ramps, not until a shadow falls over him. 

He blinks, and looks up into his sister’s amused face. Naia casts a sideways glance at Kylan, still hunched over his notebook, and then back to Gurjin. She grins, and the look on her face says, Busted. 

Gurjin squirms, just a little, under her gaze, but Naia lets it drop -- he imagines she’ll have plenty to say about it later, when they’re alone. For now, she just nods at Rian and asks, “How is he?”

“Asleep,” Gurjin says, shrugging with one shoulder. He notices with relief that Naia has finally healed her wounded arm -- the bandage is gone, a pale scar in its place.

Naia rolls her eyes at his answer, but says, “Good. He needs it.” She walks away to  examine one of the standing stones, tracing the intricate swirls. Inside the circle, urZah doesn’t even look up, wholly focused on his work, drawing lines in the sand with a long, strange instrument. Naia glances at the Mystic, then back at the group, asking, “Has anybody seen Hup?”

“Last I heard,” Kylan says, the glow on his fingertips fading just long enough for him to turn the page, and then starting up again, “He was going to tunnel his way into the Mystic Master’s chamber. With his spoon.”

“I believe in him,” Gurjin says, laughing to himself as he pictures the scene, Hup popping up from the floor of the Mystic’s chamber, spoon in hand. He shakes his head, and then glances back over at Kylan, still focused on his work. “Do you speak any Podling, Kylan?”

“A little.” Kylan’s lip twitches, but he keeps his eyes fixed on his journal, as he admits, “Mostly just curse words.”

“Ah.” Gurjin nods, then goes still as Rian shifts. His blanket slips from his shoulder, but he doesn’t wake. Gurjin lowers his voice before continuing, “Probably you understood what he was saying to urSol this morning, then.” Hup had cornered their rescuer shortly after breakfast, and caused something of a scene. “None of that sounded very nice.”

“It was not,” Kylan confirms, his voice light. He finally closes his journal, and hugs it to his chest, frowning for a moment before he speaks again. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Naia teases, flicking him on the shoulder as she crosses her legs and sits beside him. It’s a playful gesture, same as she might do to Gurjin, or their little sisters, though Kylan doesn’t seem to think anything of it, brushing her off with a fleeting grin before looking serious again.

Brea finally gives up her pacing, and comes to sit on Rian’s other side. She tugs the blanket back up to cover his shoulder, and asks, “Thinking about what?”

“What happens next?” Kylan asks. He glances around the group, his frown deepening. “We brought Deet to the Valley, and the Mystics are helping her. Where do we go now?”

“Back to Stone-in-the-Wood,” Naia answers, almost immediately. “The Seven Clans are united, and with the Arathim on our side, we’ll take the Castle, and the Crystal, back from the SkekSis.”

“Are the Arathim still on our side?” Brea cuts in. “Those monsters in the woods--”

“--Looked like Spitters,” Gurjin says, catching on to her point. “Or at least, like they used to be Spitters.” He grimaces at the thought of the monsters, and how narrowly they’d escaped them that last time. If it wasn’t for Lore, they would have been killed for sure. 

“That’s not all.” Kylan hesitates. He fidgets with the bandage on his still healing arm, and seems to weigh his words before he says, “I heard at least a dozen of those.... things... in the woods last night. They didn’t come for us -- so where did they go?”

There’s a moment of silence, save for the gentle shifting of sands as urZah continues his work. Gurjin runs through a few possible scenarios, each more terrible than the one before.

Brea’s eyes are wide and fearful, probably imagining the same horrible scenes as Gurjin. “You think they went to Stone-in-the-Wood?”

“Maybe.” Kylan shrugs. “The entire Gelfling Resistance was gathered there, and the SkekSis knew it. Or--” Kylan pauses again, and sighs. “The clans sent their fighters to Stone-in-the-Wood, but they all left caretakers and childlings behind. The SkekSis could have sent their beasts to Ha’Rar, or Sami Thicket, or--”

“--Or the Sog.” Gurjin’s stomach drops, thinking of his sisters and his father, back at home, picturing the terrible monsters tearing through the Great Smerth. Any Drenchen could hold their own in a fight, but a swarm of the beasts could quickly overwhelm them, not to mention they would have childlings to protect. He looks up and sees his same concerns reflected in Naia’s face.

“All the more reason to go back,” Naia says, taking her fear, and shaping it, turning it into action. Fierce Naia, Mother Aughra had said, and she had been right. “If the monsters are attacking the Gelfling, then they need our help. We’ve killed these beasts before. We can fight.”

The conversation is interrupted by a loud, low call -- it starts as one voice, and then more chime in -- urZah pauses his work in the stone circle to join, and then another Mystic, working at a loom, and another, and another. It wakes Rian, who sits bolt upright in alarm -- it rattles Gurjin’s teeth, and the very stones in the canyon, and it seems like it will never end, until--

--until suddenly, it dies away. The world goes silent, and stays that way, until urZah clears his throat. He sets aside his work, waves at the spiral pathway out of the canyon, and says, “urSu will see you now.”

-+-

The Mystics point the way, and Brea and her friends follow, collecting Hup as they go, the Podling covered in dirt and practically vibrating with energy, eager to finally see Deet. The path takes them further and deeper into the ravine. Moss clings to steep walls, vines wind their way through cracks in the stone, dry little bushes and shrubs make their home in the nooks and crannies. This close to the desert, the vegetation clings to life with everything it has, surviving in spite of the elements.

They find themselves in front of another hewn archway, except this one is covered, hanging vines making a sort of door. Brea’s locked elbows with Rian, taking as much of his weight as she can. Just the short trek has worn him out. He’s pale except for two bright spots of color on his cheek, and leaning on Brea heavily, but he’s still standing, a determined look on his face.

“Do we knock?” Kylan asks, peering through the vines to try and see inside. While he hesitates, Naia moves past him, parting the curtain of vines and heading inside. “Alright.” The rest of them exchange a glance, and then follow wordlessly.

The Mystic Master’s home looks exactly the way Brea expects it to -- the light stone walls, the bundles of dried herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling, the collection of weird and wondrous instruments and artifacts. They’ve spent this whole day in the Mystic Valley, but this is their first glimpse inside one of the Mystic’s private chambers. In many ways, it reminds her of their time with the Heretic and the Wanderer, and the strange, comfortable chaos of the Circle of the Suns. Thankfully, there’s not a puppet in sight. She isn’t sure she could sit through another surprise, at least not until she sees Deet.

Inside, urSu is waiting for them. The Mystic is standing at the very center of the room, peering down into a shallow bowl, with steam wafting up from the top. His face is wizened and wise, and a shock of white hair falls across his forehead and down his long, sloping neck. 

He is not alone. Deet is sitting beside him, just the way they’d left her -- staring blankly at the wall, her hands folded limply in her lap. The Darkening’s tendrils twist and roil just under her skin, and her eyes glow with a sick violet energy. 

urSu’s gaze alights on each of them in turn, staring deep into their eyes. It feels like he’s looking through them, searching for something -- or someone. He turns to Rian last, and then he sighs. Brea could almost swear he sounds disappointed, and she wonders who he was expecting.

“Gelfling,” urSu finally greets, his voice low and scratchy as he beckons for them to join him and Deet. Half-formed shapes twist and shiver in the rising steam, but the Mystic pays them no mind, fully focused on Brea and her friends. “We have watched your journey with interest. I am glad to finally meet you, though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

No one moves, feet planted, exchanging nervous glances. Deet’s eyes flash in the dim light as the Darkening pulses through her, and Brea feels a swoop of dread.

It’s Gurjin who breaks the silence. “What’s wrong with her?” he asks, motioning to Deet. Naia gives him a sharp glare, and Gurjin shakes his head and tries again. “I mean, I know what’s wrong, but -- why is she still like that? Why isn’t she better?”

Why haven’t you fixed her, is what he’s really asking. It’s the question on everyone’s minds, and at this point, Brea is afraid to hear the answer.

When urSu sighs, the room goes colder, and Brea shivers. “I am sorry, Gelfling,” he says, bowing his head mournfully. “I know this is not what you wanted to hear, but--” He breaks off, sighing again as the shapes in the mist twist and dance.

“But what?” Brea presses, and if she offends an ancient, mystical being, then so be it. She needs answers, and she needs them now. “Can you help her or not?”

“No.” urSu’s voice is kind, but the word is so final, ringing in the air like a verdict, a death sentence. “Your friend is already lost. There is nothing we can do. ”

-+-

urSu speaks gently, patiently describing every measure, every step he and the other Mystics had taken to try and cleanse the Darkening from Deet -- rituals and ceremonies, chants and potions, all of it, for nothing. According to the Mystic Master, their journey was over before it had even begun. Deet was lost to them the second she took in the Emperor’s attack, back in Stone-in-the-Wood. It was too much, he’d told them. Too much darkness, too much necrotic energy, too much for one Gelfling body to hold. 

Rian doesn’t listen to a single word, not really. It’s all just background noise, a low rumbling of voices that he can’t process right now. He’s crossed the room to sit beside Deet, too tired to stand, too heartsick to be apart from her. Hup sits on her other side, one of her hands in both of his own, murmuring quietly. Deet doesn’t respond, doesn’t even twitch in his direction, her breathing slow.

Are you in there? Rian wonders, his fingers twitching towards Deet’s. He’s desperate to reach out, to search for her in dreamfast, but he can’t bring himself to touch her. Even from here, he can feel a sickly heat rising from her skin as the Darkening burns its way through her. According to urSu, she won’t last much longer -- most likely, she won’t live to see the dawn.

Rian had told himself, at the start of this journey, that if the Mystics couldn’t save Deet, he would find another way. He’d promised Deet, promised her fathers, that he’d bring her back safe and sound. Now, he’s realizing that time is running out. Deet is dying, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

“I don’t understand,” Kylan says, sounding sad and lost, wringing his hands in despair. He and Brea are the only others in the room -- Naia had left in a rush after urSu’s diagnosis, and Gurjin had followed her, and they hadn’t come back. “Why would the Sanctuary Tree give Deet this power if it was only going to -- to turn out like this?”

“I don’t think the Sanctuary Tree meant for this to happen,” Rian says, finally tearing his eyes away from Deet long enough to address his friends. His whole body feels heavy and numb, and it has nothing to do with his recovery, and everything to do with the ache in his chest, the hollow pain of loss, of defeat.

“I imagine you’re right,” urSu says, nodding sagely. The Mystic Master had retreated further into the cave, to give them time and space to grieve, but now he shuffles closer. “The Great Trees of Thra are powerful forces -- they take in the Darkening, and change it into something new, something pure.” He dips his head towards Deet, still, and silent, and dying. “Your friend could have learned to do the same.”

“If I could take it from her, I would,” Rian says, finally working up the nerve to brush his fingertips against the back of her hand. Deet doesn’t react, and he’s surprised to find her skin is clammy and cold, the heat coming from deep within her. Unleashing the Darkening, like she had on the SkekSis, and the monsters, only made her worse, poisoned her further, but maybe it would be different if she could just transfer it. If only. 

“Then it would just kill you instead,” Kylan points out. When Rian only shrugs, Kylan lets out a frustrated sigh. He glances towards the archway, where Gurjin and Naia left not long ago. “Do you really think Deet would want that?”

“Of course not,” Rian snaps, and he doesn’t mean to be angry -- no, he does mean to be angry, but he doesn’t mean to be angry at Kylan. “But she’d be alive, and that’s all--”

“Both of you, be quiet!” Brea commands, and the boys fall silent, startled by her outburst. She’s been silent all this time, her head bowed, her fingertips pressing into her temples. She’s silent for a moment longer, and then, she gasps. “Too much for one Gelfling body to hold,” she says, her eyes going wide. When no one responds, she says it again, looking at her friends in exasperation, “Too much for one Gelfling body to hold. Are you listening to me?”

“We’re listening,” Kylan says, exchanging an uneasy glance with Rian, who frowns in confusion. “I’m just not sure we follow.”

They might not understand what Brea’s talking about, but urSu clearly does. The Mystic hums thoughtfully, and Brea rounds on him.

“Will it work?” she demands, and she’s standing now, her whole body tense, charged with energy. Suddenly, Kylan gasps, understanding dawning in his eyes as he catches on, but Rian is still at a loss.

urSu pauses, thinking it over. He nudges his bowl of steam with his foot -- a wispy shape rises to the surface, and he nods to himself. “It will be dangerous,” he says finally, and he looks at Brea very seriously. “There will be consequences.”

Brea draws herself up. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that she is a princess, and how easily she can command respect. Now, her voice is clear, and strong, as she says, “That is not what I asked.”

“Yes,” urSu says, nodding. “I think it will work.”

Kylan’s already on his feet and hurrying towards the door. “I’ll get the others,” he calls over his shoulder. He doesn’t even wait for an answer, hurrying out of the cave in search of Gurjin and Naia.

“Brea,” Rian says, and there’s something building in the room, a tension that he can’t put a name to, can’t describe. “What’s going on?”

Brea takes his hand and squeezes it, and for the first time in a long time, she looks hopeful. “We can save her, Rian. I know how to save Deet.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TEN

-+-

In the darkness, Deet drifts.

The last thing she remembers--

No.

-+-

The first thing she remembers is the Sanctuary Tree.

Blessing or curse, the tree had whispered, the tree had wailed, with its dying breath, its dying wish. Deet saw everything and understood nothing, flashes of a future too terrible to name. Brea, running scared, a bundle in her arms, and monsters at her back. Rian, clinging to the Dark Crystal, a gleaming shard in his raised hand. Deet, perched atop the Emperor’s throne, veins of sickness consuming her, spiraling out, spreading like poison. 

The three of them, dead, or dying. Too slow. Too soon. Too much.

“I won’t,” Deet whispers, eyes squeezed tight. She clutches at her head, nails biting into her scalp, but she doesn’t feel it. She doesn’t feel anything, here, in the Darkness. She wants to feel it. She wants it to hurt. 

There’s a hand on her back, a voice calling her name, strong arms that carry her up, up, up -- but it’s a memory, only a memory, and then, it’s gone.

-+-

Hands. Her hands, trembling, a strange, sick, purple light glowing just beneath her skin. Deet is afraid.

They’re in Stone-in-the-Wood, waiting -- hoping that the rest of the Gelfling will rise and stand beside them. Rian asks her a question, makes an offer. His touch is gentle, and welcome, and wanted, but Deet recoils. It breaks his heart, and it breaks hers, too, but she can’t tell him, she can’t hurt him, she won’t, she won’t--

-+-

She remembers the Emperor.

His rage is like a living thing, white-hot and coiled, and when he strikes, he strikes with purpose, he strikes with intent. The Darkening arcs across the field, violent and deadly, and Deet takes it in. Oh, how it burns, fire and poison, eating away at her from the inside out, too much, too much. She doesn’t feel it anymore, but she remembers it, and she hears her own screams, muted and distant.

Gentle Deet is not a killer. She kills anyway, sending out a wave of dark energy that reduces a SkekSis to dust. She doesn’t enjoy it, but it’s easy, and that frightens her.

The SkekSis flee, the Gelfling cheer, but Deet feels something slipping -- feels like she’s slipping, sliding away into someplace dark, someplace quiet. The light fades, the sounds fade, and Deet fades with them.

-+-

When Deet wakes, she wakes in darkness. She knows that she is lost, but she knows herself, and that’s a start. She remembers her life -- it feels like a story she heard once, far-off and too pretty to be entirely true, but she remembers.

It’s cold here...wherever here is. She is surrounded by mist, or maybe a cloud, thick and suffocating. In the distance, there is a hazy purple light, thrumming, throbbing, pulsing.

“Hello?” she calls, but there is no answer, not even an echo. Her voice just sinks away, into the fog, into the void, swallowed up by an angry violet haze. It’s silly to try again. She tries again anyway. “Hello! Is anyone there?”

Nothing.

“Rian? Brea? Fathers?”

No one.

Deet is alone.

-+-

There’s something moving, beyond the fog. She hears: splintering, cracking, moaning. She sees: bodies, contorting into terrible shapes as they die, gnarled and broken by the Darkening’s poison.

No, not bodies. Trees.

In here, the fog is so thick Deet can’t see her hand in front of her face -- does she even have hands, anymore, or did the Darkening take them, twist them, break them too? She has her mind, but it’s so hard to think. She has her voice, but no one can hear her.

She had a body once, she did. She did. But it’s not hers, not anymore. Now, it glides among the trees, spreading sickness and poison and death as it heads for the Castle, for the Crystal. It’s not enough that the Darkening has taken hold of Deet -- it aims to spread, to infect, until the whole planet chokes and dies. Was this what the Emperor wanted, Deet wonders? To be king of ruins, king of death?

Footsteps. Not here, in the fog, in this sad secret place, but out there, in the forest, faithfully tracing her path through the dying trees.

Please, let me help you, a voice says. It sounds kind, and it sounds sad. She knows this voice. She knows him.

Deet didn’t have eyes, until she turned to see him, she didn’t have breath, until the sight took it away. Rian, his hands raised in peace, his heart on his sleeve. He has followed her here, to the end of all things, to the beginning of something new. He has followed her to his own death.

“No.” Deet’s voice is broken, and choked with tears. She doesn’t have legs, here -- but now she finds her feet, and she stands. “Leave him alone.”

The Darkening doesn’t listen, doesn’t care -- tendrils burrow towards him, from underground, and snake through the canopy of the dying trees. It only cares that Rian is alive, and it wants to make him dead. Deet can see it, in flashes -- she sees the forest, the fog, the forest, the fog, she sees the forest--

“I said,” Deet thunders, her voice rumbling like a storm she saw once, whipping across the Crystal Desert, “Leave him alone.”

The fog rushes, the fog rises, a great and terrible wave. It’s pulled inward, towards Deet at the center of the tides, the center of the storm. The wave crests high above her, and then it crashes, and then she’s gone.

-+-

This time, when Deet wakes, there is no fog, there is no storm, there is only the forest, and the trees, and there is--

--there is Rian, laying on the ground, very still, and very quiet. There is blood on his face, a welt on his forehead, a broken and cracked branch at his side.

She tries to call his name, but she doesn’t have a voice, she left it somewhere in the fog, lost it when the wave crashed over her. She runs through a list, what has she gained, has she lost anything else? Feet? She wiggles her toes. Eyes? Those are working too, she can see Rian. Mind? Yes, she knows him, and she knows herself, and she knows that they cannot stay here, the Darkening --

-- the Darkening. She can’t turn her head, can only see what’s straight in front of her. She’s managed to stop the Darkening from spreading, but the damage has already been done, and it is horrible. The poison has climbed halfway up the trunks of the trees, but spreads no further. How long can she keep it contained, keep the roiling fog and purple light locked away inside of herself? How long until the poison starts to spread again? How long until Rian wakes up?

Deet wants nothing more than to crouch down beside him, to touch his shoulder, to touch his cheek, to wake him. But it’s more than she can manage, right now, so instead she stands there, just above him, and stares ahead.

“Deet?”

The voice doesn’t belong to Rian -- it comes from her right, and Rian is still the ground, and it doesn’t sound like him, anyway, it sounds like--

“Brea?” Deet is shocked to hear her own voice, and she’s shocked to see Brea. The Vapran princess looks out of place among the dying trees, in the ruined forest. Deet closes her eyes, and the forest fades, but Brea remains, the two of them alone, together, back in the swirling fog. 

“It worked,” Brea says, barely more than a whisper. She takes a halting step forward, and then another. And then she says, a little louder, a little stronger. “It worked. I knew it would work!”

Deet has no idea what Brea is talking about. She asks, “Why are you here?” Are you here? Deet wonders. Is this real? Deet opens her eyes to the forest, and looks down at her hands -- they are her own, though the ugly purple veins of the Darkening swirl just underneath her skin. They move when she says, clenching and unclenching, but she doesn’t feel it. She doesn’t feel anything, not the wind rustling her hair, not the ground beneath her feet. She just feels cold. 

This is a memory, Deet realizes, a moment later. Rian followed her, but that was days ago, weeks ago, a lifetime ago -- she can’t tell the difference. 

“Deet, wait!” Brea sounds desperate, but Deet can’t see her anymore, she can only see the trees, and Rian’s unconscious form on the forest floor. Brea’s voice is a whisper on the wind, and Deet can barely make it out, “Let us help you!”

And then she’s gone, leaving Deet alone again in her memories, waiting for Rian to wake.

-+-

Her memories stutter and skip, moving too fast for her to keep track. She’s waiting in the forest--

-- no, that’s not right, she’s following Rian, back to Stone-in-the-Wood, back to their friends -- 

-- no, she’s, she’s--

--she’s in a meadow. She’s sitting cross-legged in the grass, knee to knee with Naia. She’s standing in the fog, and Naia’s standing across from her. She doesn’t know which one is real. She’s not sure it will matter for much longer.

“Am I dead?” Deet asks, standing in the fog, looking down at her own memories. There’s something hot in the very center of her chest, like the sun hidden at the center of Thra, and it’s burning right through her.

“Not yet.” Deet’s not sure which Naia is speaking, maybe both, maybe neither.

Deet supposes she hasn’t asked the right question. “Am I dying?” 

“Not if we can help it.” The Naia in the fog frowns, but the Naia in the meadow doesn’t even twitch. “We can save you, Deet, but you have to let us in.”

“Let you in?” Deet repeats. Her mind is sluggish and slow, and her grasp on the memory is already fading. In the meadow, the hum of Naia’s magic fades, and Deet fades, too, swept away by the fog.

-+-

The next time Deet surfaces, she hears something -- she hears music. It’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard -- clear, high notes of an instrument, carried on the wind, lighter than the air.

She can only see the darkness, and the fog, and the eerie purple thrumming -- she’s locked it away, or it’s locked her away, or maybe those things are one and the same. Either way, she can’t see this memory, but she can picture it clearly -- Kylan, sitting with her in the clearing, his firca pressed to his lips, playing a gentle, lilting melody. Deet only heard him play his bone flute once before, on the edge of the Crystal Desert, when they sang for the dead.

This song is just as beautiful and powerful as the last one -- not from any magic, Deet thinks, but powered by joy, and love. Kylan is truly happy to be playing music, right here, right now, in this moment, in this meadow. His love breathes life into his song, and fills lungs Deet didn’t have a moment before. The world around her is still dark, but for a few minutes, she can feel things again -- she can feel her breath, she can feel her lips, she can feel her hands. She flexes her fingers, and then makes a fist. She lets out a breath, a sigh.

She can’t see Kylan in the meadow, but she can see him here, in the fog. Just an outline at first, and then it solidifies. His head is tilted to the side, listening to the song. He hears it, too.

“What’s going on?” Deet asks, and Kylan turns at the sound of her voice, looking startled.

“We’re dreamfasting,” Kylan says -- and of course, of course, that explains the memories, the other voices whispering at the back of her mind. Why didn’t she realize that before? Kylan takes a hesitant step towards her, and the music swells. “Or, we’re trying to, but you’re keeping us out.”

“I’m not,” Deet says. Kylan’s here, isn’t he? Isn’t he? “Are you real?”

Kylan answers, but Deet can’t hear it as the music swells, crescendos, cresting over her like a wave of fog and darkness.

-+-

The memories move quickly now, almost too quickly for her to comprehend. A campfire, her body pressed close to Rian’s side. Keep fighting, he’d said, and she wants to, she wants to. A frantic attempt to dreamfast, to call out. A creature, made of death, made of destruction, made of decay, all the things the Darkening loves best. Rian, again, his hand in her hand, the water up to her ankles. It must have been cold, but she didn’t feel it then, and she doesn’t feel it now.

She wants to stay here, with Rian, but the river slips away, and the water slips away, and he slips away and Deet does too. She doesn’t fall back into the fog, this time, her feet settling instead onto a barely worn track, with trees towering above her. Something’s held her in place.

Words. A voice. Gurjin’s speaking, in her memories, in her dreams. She doesn't understand the words, it’s just noise, but there’s something about his voice, full of love and hope and longing that pulls her in, that brings the world into a sharper focus. She can see the light, now, filtering through the leaves of the trees. She can see how green everything is, how beautiful the world is outside of the caves, outside of her own mind. She can hear Gurjin clearly now, and make out the words -- he’s talking about his home, about his family. He loves them, and he misses them, and the depth of his emotions wakes her up, just like Kylan’s song did.

Maybe she wouldn’t have heard it, if she wasn’t awake, but she is, and so she does -- a call, a cry, of a creature in pain, somewhere out in the woods. She hears it, and then she hears it again, louder, angrier, sadder. The cry sounds the same way Deet feels, when she lets herself think for too long about what the Darkening is doing to her, the hollow space it’s carving out inside her chest, making room for itself to curl up. There’s something out there, something else that the Darkening has hurt, is hurting. 

She thinks of the trees. She thinks of that SkekSis she killed, nothing but ash and dust and gore, splattered across a battlefield that used to be a home. 

She can’t find her voice, but she does find her wings, and she’s going to find this creature. 

“Deet, wait.” Gurjin’s voice calls out -- not the Gurjin from her memories, but another. Wisps of fog curl around his feet, but there’s no time to wait, there’s no time, and she has to go.

She blinks again, and now a creature -- a Nebrie -- is towering over her. There’s someone at her back -- it’s Brea, and she’s afraid. This creature is afraid too, its eyes glowing purple. 

Deet wonders if her eyes look like that. When her friends look at her, what do they see? A monster?

It doesn’t matter -- she thinks of the Sanctuary Tree, she thinks of the Nurlocs, and she knows what she can do, what she has to do.

“I can help you,” Deet says, and her voice holds an offer, a command. She can do this. She’s going to do this. She lays one hand on the Nebrie’s body, feels its smooth, slimy skin, marvels at the sensation.

The next thing she feels is pain. The Darkening burns, as she pulls it from the Nebrie and into herself, it burns just as hot as it did that day with the Emperor, standing in Stone-in-the-Wood, standing between her friends and their deaths. It crawls through her fingertips, pulsing under her palm, worming its way up her arm and into her chest.

Too much, she thinks, too much. The fog redoubles, and it’s all she can see for a long moment, just a hazy cloud of purple and pain. She wraps her arms around her chest, trying to hold it all in, but she can’t, she can’t, it spills over, it spills out. She sees it in flashes as the grass around her shrivels and blackens and dies, she sees Brea’s mouth moving but she can’t hear a sound, she sees the fear in her friend’s eyes but she can’t do anything about it, she can’t do anything at all.

She feels the monsters before she sees them, a hollow ache, a wrongness, skittering through the trees. Their forms rise up, not just in the forest, but in the fog, an impression of evil and death -- an end, full stop, with no hope, no new beginnings.

Deet doesn’t want to kill. Deet doesn’t want Brea to die. She raises her hand, and points it towards the nearest of the beasts, the one that’s looming, ready to strike, ready to kill.

The Darkening burns just as much going out as it did going in. Deet feels like her palm is scorched as the Darkening’s energy arcs out of her hand, and turns the beast into a cloud of nothing, a cloud of dust.

Deet’s only awake for a moment longer, long enough to hear the screams, and then she falls, further and deeper than ever before.

-+-

Deet’s surprised to wake, the next time. It takes a while, and it takes some effort -- she feels like she’s clawing her way up through tar, the fog trying to hold her down, to pull her back. Keep fighting, a voice whispers, echoing through her memories, and so she does.

She opens her eyes to find herself staring up at Hup. If this was real, if she was real, Deet imagines her heart would swell to see her friend, whole and healthy -- the last time she saw him he was badly wounded, back in the Circle of the Suns, but now he’s here, and he’s...he’s crying -- why is he crying? She wants to reassure him, but she can’t speak, all she can do is mirror his motions, too tired to make her hands move on their own. There’s not much left of her anymore.

Time speeds up, or she slows down. Deet doesn’t know if there’s a difference. She thinks she really is dying, now. The fog is pressing in around her, and it’s getting hotter, and it’s getting harder to breath, as the Darkening burns straight through her. It’s the only thing she can feel.

It hurts.

She does her best to keep up with the flashes. The forest, again, the suns moving through the sky every time she blinks. And then Rian -- he’s hurt, he’s pale, he’s lying on the ground and she thinks he’s dying, too, she thinks they might be dying together. He’s not gone, yet, Deet sits beside him and takes his hand and it’s still warm, but the rest of him is going cold.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Rian says, and he’s beside her, now, sitting with his hands in his lap. They’re side by side, in the fog, at the campfire, in the fog again. He sounds tired. He sounds sad. “I should have told them, they would have helped me.”

“You didn’t want them to get hurt,” Deet says, and there’s a lump in her throat, and there are tears in her eyes, and suddenly she understands, suddenly she knows -- the fog was never a cage, keeping her locked inside -- it was always a wall, keeping her friends out. She’s been using it to keep her friends out. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Do you know what would hurt us most?” Rian asks, and he turns to face her. The firelight isn’t real, it’s just a memory, but it reflects in his eyes all the same. Deet doesn’t know, so she shakes her head. “Losing you, Deet. It would break us -- it would break me. So, please.” His voice breaks, and he lays his hand on his knee, palm up, an invitation, a plea. “Let us in. Let us help.”

Deet can’t feel much anymore, but she can feel her heart breaking, and she knows Rian must be feeling the same. Such suffering, such pain, but maybe she can stop it. Keep fighting, Rian had asked, he had begged, and she’s trying, she’s been trying. She’ll just have to try a little harder, for a little longer.

“Okay,” she says, her voice small. Rian’s shoulders slump in relief as she reaches out and presses her palm to his, lacing their fingers together. The world splinters, and it cracks, and it breaks, and Deet’s falling, she’s falling, she’s falling, she’s--

-+-

She lands in the Dreamspace.

For a second, just a second, she’s afraid, because it looks like the fog, it looks like that secret dark place, but it’s not, and she’s not alone.

“Deet?” 

The voice comes not from outside the space, but within it. She can’t tell how close by -- is someone whispering in her ear, she wonders, or are they calling from far away? 

“Deet, come on.” Another voice, and this one is definitely close. Deet thinks she could reach out and touch them, if only she see could them, but they’re formless, shapeless, just voices, just like her, lost in the void. “We need you to wake up, Deet.”

“We’re all here,” a third voice, and then a chorus of agreement. Five voices, five friends, five shapes appearing in the darkness.

Deet blinks, staring at each of their faces in turn. Naia, Gurjin, Kylan, Brea, Rian, looking solid and clear, the way she used to feel, before all of this. They’re here, they’re here, she’s not alone, they’re here. When she speaks, her voice is scratchy, from disuse, or from screaming. Was she screaming? She doesn’t remember. “Why did you come here?”

“We came to bring you home.” It’s hard to tell which one is talking, but she thinks it might be Brea. If only Deet could touch her, to be sure that she is real, that this isn’t a dream conjured up by her fading mind.

“We want to help,” another voice chimes in. Kylan, his arms wrapped tight around his chest, surveying their surroundings. Can they see what she sees? Can they see what’s become of her?

“Help?” Deet frowns, and hesitates. She wants to believe it’s possible, it’s just -- the Darkening burned through her too fast, they came for her too late, she wasn’t strong enough. “I’m not sure you can.”

“We can.” This one’s Naia, Deet’s sure of it, the voice confident and commanding. “As long as you’ll let us.”

Deet thinks it over. She can hear Thra, calling her home, but she doesn’t want to go. Keep fighting. She wants to follow her friends -- they came all the way here, to help. She can let them try. She has to let them try. “What do I have to do?”

It’s Rian who speaks, and somehow she knows what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “You have to let us take the Darkening.”

“No.” Deet doesn’t even have to think about it. She takes a step backward, recoiling into the dark’s embrace, closer to the call of Thra, further from her friends. “You can’t. I won’t.”

“Deet, listen,” Gurjin says, one hand reaching out. Deet takes another step away, and he pulls his hand back in, looking at the others in obvious distress. “We can’t just let you die.”

“It’ll hurt you.” Deet’s never been more sure of anything in her entire life than she is right now, in this moment, in this terrible place, lost in the darkness and on death’s doorstep. She won’t let the Darkening have her friends, she won’t. She won’t. “It’ll kill you.”

“It’s killing you, Deet,” Rian’s voice is wavering, his heart is broken. “The Darkening is too much for one person, but--” He glances to his side, and Brea takes a step forward. Her hands are raised in a sign of peace, and so Deet holds her ground. 

“But we can share it,” Brea explains, her voice gentle, her eyes alight as the gears turn in her mind. Of course Clever Brea has come up with a solution. If only it wasn’t such a terrible one. “We’ll all take just a bit.” 

“Only for a little while,” Kylan chimes in, stepping forward, arms unfolding. “The Mystics can teach you to heal it, once you’re better, and then you can heal us.”

Deet pauses, thinking it over, weighing their offer -- the only offer on the table, except for sleep, except for death, except for letting the Darkening win. Finally, she says, “It hurts.”

“I know, Deet,” Rian says, and the look of despair that flits over his face is mirrored in the rest of her friends. “That’s why you have to let us help.”

But Deet shakes her head, desperate for them to understand. It’s not herself she’s worried about. “No, that’s not -- It hurts, it’s going to hurt.” It’s going to hurt you, Deet thinks.

“That’s alright,” Naia’s voice is soft, but sure. “We can handle it.” The rest of her friends nod, sharing looks of grim determination. 

“We’re not leaving without you, Deet,” Rian says. He extends his hand. Here, surrounded by her friends and their love, it’s the easiest thing in the world for Deet to reach forward and take it.

The others crowd in close, their hands linked. Rian is on her left, and Brea comes up on her right. As soon as she takes Deet’s hand the circle is complete. Deet closes her eyes, and imagines the Darkening as a living thing, contained, coiled in her chest, and then, she lets it go.

-+-

She was right, before. It does hurt.

The memories come then, all at once and none of them her own.

Mira, screaming, dying, dead, and gone--

     -- there’s a monster at the window, and it’s hungry --

          -- chains, a chair, the crystal, draining, pulling, killing --

               -- he’s beaten and broken, and for a moment he doesn’t know her --

                    -- her mother’s blood on the floor, hot and tacky, her sister’s body going cold.

They’re screaming, they’re all screaming, and Deet’s screaming too, and then--

-+-

Deet wakes up.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

ELEVEN

-+-

Brea’s idea is brilliant, and it is absolutely insane.

The plan itself is simple enough -- the five of them will dreamfast with Deet, and find her in the Dreamspace. They’ll split the Darkening amongst themselves so that Deet will live long enough to learn how to transform the necrotic energy into something new. They’ll harbor a fraction of the Darkening within themselves, knowing that it will fester and never truly be healed, no matter how much of the poison Deet is able to siphon away from them, knowing that eventually, it will kill them -- unless they find a way to heal the Crystal, and all of Thra, eliminating the Darkening for good.

Easy.

Gurjin helps Kylan and Hup move urSu’s ancient artifacts and equipment, clearing space enough for all of them so sit in a circle -- Kylan moves the objects with care, Hup does not. Naia and Brea are across the cave, consulting with the Mystic, and Rian is helping Deet to sit beside him in the open space. They shouldn’t be letting Rian do this -- he almost died, they shouldn’t even have let him walk all the way out here, let alone take part in a dangerous ritual. He’s still pale and weak, but Gurjin knows it’s pointless to try and stop him -- he’d just wait until the rest of them were already in the dreamfast and join in afterwards. 

“We have to do this, now,” Rian says, glancing up at Gurjin, his fear and worry plain on his face. “She’s dying.”

He’s right -- Gurjin can hear Deet’s raspy breath as he steps closer, the air rattling in her lungs. They’re out of time. He puts a hand on Rian’s shoulder and squeezes, and then he calls over his shoulder, “It’s now or never.”

Rian nods as Gurjin drops down to sit across from him. The others hurry over to complete the circle. Kylan sits between Rian and Gurjin, Naia sits on Gurjin’s other side, and Brea takes the final seat, between Deet and Naia.

For a moment, no one talks, they just exchange nervous glances. Gurjin makes the first move, grabbing Kylan’s hand. He squeezes it, probably a little too tight, and Kylan squeezes back.

“Should we say something?” Kylan asks, looking around at everyone. 

“Yeah,” Naia says, grabbing Gurjin’s hand, and then Brea’s. “This had better work.”

“It will work,” Brea promises. She takes Deet’s hand, and Kylan takes Rian’s. There’s only one connection left -- Rian and Deet. Brea looks Rian right in the eyes and asks, “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Rian says. He takes Deet’s hand, and they all take a breath, and then they are plunged into darkness.

-+-

Deet wakes up with a gasp. She sits bolt upright, her chest heaving, her heart hammering inside her ribcage. At first, it’s all she can do to control her breathing, sucking in air, then forcing it out as she tries to calm herself down. The world tilts and shifts as she comes back into the waking world, fighting to make sense of what just happened. She was dead -- no, she was dying. She was dying, but then --

Deet’s vision clears and sharpens as the seconds rush by. Finally, she can focus, finally, her breathing steadies, finally, she can see her friends. They’re sprawled on their backs, all five of them around her in a circle. Rian is to her immediate left and Brea is to her right. Across from them, Kylan, Gurjin, and Naia are lying just as still, just as silent. For a moment, she thinks she sees purple energy, crackling over them, and she thinks she feels it, sparking over her skin.

She looks down at her arms, at the backs of her hands. The angry purple veins are gone, the Darkening isn’t coursing through her anymore. She’s healed. She’s free .

“They did it,” Deet whispers, tearing her gaze from her hands to look at each of her friends in turn. They’re alive -- she’s relieved to see their chests rising and falling with the even cadence of breathing, either unconscious or only sleeping. They did it, they found her and they took the Darkening away, sharing it amongst themselves to save her life. What a terrible sacrifice, Deet thinks. What an awful price they were willing to pay -- and they paid it for her. She’s only herself, she’s not anyone special, and still, “They really did it.”

“They did,” says a voice, and Deet can’t help but jump in alarm as she swivels to face whoever just spoke. She finds herself staring into the lined, wizened face of a strange creature -- one of the Mystics. He reminds her of the Wanderer, or of the Archer, except this one seems older, and wiser, and sadder. He steps closer, and she can see all the lines of his face, and his kind eyes flash in the dim light. “Your friends love you, Deethra.”

“I love them, too,” Deet says, feeling her heart swell with affection. “Will they be alright?” Even now, she can see traces of the Darkening on them -- a faint purple glow on Kylan’s face, a glimpse of a strange mark on the inside of Naia’s wrist.

“In time, I hope they will be,” the Mystic says, and then he sighs. “But I suppose that will be up to you.”

“Up to me?” Deet asks, twisting back around to stare up at him. “What do you mean?”

The Mystic waves one of his arms to a nearby archway. It must be the exit -- Deet catches a glimpse of the night sky through the curtain of vines, dotted with stars. “Let us sit outside to speak, Deethra. It is a lovely night, and your friends need their rest.”

“Yes, alright,” Deet says, and pushes herself to her feet. She marvels at how easy it is to do it -- they’re her feet, her feet, no one else in control besides her. She feels-cleared headed for the first time in days. She is tired, though, her whole body weary. The longer she’s awake the more she realizes that her left hand aches with a deep, throbbing pain. She flexes her fingers and sees the source -- a wound, deep across her palm. It looks like a cut but it doesn’t bleed, instead steadily glowing with a familiar violet light. “Oh.”

“May I see?” The Mystic asks, and Deet crosses the room to join him, and offers her hand, palm upturned. He hums as he examines it, gently spreading her fingers. His ministrations don’t hurt -- in fact, the pain starts receding almost as soon as she notices it, and already the glow is fading, dim but still purple. Her friends took enough of the Darkening to save her life, but some fragment is still within her. Thankfully, it seems to be localized to her hand, with no sick tendrils spreading and squirming under her skin. She imagines that will change, if she continues to use the Sanctuary Tree’s gift, and take in more of the Darkening. The Mystic says, “We’ll see what we can do for this, how does that sound?”

“Thank you,” Deet answers, and she lets the Mystic shepherd her out of the cave, and into the cool night air.

There are two well-worn stones, smooth and flat, just outside the cave -- the Mystic sits on one, and Deet does the same, and lets him see her hand when he motions for it again. As he bandages Deet’s hand, he talks, his voice slow and gentle. He introduces himself as urSu, the Master of the Mystics. Deet knows he must be the counterpart to the SkekSis Emperor -- he doesn’t say so, doesn’t say a word about the SkekSis, but somehow, she knows it to be true.

urSu tells her how her friends brought her to the Valley in search of his help. She remembers bits and pieces of their journey. The parts she just revisited in dreamfast shine a little brighter, but the rest is clouded in a haze of fog. He tells her of the rituals and ceremonies he and the other Mystics attempted to try and free her from the Darkening. None of them worked, she was too far gone, too terribly overrun, and if her friends had not taken on the burden themselves, she would have died this very night.

“The Darkening is energy, it cannot be destroyed,” urSu says. “But you already knew that.” He turns his gaze, and Deet follows it to the sky above. There are so many stars, flickering little lights dotting the inky blackness. After spending her whole live in the caves, Deet still can’t wrap her mind around how big the sky is, how bright and beautiful. The Caves of Grot are beautiful, too, but the surface world continues to amaze her.

“Yes,” Deet says, a long moment later, realizing that urSu must be waiting for her answer. “The Sanctuary Tree told me, when they gave me their powers.” She clenches her fist, feels the fabric of the linen bandage under her fingertips, and feels nothing from the Darkening’s scar. The sensation terrifies her, reminds her of that awful dark place, alone in the fog, where she couldn’t feel anything at all. 

This isn’t that place, though, this is somewhere different, somewhere new. This isn’t a memory, shared in a frantic, fading dreamfast -- she’s living this moment for the very first time. She can feel her breath in her lungs and the chill of the night air, the hard, smooth rock beneath her. This is real, this is real, this is real.

She looks away from her hand, and back up at urSu. “They also said it could only be transferred, moved. Like when I took it from the Nurloc, and the Nebrie. Or when my friends took it from me. Or when--” She breaks off, clenching her fist again, tighter this time, flooded with regret as the memories resurface. “When I used it to kill.” She knows she didn’t have a choice -- she killed a SkekSis and one of their monsters, and she only did it to save her friends, but still. She’s a killer now, it’s a part of her -- a part that she hates, a part that she fears.

“Energy can be transferred, that’s true,” urSu says, dipping his head in agreement. “It can also be transformed.”

“Transformed?” Deet says, tilting her head, curious. “You mean, the Darkening could be turned into something new?”

“It could be, yes.” Now urSu turns to look at her, his gaze serious, his mouth presses into a thin line. “If there was someone who was willing to try. Someone with the ability to harness the Darkening’s energy, to channel it.”

“Someone who could -- oh!” Deet gasps, and drops her voice to a whisper. “You mean me?”

Something flashes across urSu’s face -- she thinks it’s meant to be a smile, though it seems out of place on such a sad face. “Yes, Deethra. The Sanctuary Tree entrusted you with their power. With training, and practice, I believe you could learn to change the Darkening into something new, something pure. I believe you could keep the Darkening at bay, until at last it is the right time to heal the Crystal of Truth, and bring balance and peace to Thra.”

The right time to heal the Crystal, Deet wonders -- something about the words strikes her, stirs up a half-forgotten memory, shrouded in fog. She thinks of Rian, the Crystal shard in his raised hand. She thinks, too soon. 

The memories are gone almost as soon as she thinks them, and anyway, she has more pressing questions. “Can I use the power to heal my friends?” she asks, thinking of the faint purple marks she had glimpsed, and then she continues in a rush. “The Darkening’s in them now, isn’t it? You said it would be up to me to help them. Can I take the Darkening away, and turn it into something new? So it can’t keep hurting them?”

“With training, yes,” urSu tells her, and Deet relaxes. “But I’m afraid the Darkening will never be truly gone, until the Crystal is healed at last. Not from them, and not from you.”

“That’s alright,” Deet says. She unwinds the bandage to peek at the wound on her palm, and then rewraps it, looking up into the Mystic’s face with determination. “I’ll take care of them until then, just like they’ve been taking care of me.” She stands up, and dusts herself off. “I’m ready to learn, Master urSu. Teach me.”

urSu laughs, a low, rumbling sound. It reminds Deet of Lore, like stones rubbing against each other, and also of her fathers, exasperated but affectionate. “Soon, Deethra. We will begin your lessons soon. For now, you need to rest.”

“Well, alright.” Deet sits back down, a little dejected, but then she perks back up. “Tomorrow?”

“The day after that,” urSu finally concedes, and Deet sighs. If that’s the best she can get, she’ll take it. “I am glad to know you are ready to learn. I imagine you will be staying here with as for some time as you hone your skills. But for now, it seems there is someone who wants to see you.”

“Hmm?” Deet turns and looks into the mouth of the cave. She can’t see much through the hanging vines, but it doesn’t sound like any of her friends are stirring, and she thinks they must still be asleep.

And then, she hears it -- footsteps echoing in the canyon. Something big, something heavy.

“Deet?” says a familiar voice, and Deet turns to see Lore, plodding towards them. It wasn’t him that spoke, though, it was the Podling perched up on shoulders. “Deet!”

“Hup!” Deet jumps back up to her feet, as Hup scrambles and slides down Lore’s bulky frame. He runs to throw his arms around her in a tight embrace. Deet hugs him back, her heart happy to be reunited with her friend, for real this time, not trapped in the haze of the Darkening’s poison. But her happiness lasts only a moment, until she hears a snuffling sound coming from Hup. “Oh, no, Hup? Why are you crying?”

Hup’s face is still buried in her dress, and he’s not just crying, but weeping, big heaving sobs rattling his slight frame. It takes Deet gently but firmly untangling his arms from around her waist to get him to look at her. Just the sight of her face sets him crying again, and mumbling in Podling.

“I don’t understand, Hup,” Deet says patiently. She glances up at Lore, and sees his arms full of...blankets? She looks behind her and sees urSu has retreated back inside the cave, giving them privacy. “You don’t have to cry, I’m alright, I promise.”

“Hup so worried,” he finally manages, through hiccuping sobs. “Hup thought Deet gone forever.”

“I’m not gone, Hup, I’m right here,” Deet says hurriedly, reaching out with her right hand and squeezing his. She keeps her left hand firmly at her side, figuring the sight would only upset him more. “You all saved me.”

But that only sets him off again. “Hup not save,” he says, his voice watery. “Gelfling save. Hup not dreamfast.”

That explains it, Deet realizes, the way Hup isn’t quite meeting her eyes, shame and regret hanging heavy on his shoulders. Podlings couldn’t dreamfast, so he couldn’t join the others in the Dreamspace. “Oh, Hup,” she says, her voice gentle. She reaches out and tips his chin up, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I know you would have done it, if you could. And you helped me get here, didn’t you?”

“Ye,” Hup mumbles, dipping his head again, but he stops crying, and Deet takes that as a good sign.

“So you did help,” Deet says. “You’ve helped me so much on this journey, Hup! I’m so glad I met you.”

“Hup glad too,” he says, and then he hugs Deet again. “Hup glad Deet okay.”

“So am I.” Deet smiles, and then glances up at Lore, and realizes that his arms are laden down with pillows and blankets. “Oh, Hup! Did you bring all of that for our friends?”

“Oh!” Hup says, straightening back up, and then motioning to Lore, waving him towards the entrance of the cave. “Come, come!” Lore follows, and so does Deet, ducking through the hanging vines.

As soon as she’s back inside, Deet’s exhaustion catches up with her -- she’s worn out from the past few days and the events of the night. She sinks down to sit beside the rest of her friends, and lets Hup take the lead from there. 

urSu shuffles over from the other side of his chamber, and presses a cup of hot tea into Deet’s hand wordlessly before retreating again. Hup drapes a blanket over Deet’s shoulders, and then lays one over each of their friends, who are all still asleep on the cavern floor. He takes the most care with Rian, tucking the blanket in around him, muttering all the while, and Deet smiles against the rim of her cup.

Her body is tired, but her mind is wide awake, and Deet doesn’t think she could sleep even if she tried -- at least not until she knows the others are truly alright. Her friends -- her beautiful, wonderful, brave friends, risked so much to bring her back, waiting for them to wake is the least she can do.

-+-

Rian wakes, for the second time in as many days, in a nest of furs and blankets. This time, he’s staring up a high, stone ceiling, not the star charts that decorated the last cave he spent the night in. There’s a sharp, pulsing pain across his chest, and his friends are here, dead or sleeping -- sleeping, he can see their chests rising and falling, their breathing steady and even. Gurjin is to his left, his arm draped across his eyes, and Kylan is on Gurjin’s other side, with a blanket pulled up to his chin. He sees Naia close by, and Brea, but there’s no sign of--

“Deet!” he shouts, sitting up. The movement sends a wave of dizziness lancing through his skull, and the pain in his chest -- burning, it feels like burning -- ratchets up a notch, but he ignores it, and looks around the room. They’re not arranged in a circle anymore, it’s more of a pile, a tangle of limbs and sleepy heads, but there is an empty space to his right. He remembers reaching Deet in the dreamspace, convincing her to share the Darkening with them, he remembers how badly it hurt, he remembers the flood of everyone’s darkest memories. He doesn’t remember what happened after that.

He pushes himself to his feet, and the pain in his chest twinges again, but it’s fading, already less than the persistent ache from the still healing wound in his side, and neither one stops him from rising.

Once he’s firmly on his feet, Rian looks around the rest of the room. They’re still in urSu’s chambers, where they sat down to try and dreamfast with Deet, a risky, last ditch effort to try and save her before the Darkening consumed her. Through the curtain of vines over the arched doorway, he can catch a glimpse of the night sky, so some time has passed, but otherwise the room remains the same. The same strange instruments and artifacts, now stacked in haphazard piles, the same hulking Mystic, talking across the room with Hup, and--

“Rian!” Deet’s eyes light up when she sees him -- her eyes, wide and dark, not a trace of the Darkening’s angry purple energy. “You’re awake!”

It only takes a moment for Deet to scramble over to him, and it’s a good thing she does, because Rian is suddenly rooted to the spot, unable to move in his shock. Deet looks whole and happy and seems mostly unhurt, except for a bright white bandage wrapped around her left hand.

“Deet?” Rian finds he can’t say anything except her name, and then he finds he can’t quite stand, his knees threatening to give out.

“Oh!” Deet lunges forward, grabbing his elbow with her uninjured right hand as he sways. “Here, sit down,” she says, helping him sink back to the floor as his headache spikes, his head swimming. She tugs the blankets back up around him, helping him to settle in. “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Rian asks, a little dumbstruck. “I should be asking you that, Deet, you were--” dying, darkened, lost. “How are you feeling?”

Deet hums a little to herself, clenching her left fist almost absentmindedly. “I feel better,” she says finally, and then she nods. “I feel like myself.”

“That’s good, right?” Rian presses, and Deet smiles, and it tugs at something in his heart. His voice wavers, but he says, “Deet, I thought -- I thought we were going to lose you.”

“I thought so, too” Deet admits, her smile wavering. She scoots in a little closer, and lays her hand on his. She’s warm, and healthy, and alive, and his heart swells. “But I heard you, you told me to keep fighting, and that you were going to fix this! And you did. You saved me.” Deet smiles brighter than all the suns and all the moons and all the stars in the sky, and Rian smiles too.

“Wait,” he says, Deet’s words catching up with him. “You could hear me?” 

“Sometimes.” Deet’s looking down, staring at his chest, a strange look on her face. “Sometimes I could hear things and see things. Mostly it was just dark. Rian?”

“Hmm?”

She’s still staring at his chest, her right hand held in the air, hovering between them. She says,  “Take off your shirt.”

“Take off my --what?” Rian sputters. “Deet, what are you--” he follows her gaze, and then he sees it, too -- a glowing purple light, bright enough that it shines right through the fabric of his borrowed shirt. “Oh. Oh.”

Deet reaches for the hem of his shirt, but Rian’s faster, tugging it up over his head, mussing up his hair as he sets it aside. Deet is already crowding in close, fingertips skating around the edges of the--

--wound isn’t the right word, but it’s the only word he can come up with. It looks like a chasm, like a scar, carved across his chest, right over his heart. It glows with an eerie purple light -- the Darkening, pulsing, throbbing, in time with his heartbeat, It’s thin and narrow, and about as long as his hand from fingertip to wrist. He understands the pain, when he first woke up, but it doesn’t hurt, now. It doesn’t feel like anything, and the glow is fading as they watch, leaving a dull purple scar behind.

“The Darkening is inside of you too, now,” Deet says, her voice low, and sad, and wondering. Her hand is still on his chest, her thumb near the edge of the mark, but coming no closer. “This is because you helped me.”

“And I’d do it again,” Rian says, his voice steady and sure, his eyes locked on hers. “I’d do anything to keep you safe, Deet. Anything.”

Deet opens her mouth to speak, but she’s interrupted by another voice.

“Oh, come on,” Gurjin groans, sitting up and chucking a pillow at Rian. “Right in front of us? At least go to the other side of the cave.”

“Gurjin!” Deet cries, abandoning Rian to make her way over and give Gurjin a hug. As soon as they break apart, she catches him by the wrist, and flips his hand over. “Look, you have one, too.”

“Huh.” Gurjin says, staring down at his arm, Deet’s fingers still clamped around his wrist. Rian tugs his shirt back on before getting closer and taking a look for himself. Gurjin’s scar is the same size as Rian’s, but the shape is different -- it’s more nebulous, it almost curls along the inseam of his forearm, like Mystic’s spirals. Rian’s looks like someone tried to carve his heart right out of his chest, while Gurjin’s looks more like the work of an artist. Gurjin looks up from his wrist and into Deet’s face as the purple glow fades, and then he says hurriedly, “It’s fine, Deet, I can’t even feel it.”

“I know,” Deet says. She lets go of Gurjin only to fidget with the bandage wrapped around her hand, quickly unwinding it. She holds up her hand, and shows them both the purple scar on her palm. It looks ugly, it looks deep, and something in Rian’s chest twinges. She rewraps the bandage, her hands focused on her work and not making eye contact with either of them “I’m still sad that you got hurt.” 

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” a muffled voice asks. Rian looks down to see Naia, glaring up at them from a cocoon of blankets. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Oh, right!” Deet says, and then she remembers to whisper. “I mean, oh, right. Sorry, Naia.”

“Not you, Deet -- it’s good to hear your voice again,” Naia says, and Deet beams. Naia motions at the boys. “I was talking about these knuckleheads.”

“Rude,” Gurjin says. He narrows his eyes like he’s about to shove at his sister, but Kylan is between the both, fast asleep, his face pressed into his pillow, so Gurjin holds back. “Fine, you win. We’ll talk in the morning.”

With that Naia rolls back over and Gurjin flops back down, and both twins seem to fall instantly asleep. Rian lays back down, too, his whole body heavy with exhaustion, but the thrill of having Deet alive and well and right beside him has his mind racing. It’s not until Deet lays down next to him that he finally relaxes. 

There is still so much to be done -- the Darkening is inside them all now, and there’s still the broken Crystal and the SkekSis to worry about, all the rest of the Gelfling and the entire planet to save. But for now, he can feel Deet, a warm weight pressed right against his side -- she’s alive and whole and herself. They did it, they saved her, so for now -- for tonight -- he can rest.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWELVE

-+-

The morning dawns, cool and bright. Here, on the edge of the desert, the nights get cold, and it stays that way until the suns heat the rock and sand of the winding canyon. It’s already warm inside urSu’s chambers, the six Gelfling and Hup nestled in a pile of furs and blankets. They awake one by one, and one by one they celebrate having Deet back, and whole, and healthy.

It hasn’t come without consequence -- they knew the risk, and they accepted it willingly. The price is this: the six of them all bear strange purple scars --a visible reminder of the true cost they paid to bring her back. Each of them now holds a fragment of the Darkening inside of them, and it will stay there until the Dark Crystal is healed.

Naia is not surprised that her scar is a mirror image twin of Gurjin’s -- a twisting, swirling shape on the inseam of her right forearm, matching the one on his left. Theirs are easily hidden, tucked away under a sleeve, but Kylan is not so fortunate. His scar traces along his jawline, from his cheekbone to his chin -- not graceful and spiraling like Naia and Gurjin, or a harsh, violent gash like Rian and Deet. Instead, it looks like a fracture, like his skin has cracked and broken. Brea’s mark is similar to Kylan’s, but more easily concealed, splashed across her stomach.

The scar hurts, at first, but strangely enough, the pain fades as soon as Naia notices the mark, and so does the faint purple glow. Naia can’t help but wonder how long this small measure of peace and quiet is going to last -- a sentiment that urSu seems to share.

“You have accepted a terrible burden, Gelfling,” he says, examining the scars with interest, his touch gentle, his expression careful. “You have allowed darkness into your very essence. The Darkening lays dormant, for now, but it will fester.”

“But, I’m going to learn to heal you! I’ll keep you safe until we heal the Crystal.” Deet rushes to assure them, glancing up at urSu for confirmation, and then turning back to the rest of them. “The Mystics are going to teach me how.”

urSu nods in agreement, and then he says, “Deethra will be staying here in the Valley, with us. You are all welcome to remain for as long as you like, though I know you are eager to continue on your journey.”

The Mystic’s words echo in Naia’s mind, even as their party packs up to hike back into the heart of the canyon. Eager is an understatement -- Naia is determined to leave, and the sooner the better. They’ve done what they came here to do, and Deet is saved. Now, it’s time to rejoin the Resistance, so they can help save everyone else -- from the SkekSis, and their monsters, and their Darkening.

Rian makes the trip back under his own power, Naia notices with no small amount of relief. He was so close to death just a few days ago, he had no business absorbing a dark and malevolent force into his very being -- but there would have been no stopping him. He does seem steadier on his feet after a good night’s sleep, and having Deet back has put a light in his eyes that Naia doesn’t think she’s seen since she met him. Even so, Naia knows, realistically, that Deet isn’t the only person they’re going to have to leave behind when they return to Stone-in-the-Wood.

Naia stops and says, “Wait.” She reaches for Gurjin, grabbing him by the wrist, and holding him back with her while the rest of the group moves ahead. The others don’t seem to notice -- Deet is chatting happily with Kylan and Brea, and Rian only has eyes for Deet. Even Lore plods right around them, with Hup perched up on his shoulders, singing a cheerful song, clearly in good spirits. As soon as she’s sure they’re out of earshot, she tells him plainly. “You know we can’t stay here, right? We have to go back and help the rest of the Gelfling, and rejoin the Resistance.”

“I know that, but--” Gurjin pauses, and glances up the path at their friends, their shapes getting smaller and smaller as they follow the course of the twisting ravine. “--Rian’s barely back on his feet, can’t we at least give him a few days before we set out again?”

“Gurjin.” Naia’s tone is low, her voice serious. “Rian is going to need a lot more than a few days.”

For a moment, Gurjin is quiet, frowning in confusion, and then it dawns on him. “You want to leave him here?"

“I don’t want to,” Naia corrects. “I’ve seen him with a sword, we could have used him in the fight ahead -- not to mention, he’s the one who rallied the seven clans in the first place. But it’s like you said, he’s barely back on his feet. He needs time to recover, to build up his strength, and he can do that here.” Gurjin’s still frowning, so she presses on. “It’s not like we’re leaving him all alone, Deet says she’s staying too.”

Gurjin doesn’t say anything, but he knows that she’s right, Naia can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t like it, but he knows it. Finally he says, “He won’t be happy about this. He started this fight, he’ll want to help finish it.”

“I think there’s plenty of fight ahead of us still,” Naia says, her voice grim. “If he comes back now, he’ll only get himself killed. Does he want to die?”

Gurjin hesitates just a second too long, and it’s all the answer she needs. Naia makes an exasperated noise, and Gurjin hurries to say, “You didn’t know him before, he wasn’t always like this. He wasn’t so--”

“Stubborn? Foolish?” Naia cuts in, but Gurjin shakes his head.

“Sad,” Gurjin says, and his shoulders slump, staring up ahead at Rian and the others. “He was happy, before all of this.”

So were you, Naia thinks. Her brother is different, too, after what he went through at the hands of the SkekSis. She caught glimpses of it last night, in the dreamspace -- she couldn’t parse the details, everyone’s worst memories all at once, it was too much to take in. All she could comprehend was his pain, and his fear. The experience changed him, and she’s not sure if it’s for the better.

Neither one knows what to say, so they start walking again, and they don’t talk.

“Tomorrow,” Gurjin finally says, breaking their uneasy silence. “You’re right, we do need to go back, but let’s go back tomorrow. We could use a day of rest, after what we just did.”

“Fine, tomorrow,” Naia concedes. Gurjin’s right -- she feels a weariness in her very bones after their time in the dreamspace. One more day of rest will only make them stronger for the fight ahead. “We’ll leave at first light.”

“Thank you,” Gurjin says, with a relieved nod. He still looks sad, and serious -- usually it’s up to him to break the tension, but this time it’s fallen on Naia. Luckily, she knows exactly what to do.

Naia grins and says, “Honestly, I’m just relieved that you fell in love with Kylan instead.” Gurjin makes a choking sound, like all the air has gone right out of his lungs, but she ignores him. “Rian as your best friend is bad enough, if he was my brother-in-law I know I’d end up throttling him. You’d be a widower, it would be tragic.”

“Naia!” Gurjin hisses, motioning frantically at their friends’ backs -- not that far ahead of them, but still out of earshot. Probably. “You can’t just -- I never said -- he might hear you!”

Gurjin is completely thrown off his game, and Naia is delighted to see it. Her brother has never been shy when it comes to relationships, but this time he’s nervous and sputtering, and she has endless teasing material. “You’d better teach that boy to swim before you bring him home,” she adds, her grin widening as Gurjin squawks. “You know Mother, she’ll just toss him in the swamp and see if he floats.”

“Please stop,” Gurjin says, his expression horrified. “I will do absolutely anything if it makes you stop talking right now.”

“Race me to the end of the canyon?” Naia challenges, and then she takes off without another word, leaving her brother in the dust.

-+-

The party gathers for breakfast down in the basin of the canyon, and afterwards, agrees to take the day to rest. Most of them split off, all with different ideas for how they’d like to pass the time. Kylan had planned to find a nice sunny spot to curl up with his journal, and catch up on his notes, but he finds himself exploring with Brea instead. On some level he is excited -- there’s only so much he can write about gold and taupe colored rock, after all. He can learn so much more about the Mystics if he actually observes the place where they live. Still, the further Brea strays from the main area of the canyon, the more anxious he gets. 

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be in here?” Kylan asks, his voice a careful whisper. “What if they don’t want us poking around?”

“Then they’ll ask us to leave,” Brea says flippantly. She’s rifling around the shelves and cabinets, while Kylan hesitates, lingering in the archway and peering into the room with his journal pressed tightly against his chest. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Kylan?”

“I think I’ve been plenty adventurous,” Kylan hedges -- he has a mostly-healed broken arm and a strange magical scar on his face to prove it. He shifts his stance and glances over his shoulder. The path is clear is either direction, no Mystics hurrying to interrogate them. “There’s nothing here, Brea, we should go.”

“I thought you wanted to find a library?” Brea replies. She casts one last look around the room, but then she finally relents, and joins Kylan on his side of the archway. She points to the path on the left, sloping slightly upward. “Let’s try this way.”

“I said I’d always wanted to go to the library in Ha’Rar,” Kylan counters, but Brea’s already halfway up the path, so he hustles to follow her. Brea had been talking about her books at breakfast, and Kylan made a comment that must have sounded a little too wistful, because before he knew it Brea was on her feet and assuring him that the Mystics must have a library, and that the two of them would find it. And now, here he is, relatively sure that they are trespassing and about to be in a world of trouble.

“Oh, but just imagine all the books the Mystics will have!” Brea says, a little skip to her step as she daydreams. “All the knowledge they’ve collected over a thousand trine -- they must have texts that you and I have never even heard of. Just think of it!”

Kylan thinks about the time Brea’s curiosity led her to a stone puzzle chamber under her mother’s throne. Last time Brea went exploring she awakened an ancient stone guardian. What if the next mysterious beast she summons isn’t as friendly as Lore? But still, Kylan follows her, because he doesn’t have anything better to do, and with his luck he’d get caught trying to sneak back to the others. It’s smarter to stick with Brea, at least she has the diplomacy to talk her way out of a situation if they do get into trouble.

The next three caves they examine are empty, and then they find it. Library might be the wrong word, Kylan thinks, following Brea through the archway and into the room. To him, library means books, and while a few of the floor to ceiling shelves are filled with leather bound tomes, most of the works kept in this room are scrolls. He and Brea exchange a glance, and then they move in, all of Kylan’s previous anxieties set aside.

If anything, he would call this place an archive. What they find are not stories, but records and conjectures. There are extremely detailed reports of what seems to be every event to ever happen on the surface of Thra. Some of the events are of historical importance -- he reads a detailed account of the Arathim Wars, for one -- and some of the texts seem more mundane, like the musings on a farmer’s harvest just outside Sami Thicket, some thirty trine past. Then again, Kylan supposes the harvest must have been important to the farmer and their family, so who is he to judge? The Mystics, or whichever one of them wrote all this down, don’t seem to weight one event above the other.

Even the scrolls themselves are curious -- they’re not made of paper, as he would expect, but are written instead on tightly wound fabric. Kylan unrolls one, and moves closer to the light coming through the archway, squinting his eyes as he reads. This one -- and many others in this room -- details not an event from the past, but an event from the future, if the date scrawled neatly at the top is to be believed. urSu had said that the Mystics had been watching their journey -- presumably with the strange relics and instruments they had seen in his chamber. As far as Kylan can tell, none of the Mystics living here have strayed far from this Valley in some time, and they didn’t seem to get many visitors. How else would they know the intricacies of crops in Sami Thicket aside from divination?

“Brea, listen to this one,” Kylan calls out, and the princess turns to him as he starts to read what certainly sounds like some kind of prophecy. “When single shines the triple sun--”

“Kylan, there you are!” A voice snaps him back to the present, and he nearly drops the scroll in surprise and alarm. When he turns to look, he doesn’t see one of the Mystics, there to chase them all the way out of the Valley, but Naia. Her arms are folded across her chest and she looks impatient. “Come on, let’s go. It’s time.”

“Time for what?” Kylan asks, even as he neatly rolls the scroll back up, and returns it to the proper spot. “I thought we weren’t leaving until tomorrow?”

“We’re not,” Naia confirms, and something in her tone tells him she isn’t quite happy about that. Probably she would have liked to leave this morning, but something, or someone, stopped her. Probably that person was Gurjin. Naia keeps talking, and says, “That means we’ve got a day to teach you how to hold a sword. I did promise you lessons, remember?”

“Uhm, I don’t -- maybe?” Kylan has a hazy memory of the night he got hurt, his arm throbbing in phantom pain at just the thought of it. “I think so?”

“She did say that,” Brea chimes in, not tearing her gaze away from the scroll in her hands. She’s sunken down to the floor, and doesn’t seem like she plans on moving anytime soon.

Naia motions as Brea, as if to say, See? I told you so. When Kylan only fidgets nervously, she sighs. “If we run into more of those monsters on the way back, what are you going to do? Throw a book at them?”

“If it was heavy enough,” Kylan starts, and Naia rolls her eyes. “I don’t even have my sword,” he protests -- he’d left it back with all of their belongings in that first cave they spent the night in. Was he supposed to be carrying it around with him? He honestly has no idea.

“Then we’ll go get it,” Naia says. When Kylan still hesitates, she rolls her eyes again, and says, “Fine. I’ll just find something else for Gurjin to do. If I don’t keep him busy he’ll just get himself into trouble.”

“That’s not--” Kylan cuts in, his voice breaking, just a little. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

Naia grins, her smiles lighting up her eyes. “Perfect. Find your sword and meet me down in the basin in ten minutes.” She glances past Kylan to Brea, still seated on the floor. “You want to come with, Brea?”

“No, thank you,” Brea says, waving a hand distractedly, still wholly focused on her scroll. “Have fun.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Naia says. Kylan tries, and fails, to ignore the swoop of nerves in his stomach. “I will.”

-+-

The Mystic Valley is beautiful and strange and amazing, and Deet spends her first real morning there...sleeping. She hadn’t meant to drift off -- after breakfast, Hup had taken her on a whirlwind tour of the canyon. Deet had cheerfully introduced herself to any of the Mystics they came across -- none of them had much to say, but that was alright. Now that she’d be staying here, she had plenty of time to get to know them all.

Eventually, Hup had taken her to the cave where the party had spent their first night. She had laid down in the pile of soft furs just for a moment, just to rest her eyes, but when she wakes the light streaming through the doorway is different, and she doesn’t know how much time has passed. She sees Hup sitting nearby, mending a tear in his red overcoat.

“Hello, Hup!” Deet says, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “How long was I asleep? What time is it?”

“Afternoon,” Hup says, still focused on his work. “Deet need rest.”

“I guess so,” Deet agrees. She sits still for a moment, enjoying the comfort of the blankets. She was so cold, back when she was lost, and she’s happy to be warm again. “Hup?” she asks, and the Podling hums and glances up at her. “Are you going back to Stone-in-the-Wood, with the others?”

Hup shakes his head furiously. “Uh uh. Hup stay here. Protect Deet.”

“Oh, good,” Deet says, feeling relieved that she won’t be here all alone. A part of her -- a big part of her, if she’s being honest -- is sad that her friends will be leaving without her. She reminds herself that she’s doing this for them, to learn how to heal them, and all the Darkened creatures, and hopefully the Crystal itself. If she has to be away from them for a little while to save them, she’s willing to pay that price. They price they paid to keep her safe was much steeper.

Deet finally untangles from her blankets and stands -- it’s such a thrill, such a relief to be herself again, to stand on her own two feet and know that they’re really hers. She steps out of the cave and into the afternoon light all alone -- Hup waves her on, opting to stay back and finish his work while she goes off to find the rest of their friends. If they’re leaving in the morning, she wants to spend as much time with them as she can before they go.

-+-

Kylan’s training is going...worse than Rian expected, but better than he feared.

“Bend your knees a little more,” he advises, perched on the smooth rock at the bottom of the basin. He’d much rather be up and actively participating in the training, but his near-fatal injury and Gurjin’s smothering have him relegated to coaching from the sidelines. 

Rian knows he needs the rest, all of his essence and energy working to replace all that he lost when he was hurt, but still. He’ll have to get up and training eventually, if he wants to work himself back up to full strength.

There’s no point worrying about it right now -- it’s not worth arguing with Gurin again, and anyway, Deet is sitting right beside him, watching their friends spar with interest and enthusiasm, so there are worse places he could be right now. Rian shakes his head and focuses on the moment at hand. “Loosen up, Kylan, you’re too tense.”

“I think I’m allowed to be a little tense,” Kylan retorts, his eyes wide and nervous as he parries Gurjin’s strike -- it’s sloppy, sure, and it costs him an inch or two of ground, but he does block the blow, which is progress. “That sword looks very sharp. Don’t they make wooden swords, for people who don’t know how to fight to practice with? People like me?”

“They do,” Gurjin replies, grinning as he whaps Kylan in the leg with the flat of the blade. “But that’s not any fun. Oh, and you’re dead. Again.” He taps his sword against Kylan’s leg once more, for emphasis.

“It’s only my leg,” Kylan protests, looking to Rian for support, but it’s Naia who answers.

“You get cut there, you’re dead in under a minute,” she says, her voice calm despite the grisly answer. She’s sitting nearby, cross-legged in the sand, her back against one of the ancient standing stones. Presumably she’s helping Rian coach, but she’s got another one of those strange, sweet fruits in her hand, and a stick in the other, scratching pictures in the sandy canyon floor. “You’d bleed out faster than I could heal you.”

“Oh my,” Kylan says, and he goes two shades paler. 

“Oh my,” Naia agrees, taking another bite of her fruit. She waves a hand and says, “Go again."

“I think you’re doing great, Kylan!” Deet says, cheering him on as he and Gurjin return to their starting positions. “Next time, the Garthim won’t know what hit them!”

The atmosphere in the basin changes in an instant -- Rian feels it. Kylan and Gurjin must feel it, too, their sparring match coming to a halt, and even Naia looks up, her eyes narrowed. Only Deet seems oblivious, still happy and smiling.

Rian exchanges a glance with Gurjin, who frowns, before focusing back on Deet. “Garthim?” he repeats, testing the word carefully. “What’s a Garthim?”

“You know,” Deet says, and then she pauses, and seems to catch on to the glances shared between her gathered friends, their sudden tension and confusion. Her smile falters, for just a second. “The Garthim? Those monsters, in the woods. You fought them.” She’s sounding a little desperate now, a little far off. She looks to Rian, and reaches for his side. “They hurt you. Don’t you remember? They were real.”

“Deet?” Rian asks, his concern welling up and bubbling over. He intercepts her hand, and holds it tight. Deet blinks, and just like that, her fear vanishes, calm settling over her again. Rian clears his throat and says, “We remember the monsters, we just didn’t know what they were called.”

“How did you know?” Naia asks, breaking her silence. She’s still sitting her with back to one of the standing stones, but her posture is poised, and she’s on alert.

Deet pauses, frowning as she thinks it over. “I’m not sure. That’s just what they’re called.”

“Maybe the Mystics told you?” Gurjin suggests, looking to Kylan for backup, but the Song-Teller is silent, his lips pursed in a frown. Rian wonders what he’s thinking.

Deet seems to accept the explanation, her own expression lightening, a relieved smile stealing back across her features. “You must be right, they must have told me,” she says, and then she nods, and just like that, she believes it.

Naia hums thoughtfully, and Kylan and Gurjin return to their training, but Rian starts to worry. He can’t ignore the feeling twisting in his gut, the voice in the back of his mind that’s whispering, something is wrong.

-+-

Brea could have spent hours in the archive, days, even, but after Naia drags a protesting Kylan away, she finds herself wandering again. There are dozens of archways, cave entrances carved into the very walls of the ravine. It’s hard to tell which ones are the various Mystic’s personal chambers, and which ones, if any, are communal spaces. Some of them are just empty.

She passes a few Mystics as she peeks in and out of the caverns, trailing up and down the spiraling walkways. Some of them nod as they pass, but for the most part it’s like they don’t even see her. To Brea, it almost seems like they are moving without thinking about it, just parts and pieces, moving like clockwork in the same circles, again and again, trine after trine after trine. 

She can hear the sounds of her friends, down in the basin of the ravine, and peeks over the edge of the walkway. Gurjin and Kylan are sparring. Brea has absolutely no formal combat training, but even she can tell that Gurjin is going easy on him, and Kylan is still losing. Naia and Rian are both watching the fight, but Deet spots her, and waves. Brea waves back before continuing her exploration.

She finds several odd rooms -- an apothecary of sorts, with dried plants and herbs hanging from the ceiling -- some that she’s read about, a few that she’s seen in person, and many that are completely foreign to her. Maybe these species don’t even exist on Thra any more, wiped out by time or negligence or ill intent, and this is the only place they remain. She finds rooms of strange, unexplainable artifacts, things she’s never seen in any book. The oddest discovery of all is a room filled with Gelfling sized furniture that appears to have never been touched. Had they foreseen that Deet would be coming to stay with them? Or was this meant for someone else? 

She thinks of the disappointment on urSu’s face as he looked over them when they first met, and she wonders, once again, who he is waiting for. She thinks back to the room she just left behind, filled with accounts of things that happened long ago, and things yet to come. The room was massive, filled with more scrolls than she could read in a single lifetime.

Well then, she thinks, leaving the room and heading back the way she’d come. She’d better get started.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTEEN

-+-

The sword-fighting lessons wind down as the suns begin to sink, dropping closer and closer to the rim of the canyon. Rian’s halfway paying attention, but mostly just dozing -- at least, he is, until Deet stands and stretches. Her sudden movement jolts him awake, and he blinks up at her as she asks, “Can I show you something?”

“Of course,” Rian says, without hesitation, pushing himself to stand, and glancing at the rest of his friends. Naia is sound asleep, propped up against the standing stone, but Gurjin and Kylan are still sparring, completely focused on each other. “I’m not doing any good here.”

“Well, come on then,” Deet says excitedly, taking Rian by the hand, and tugging him towards the pathway back out of the canyon. “You’re going to love it.”

“Hold on,” Gurjin calls after them. Kylan swings his sword clumsily, probably hoping to catch Gurjin while he’s distracted, but Gurjin blocks it without so much as a backwards glance. “How far is it? He’s supposed to be resting.”

“Not far,” Deet promises. “We’ll go slow.” She looks to Rian for confirmation -- he gets the feeling she doesn’t want to push him too far -- but he just rolls his eyes at Gurjin.

“It’s fine, Gurjin,” he says, sounding exasperated, but he can’t help the warm smile that flashes across his face. Gurjin’s hovering is bordering on obsession, but still -- it’s nice to be cared about. “You worry too much.”

“I think I worry exactly enough,” Gurjin relies, but he waves a hand to dismiss the pair of them -- not that Rian needed his permission, but Deet leads him away before he can complain about it.

She’s right, it isn’t far. Deet only takes him a little ways up and out of the canyon, away from where the Mystics make their home and up onto a ridge. It’s steep, more of a climb than a hike, but there are plenty of hand and foot holds. Even the short distance is just about enough to wear him out, even after he spent most of the day resting. Now that Deet’s alright, he can focus on other concerns, like the frustration that comes from feeling so limited, so worn down. He hates feeling this way, feeling so...useless.

“We can rest for a minute, if you’d like,” Deet offers. She reaches out and grabs Rian’s elbow to steady him, after they crest the top of the ridge. A frown creases her features, and his heart twists to see it. He wants her to be happy, she deserves to be happy. “Maybe Gurjin was right.”

“No,” Rian says, but he doesn’t move away from Deet. Yes, it’s nice to have the support, with his legs as weak and wobbly as they feel, but it’s more than that. He marvels at the sensation of her hands, warm and alive, her fingertips pressing into his arm. He is exhausted, and wrung out, but he’ll never be too tired for Deet. “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Alright then,” Deet says, her smile back in place. She does keep a tight grip on his elbow, and if he’s leaning into her and relying on her, just a little bit, to keep him upright, well. Nobody else has to know, it’s just the two of them out here. “It’s only a little further, I promise.”

Thankfully, just a few more minutes of hiking bring them to the very top of the ridge, and from here he can see --

-- he can see everything.

Or at least, it feels like it, it feels like the whole of Thra is laid out before them. Everywhere he turns, he sees another corner of the world. To the North, the Dark Woods spread, filling his sight with leaves and branches and green growing things. Beyond the woods, he knows he would find the Castle of the Crystal, or he could follow the snaking Black River back to Stone-in-the-Wood, or to the Silver Sea beyond Ha’Rar. He turns to trace the river south, through the wide, rolling Spriton plains -- beyond that it widens and meanders, all the way back to its origin in the swamps of the Sog.

He joins Deet on the very edge of the ridge, facing west. She’s taken a seat, her feet dangling over the edge, and Rian eases himself down to join her. Deet smiles at him, and reaches out to take his hand. Below them, the sturdy canyon has been worn down by weather and time, and the Crystal Desert begins. Here, it’s just a narrow strip of sand, tucked between the plains and the forest, but he knows the desert is vast -- it had looked infinite the first time they stood on the edge of it, staring out across the sands. That was only days ago, though it feels like a lifetime, the weight and pull of everything they’ve been through since stretching the moments out. 

The suns are just now setting on this day, the sky streaked with colors on one horizon, as night closes in overhead. Soon, they’ll be able to see the stars, but for now, he’s happy to admire the view as it is, the shifting sands reflecting the bright colors of the sunset like water. After these past few days, he’s grateful just to get to sit here and stare out at the beginning of the desert, at the setting suns, with Deet’s hand a warm weight in his. It’s beautiful, and it’s nothing short of a miracle that they’re both sitting here to see it.

There’s something wrong, though, a little voice chirping in the back of his mind. “Deet?” he asks, and she hums a little as she turns to face him, her eyes wide, her expression serene. “Have you been here before?”

“Well, no,” Deet says. She pauses, her lips pressed together. “I don’t think so. I’d never even left the Caves of Grot before all this, remember?”

“Right,” Rian agrees, and then he frowns, trying to make sense of it -- Deet knowing the names of the monsters they fought in the woods, and her excitement to show him a place she could never have seen before. What was it Maudra Argot had said, after Deet’s dealings with the Sanctuary Tree? Changed. “Did the Mystics bring you up here? When they were trying to help you?”

“I don’t think so?” Deet sounds unsure, and Rian doesn’t know how much of all of the she remembers, and he doesn’t want to bring it up any more than necessary. He thinks of her panic, when the rest of them questioned her about the Garthim -- the last thing he wants is to upset her. “No, I think we were just in urSu’s chambers.”

That feeling in the back of his mind redoubles, a sense that something is wrong, something is off. “Then, how do you know about this place?”

“Hmm.” Deet thinks it over for a minute, and then she shrugs. “I guess I just knew.” She seems unbothered by it, and goes back to admiring the view, and Rian tries to do the same.

-+-

The sword-fighting lessons taper off not long after Rian and Deet wander away, but the three of them -- Gurjin, Kylan, and Naia -- linger down in the basin, talking about anything other than what the morning will bring. Tomorrow, they’ll be heading back out into the woods, and making their way to the rest of the Gelfling to rejoin the fight for their lives, for their freedom. Tonight, though, they don’t want to worry about any of that. 

Naia had long since woken from her nap, but Kylan drifts off to sleep, his head pillowed on his arm, the Darkened scar on his cheek standing out in sharp contrast against his skin. Gurjin does his best not to stare, to ignore the twinge in his chest at the sight of it. He turns his gaze upwards instead, staring at the sky as the first of the stars come out, and he says, “We should start a fire.”

Naia tosses a pebble, and it bounces off the side of his head. “The Mystics welcome us into their home, and that’s how you want to repay them. Arson?”

“Not like that!” Gurjin says, scowling at his sister. “You know, like a bonfire?”

“Aren’t you tired of camping out?” Naia asks, sounding skeptical, as she tips her head back and closes her eyes. “I know I am.”

“A bonfire’s not the same as a campfire,” Gurjin argues. “It’s bigger, and better. Just trust me, it’ll be fun.”

Naia cracks one eye open, still looking unconvinced, but then she pushes herself to her feet and dusts herself off. She heads towards the spiralling walkway, and before Gurjin can ask where she’s going, she gives him a little wave and says, “I’ll go find Brea, and Hup -- something tells me he knows how to have a good time.”

As soon as she’s gone, Gurjin reaches over and shakes Kylan awake. The Song-Teller sits up with a start, and doesn’t settle down until he sees Gurjin. “What’s going on?”

“Fire,” Gurjin says, and when Kylan’s eyes widen in alarm, he rushes to add, “We’re having a bonfire, come on, get up.”

“You could have led with that --” Kylan starts, but by then Gurjin is already on his feet, heading off in search of firewood. He hears Kylan behind him, scrambling to his feet to follow, and grins.

-+-

Honestly, Brea is relieved when Naia shows up, ready to drag her out of the Archive. She’d spent her afternoon combing through texts and tomes -- with every new discovery her spirits sank lower and lower. The Mystics’ prophecies paint a picture too terrible to imagine. There must be something she’s missing, some other piece to the puzzle, some way to disprove her terrifying theory.

“Put up your books, Princess,” Naia says, offering a hand to help her up. “Gurjin’s throwing a party. Attendance is mandatory.”

“A party?” Brea repeats, dumbfounded. Her head is swimming, her mind running in circles as she tries to process everything she’s just read. She should stay here, she should keep working, she should --

-- she should probably take a break. How many times did Tavra show up, and practically drag her out of her library, insisting that she at least needed a breath of fresh air? Maybe stepping away will help her focus -- or at least, let her take her mind off of things for a while.

She takes Naia’s hand, and lets her friend pull her to her feet. “What kind of party?”

“That depends,” Naia says -- Brea’s a little surprised to see her stern and serious look fall away as she grins. “I heard you went exploring earlier. Do you know where they keep the alcohol?”

-+-

Gurjin tries setting things up right there in the basin, but runs into a problem. As soon as the Mystics catch on to his plan, a few of them approach and very politely ask him not to burn down their home. Instead, they direct Gurjin and Kylan to a nice spot on the ridge, already supplied with plenty of firewood. Most of it’s driftwood from the Black River -- Gurjin spots broken branches from the ape-knot trees of his home, and is almost bowled over by a wave of nostalgia, but he shakes it off. There are pieces of broken and discarded furniture in there, too -- enough to keep a fire going all night long, if they want.

“Is this really what they see in their visions?” Gurjin asks, kneeling down as he stacks the wood evenly. “They knew we’d want to have a bonfire? Don’t you think they dream about more important things? You know, things that actually matter?”

“Well,” Kylan says thoughtfully, handing Gurjin another branch when he points to it. “Does this matter to you?”

“I don’t know.” Gurjin pauses, his hands on his knees as he thinks it over. A bonfire on a chilly night is a way to pass the time, true, but it’s also a way to spend time with his friends, to celebrate what they’ve already accomplished, and the fact that against all odds, they’ve made it this far. It’s one last moment of peace before they walk back into a war. “Yeah,” he finally says, nodding to himself. “Yeah, it matters to me.”

“Then who’s to say it’s not important?” Kylan asks. He looks away from Gurjin, up into the sky. The stars are out in full force, tiny pinpricks of light in the inky blackness -- Gurjin tries to focus on that, and not the way he feels, watching Kylan watch the stars, his eyes wide and wondering. When Kylan turns back to him, he looks sure of himself, and he says, “If it matters to you, then it matters.”

Gurjin’s heart swells, or it seizes up. Either he’s dying, or Naia was right earlier, when she teased him about falling in love with Kylan. The possibilities are equally terrifying. 

He’s not ready ready to think too hard about it, so instead he busies himself lighting the fire, and then trying not to light himself on fire when the satchel of herbs one of the Mystics gave him creates something of a minor explosion. He whoops with joy as the fire climbs, and Kylan pats away at the flames on his sleeve. Gurjin doesn’t think about how close Kylan is standing, and he doesn’t think about Kylan’s hand on his arm, and he definitely doesn’t think about --

“--Found her!” Naia’s voice cuts through the night air, and right through the moment. Gurjin jumps back and Kylan practically jumps out of his skin, but Naia ignores them both. She’s got one hand on Brea’s shoulder, guiding the princess to join their little party, and another hand around the neck of a bottle. “We couldn’t find Hup, but we did find this.”

Brea steps a little closer to the fire, peering just past Gurjin, frowning when she realizes that the rest of their friends are missing. “Where are Rian and Deet?”

“Occupied,” Naia deadpans. She breaks the seal on the bottle and takes a sip to taste it. “Not bad.”

Brea’s eyes go wide, and Gurjin rushes to say, “Come on, it’s not like that.” There’s a beat of silence, and he gets three blank stares, so Gurjin amends. “I mean, yeah, it’s probably like that, but can you blame them? Everything’s terrible all the time, might as well be with the person that makes you happy.”

“Do you think so?” Naia asks. Her tone is light but she gives Gurjin a pointed look, and he pointedly does not look at Kylan after she says it. Instead, he swipes the bottle from Naia, and takes a long drink, and he decides that maybe he should keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night.

-+-

Deet and Rian sit up on the ridge until the suns set and the stars wheel overhead. It gets chilly, but she doesn’t mind, sitting there with him, their fingers tangled together, the whole world and the future laid out before them. 

When they finally head back to find the others, Deet doesn’t let go of his hand. Neither one speaks, and the world is silent, except for their footfalls, and dark, save for the light of the stars and the moon.

“Deet?” Rian says, breaking his silence. “Do you ever wish--” he starts, but just as suddenly, he breaks off.

“Do I ever wish what?” Deet asks. She stops walking, and tugs on his hand just a little, enough that he turns to face her. “Whatever it is, Rian, you can ask me.”

“Do you ever wish you’d stayed home?” Rian asks, his eyes locked on hers, like he’s watching for her reaction. “Back in the Caves of Grot, I mean?”

“Well,” Deet frowns, and thinks it over, but the answer is simple. She tilts her head back, and stares up into the night sky. “No, I don’t think so.”

When she turns back to face him, Rian is frowning, looking surprised. “But, everything that’s happened --”

“--Would have happened anyway,” Deet says, nodding to herself, a little more certain. “The SkekSis would have started draining Gelfling no matter what. They still would have made the Garthim. They still would have hurt people -- and they might have hurt even more people! What if we hadn’t been there, when the Arathim attacked the Grottans?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rian says, humming a little to himself. He reaches for Deet’s bandaged hand, and turns it, palm up. The bandages block out the faint purple glow of her scar from the Darkening. “I just don’t like that you’ve been hurt.”

“Well, I’m glad that I’ve been here to help,” she says, squeezing his hand before letting it drop, and stepping back as she spreads her arms wide. “And anyway,” she adds, twirling a bit as she stares up into the night. “If I’d spent my whole life underground, I never would have seen the sky, or known how beautiful the stars are! And I never would have met you.”

The smile that steals across Rian’s face is wide, and real -- he’s happy, happier than she’s ever seen him, and it warms her heart to know she’s made him feel this way. It distracts her for just a second, but it’s long enough that she misjudges a step and stumbles right into him. Rian catches her, one hand on her shoulder, one on her waist. 

“Deet?” Rian says, and there’s an emotion in his voice that she can’t name. They’re standing so close, she can see the night sky reflected in his eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” Deet says, all in a rush. She knows what he’s going to ask her, knew it before she brought him up to the ridge to watch the suns set. “I think you should.”

Rian smiles fades, just a little, and his brow furrows in confusion. “You think I should...ask you a question?”

“I think you should kiss me,” Deet says, and Rian doesn’t wait a moment longer. He brings his hand up from her shoulder to cup her cheek, and leans in, closing the distance between them.

Deet’s never kissed anyone before, and she’s never spent much time wondering what it would be like. Rian’s touch is gentle, and careful, and his lips are soft, and it’s over almost as soon as it’s begun. 

“Oh!” Deet says, as Rian pulls away. His hand is still cupping her cheek, and she leans a little into the touch. “That was nice!”

“Nice?” Rian repeats, with a surprised laugh. He lets go of her cheek, but only to brush her hair out of her face. “Is that all?”

“It was very nice,” Deet assures him. She reaches up and buries her fingers in the front of his shirt, tugging him a little closer. “You should do it again,” she says, and he does.

-+-

The memory goes like this: Naia and Gurjin are childlings, wind rushing past them as they race through the ape-knot trees. It’s been many trine since this moment, but the details are sharp and clear -- Kylan can feel the leaves brushing his cheek, can smell the thick loamy scent of the Sog. Here, in Naia’s memory, it feels like home. 

Gurjin is fast, and strong, even as a childling. He’s got height and weight on Naia, and his hand and footholds are sure and secure, but Naia’s slighter, and faster, light on her feet, and she beats him home, just like she always does.

“Oh, come on,” Gurjin complains, as the dreamfast fades. “You didn’t always win.”

Naia shrugs, and takes a drink before passing the bottle over to Kylan. “That’s how I remember it.”

It’s late -- the suns have long since set, and the moons have risen, and stars dot the sky. The four of them -- Kylan, Naia, Gurjin, and Brea -- have spent the evening sharing wine, and sharing memories. It is a beautiful night -- no one is injured, or possessed, they’re not hiding from terrible monsters. 

As hard as times have been, Kylan doesn't regret the path that’s brought him here. He’s had nothing but trouble since he met Naia, on the road out of Sami Thicket -- and he wouldn’t trade a single second of it. The pain and chaos and fear was a price worth paying, if this was the reward -- a bonfire on a beautiful night, with his friends at his side. 

Kylan is at peace for the first time in a long while. He’s not worrying about the fragment of the Darkening tied to his very essence, or the way his friends keep looking at the scar it left on his face, and then quickly glancing away. Up here, in this moment, it’s enough to simply exist.

“Who’s turn is it?” Gurjin asks, glancing around the group. “Brea?”

“Hmm?” Brea asks, sounding sleepy. Her eyes are lidded, and she’s slumped against Naia. To be fair, their pilfered wine is stronger than any Gelfling brew Kylan’s ever tasted -- clearly the Mystics are made of tougher stuff than Vapran princesses.

“Don’t worry about it,” Naia says, patting Brea’s knee and smirking. “She’s out, just skip her.”

“Alright, Song-Teller,” Gurjin says, jabbing Kylan lightly in the side with his elbow. He’s sitting so close that Kylan can feel him breathing, that he could lean his head against his shoulder, if he was brave enough -- but he’s not. Kylan thinks there’s not enough wine in the world to give him the nerve to admit how he feels, to risk rejection, or losing Gurjin as a friend. “You’re up next.”

“Oh,” Kylan says, frowning in concentration, casting about for a memory worth sharing, something he wants his friends to see, something he’s willing to show them. 

The perfect memory comes to mind -- on another night, with different company, it’s a memory he would rather keep to himself. But he’s here, sitting between the twins, with the heat of the flames on his face, warming him from the outside in, and the comfortable buzz of wine, warming him from the inside out. He doesn’t want to keep any secrets from them. 

“Alright,” he says, nodding to himself, and resting his hands on his knees, palms up. “I’m ready.” Naia and Gurjin each take one of his hands, and the three of them slip into the dreamfast.

He was very young, and so the details are hazy and faded, but the feelings are there. He remembers it in bits and pieces, flashes of another time -- he remembers the crunch of fallen leaves under his feet as he played among the trees, he remembers a warm hearth on cold nights. He remembers his mother’s smile, his father’s voice. 

He wants his friends to know them, he wants them to know that he learned music from his mother and stories from his father -- he wants them to know that every time he tells a song he does it to honor his parents, to feel closer to them, although they are separated by time and distance and death. He wants them to know that he’s felt so alone for so long, but that he doesn’t feel alone anymore.

The dreamfast fades. Kylan doesn’t realize he’s crying until Naia reaches over and brushes the tears away, tender in a way she usually reserves for Gurjin, and only when she thinks no one else is looking.

“They would be proud of you, Kylan,” she says, and he feels the heat of more unshed tears. “Even if you are useless with a sword.”

Kylan makes a sound, half a laugh, half a sob. “Thank you. I think.” 

Naia lightly punches him in the shoulder, and then she says, “Alright, Gurjin, you’re up. Better make it good.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gurjin says, slinging an arm across Kylan’s shoulder, and pulling him in close. “I’ve got some good ones.”

-+-

Naia, Gurjin, and Kylan share memories for another hour, until Hup joins their little party. The Podling has another liberated bottle of wine in tow, though Naia notes it’s already a third of the way empty. An hour after that, Brea finally wakes, and Rian and Deet show up at last, holding hands and laughing quietly.

Gurjin whistles as they approach. Rian rolls his eyes and blushes, but Deet just grins and waves at everyone. 

“We were just about to send out a search party,” Naia says, her voice dry. “What were you up to?”

“Nothing,” Rian says, just a little too quickly.

“Kissing!” Deet says, at the exact same time.

“Right,” Rian says, as Gurjin bursts into raucous laughter. “Kissing, yes. That’s...what I meant.” He lets Deet pull him down to sit beside the fire, and Gurjin stops laughing long enough to offer him the bottle of wine. Rian take a drink before asking, “What about the rest of you? Keeping out of trouble, I hope?”

“Telling stories,” Naia says, with a shrug. She grins, and then adds, “Gurjin was just about to tell another one -- about your musical talents .”

Rian coughs and says, “Oh, we don’t have to talk about that.” 

“He says you play the lute!” Brea cuts in, taking the bottle when Deet offers it, and passing it right on to Naia. “He says you’re very good.”

“I’m -- that’s not,” Rian sputters. Gurjin waggles his fingers, offering a dreamfast, and Rian sighs. “Fine, yes, that’s true -- but I’m not any good, I’m afraid. I’m a soldier, not a bard.”

Gurjin rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re not as good as Kylan, but you’re better than most.” Naia doesn’t miss the way that Kylan puffs up, just a little, at the compliment.

Deet’s lets go of Rian’s hand to shake his shoulder, a wide grin on her face. She practically knocks over Hup, who’s sound asleep and snoring, wrapped around an empty wine bottle, but the Podling doesn’t even stir. She says, “Rian, please, you and Kylan should play something.”

“You know, I would,” Rian says, and he smiles innocently even as he spreads his hands in defeat, “but unfortunately, I am all out of lutes.” 

That seems to be the end of it, until Gurjin nudges their Song-Teller and asks, “Weren’t you playing a lute, that night in Stone-in-the-Wood?”

“Well, yes,” Kylan says, frowning as seems to think back to that night, “but I was only borrowing it. I don’t have it with me.”

“The Mystics had a whole room full of instruments,” Brea chimes in, and Naia and the others turn to her, now. “If you wanted to borrow another one.”

For a moment, it’s quiet, except for the crackling of the fire -- and then, Kylan slowly nods and says, “I could go...look for it?”

Almost everyone agrees that is an excellent idea. As Kylan stands, Rian buries his face in his hands, and mutters, “Out of all the stories you could have told --”

“--I know plenty more embarrassing stories about you, Rian,” Gurjin assures him, and then he laughs when Rian blanches. He reaches up and grabs Kylan by the wrist and says, “Hold up, I’ll come with you.”

“Oh, alright,” Kylan says. Gurjin pushes himself to his feet, and then staggers for a moment before reaching out and grabbing Kylan’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Will you two be alright?” Deet asks, sounding a little concerned -- and probably rightly so, Kylan doesn’t look entirely steady on his feet and Gurjin still has a hand on his shoulder for balance.

“They’ll be fine,” Naia says, waving a hand. Best case scenario, her brother and her best friend take advantage of the alone time to act on their obvious affections. Worst case scenario, they fall off a cliff and die. Naia’s willing to take her chances. “But you should hurry, before Rian comes up with a new excuse.”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Gurjin says, pushing at Kylan’s shoulder just a little bit to get him moving, and he does, carefully picking his way over the rocky terrain, back towards the heart of the canyon.

-+-

As soon as they move away from the fire, the night gets dark -- it’s a clear night, with the moon and stars overhead, but it’s barely enough light to see by. The sounds of their friends fade, and for a few moments neither of them talk. Kylan feels more than sees Gurjin at his side, until his eyes start to adjust.

Before long, they come to a fork in the path. Kylan wracks his hazy brain, trying to retrace their steps from earlier.

“I think it was this way,” Gurjin says, pointing down the left path, and then turning back to face him. Kylan starts to shake his head, he was sure they’d come from the right, but then he stops. The only light is the moon, and the stars, and the faint purple glow of the scar on Gurjin’s arm.

If his brain wasn’t so fuzzy, he would have put the pieces together, he would have realized that if Gurjin’s scar was glowing with a faint purple light, then his would be too --but it doesn’t click until Gurjin steps in closer, until he brings his hand up, and traces Kylan's scar with his thumb. Kylan stands very still, and holds his breath.

“Is this alright?” Gurjin asks, his voice quiet. It’s so dark, but he’s close enough that Kylan can see the look on his face, though he couldn’t describe it if he tried.

Kylan’s heart is in his throat, but he manages to say, “Yes.”

Later, Kylan will wonder if Gurjin might have kissed him, the two of them standing there, lost in the canyon, under all the stars. He’d never wanted anyone to kiss him before, but in that moment, there was nothing he wanted more. 

“Ah, there you are,” comes a voice, and Kylan can’t help but yelp in terror as he and Gurjin break apart. Kylan’s heart is still hammering in his chest as he focuses on the figure coming up the path to the right, illuminated by torchlight. It’s urSol the Chanter, the same Mystic who rescued them that night in the Dark Woods. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“A little bit, yeah,” Gurjin mutters, rubbing at the back of his head.

“Is everything alright?” Kylan asks, looking away from Gurjin and back to the Mystic, who’s glancing between the two of them, a curious expression on his face. “You were looking for us?”

“Yes,” urSol says, and then he turns, and motions to someone behind him, a little ways back on the path. “I was out wandering, as I like to do, and look who I found! More of your friends!”

Sure enough, as the figures approach, Kylan realizes that urSol has brought two more Gelfling. In the dark, it’s hard to see their faces, but Kylan does recognize their armor -- the ornate trappings of Paladins. He catches a glimpse of red hair as the first one steps forward.

“Gurjin, Kylan,” the red-haired Paladin says, coming closer. In the torchlight, Kylan can see a deep gouge on his face, an obvious wound from the creatures Deet called the Garthim. “We weren’t sure if you’d made it, the woods were crawling with those monsters. Did you all arrive safely?”

“We’re fine, yeah,” Gurjin says. He reaches for Kylan’s hand and twines their fingers together, and Kylan can feel how tense he’s gone, every muscle in his body taut and alert. Kylan senses it, too --  there’s something wrong, something’s happened. He knows what it must be, but he doesn’t want it to be true. “Are you looking for Brea?”

“No,” the second Paladin says, stepping closer. “We were sent to fetch Naia.”

Gurjin goes very, very still, and Kylan’s stomach bottoms out. “Why,” Gurjin says, his voice flat, as if he already knows the answer to the question even before he asks, “Are you looking for my sister?”

The two of them exchange a glance, and then the red-haired Paladin removes his helmet, and bows his head. “I’m very sorry, Gurjin, but something has happened to Maudra Laesid. The Drenchen need your sister to come home.”

-+-

“It’s the middle of the night!” Gurjin shouts, but Naia isn’t listening to him -- she hasn’t listened to anyone, not a word, not since the Paladin opened his mouth and said, your mother -- 

It was just like Kylan predicted. Garthim had attacked the Resistance gathered at Stone-in-the-Wood -- dozens of them, a swarm that overwhelmed even the strongest of the Gelfling. The monsters had laid siege for a night, and then retreated with the dawn -- carrying Gelfling off with them, presumably to the castle, to be drained, and leaving others where they lay. Few had escaped the battle unscathed. And her mother ---

Her mother was not dead, at least not when the Paladins had left -- three of them, yet only two made it to the Valley alive -- but she was dying. She’d killed a Garthim all on her own, because of course she had, Maudra Laesid was nothing if not formidable in battle -- but she’d been injured, a terrible head wound that left her unconscious, and on the very brink of death.

That was two days ago. Naia has no idea if her mother is still alive. 

“Naia, we can’t just -- will you please listen to me?” Gurjin sounds desperate, and when Naia finally rounds on him, she sees fear in his eyes, and tear tracks down his cheeks. 

“We have to go, Gurjin,” Naia says, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her, centered around a single focus point. She will return to the Drenchen, and act as Maudra until her mother recovers. And if she doesn’t recover -- Naia shakes her head, unwilling to entertain the thought. It won’t do her any good, not now. “I don’t care how many of those monsters are out there, we need to leave. We should have left this morning, I shouldn’t have let you talk me out of it.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything," Gurjin says, but she hears the doubt wavering in his voice. “We couldn’t have stopped the attack, it happened the same night we fought those things in the swamp, remember?”

She remembers, but it’s irrelevant. It’s not about getting there before the attack, that just wasn’t possible -- it’s about her mother, dead or dying, it’s about her people, needing someone to guide them. She feels woefully inadequate to be that person, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s falling on her anyway. She always knew she’d take up her mother’s mantle, she just didn’t think it would be this soon .

“I’m leaving tonight,” Naia says, grabbing her brother’s wrist and holding fast. Her fingers curl around the scar the Darkening left behind, and she feels the twinge in her own mark. She files the thought away, there’s no time for it now. “Either get your things and come with me, or get out of my way.”

Gurjin tugs his arm out of her grip, sliding it down so they’re holding hands, instead. He laces their fingers and squeezes, tight.

“We’d better get going, then,” he says, and Naia nods, relieved that she’s not in this alone.

-+-

Barely an hour after their bonfire, Rian stands with his friends on the edge of the canyon, ready to bid farewell to half of their party. Naia, Gurjin, and Kylan are packed and ready to go, as are the Paladins. The Mystics had offered them a place to stay for the night, but they had declined, ready to head back to Stone-in-the-Wood, and the Resistance. They’re stationed a little ways away, while the rest of them stand in a stilted, awkward silence -- the grim news had sobered them all up quickly, and now none of them knew what to say.

It’s Hup who finally breaks the silence. “Be careful,” he says, giving each of them a serious look, and earning three nods in return. Apparently satisfied, Hup steps back, and gives Deet’s hand a gentle squeeze before heading back into the canyon, giving the Gelfling a moment to say goodbye.

“Lore’s coming with you,” Brea says, stepping forward to hug each of her friends in turn. She motions to the stone guardian, hovering just over her shoulder. “I asked him to look after you all. He’ll help keep you safe.” She hesitates just a moment before adding, “I think I should stay here, with Deet. There’s so much information here -- history, and things that haven’t happened yet.” She sounds confident, though Rian gets the feeling there’s something she’s not telling them. Brea continues, “I’m not a warrior, I’m a scholar. Maybe I can find something that will help us beat the SkekSis, or heal the Crystal.”

“Good luck with that,” Naia says, clapping the princess on the shoulder. Her tone is light, but her eyes are steely, and focused -- she’s going back to the Resistance as a Maudra, and Rian can see the change in her already. “Maybe I spoke too soon when I teased Kylan about beating monsters with his books.”

Brea steps back to join the others. There’s another beat of silence, and then Gurjin says, “Rian, listen--”

Rian shakes his head, already knowing what his best friend is going to say. “I’ll just slow you down,” he says -- and he hates it, but it’s the truth. His friends will need speed, if they’re going to make it through the woods. They’ll have Lore, but they’ll still have the monsters on their tail. “I’ll follow you in the morning.”

Gurjin practically lunges forward, and wraps Rian in a tight hug, which Rian returns. When Gurjin finally lets go and holds him at arm's length, he says, “No, you won’t. You’re staying here, Rian, until you’re better.”

“Gurjin --” 

“I mean it.” Gurjin’s grip on his shoulders tightens, and his best friend furrows his brow. “Things are bad enough already. We’ve got a long fight ahead of us, it looks like, and we need you at your best. And I need my best friend alive at the end of all this, alright?”

Rian wants to fight, he wants to argue, but he knows, deep down, that Gurjin is right. It’ll be weeks, or longer, until he’s back in fighting shape, and pushing himself too hard, too soon, will only lead to consequences. “Alright,” he agrees, and Gurjin lets out a sigh of relief.

“Please take care of yourself,” Gurjin says, as serious as Rian’s ever heard him, and it’s all Rian can do to nod. Gurjin looks over Rian’s shoulder at Brea and Deet. “Please look after him, I know he won’t listen.”

“We will,” Deet promises, and then it’s her turn to hug everyone. “Before you go, I wanted to say something. To all of you,” she adds, glancing at Rian and Brea. Her voice is quiet, but steady. “I wanted to say thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for what you did for me, but I promise I’ll try my best.”

“Deet,” Naia says, her voice firm enough that Deet looks up and meets her eyes. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“We wanted to help you,” Kylan chimes in. “You’re our friend. We want you to be okay.”

Deet smiles, but there’s sorrow in her eyes, and something twists in Rian’s heart to see it. Deet looks down at her hands, and says, “When the Darkening had me -- I was so cold, and so lonely. It was dark -- not dark like the Caves, but dark like...like dying.” Rian shudders, but Deet continues. “I thought I would be lost forever, but you all saved me.” Now, Deet looks up, and this time she looks a little stronger, a little more certain. “You saved me, and now, we’re going to save everyone.”

“Fine, come here,” Gurjin says, stepping forward and sweeping her up. “You get one more hug, but that’s it.”

Deet laughs, and another round of hugs are exchanged. Finally, Naia threatens to leave Gurjin behind, and so their group departs. Rian watches them for as long as they can, until the dark and the shadows swallow them up, and just like that, they’re gone.

The world is quiet, and he’s sad, and he’s worried, and he wishes he could go back with them, but he can’t. All he can do is stay here and try to get better, try to be better, because there are people that still need him.

Deet takes his hand, and then she takes Breas, and the three of them stand there, under the stars, on the edge of the canyon.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Brea asks, her nervous voice breaking the silence.

Rian takes a deep breath. “I hope so.”

“They will be,” Deet says, and she squeezes their hands. It sounds like a promise. “They’ll be alright, and so will we.”

“How can you be so sure?” Brea presses, casting another nervous glance to where the rest of their friends disappeared.

Deet smiles -- Rian can barely see her, in the darkness, but Deet was built for the dark, she can probably see them perfectly -- and he thinks she can see other things, too, he thinks she can see something more. She smiles, and she shrugs, and she says, “I just know it. We’ll save the Gelfling, and we’ll save the Crystal. We’ll set everything right. You’ll see.” She turns her gaze up, up, into the stars, and Rian wonders what she’s really looking at. “You’ll see.”

-+-

After the others have gone, and long after Brea should have gone to sleep, she lies awake, thinking of what she’d found in the Archive that afternoon. She hadn’t told the others -- it was only a theory, no use worrying them over something that she only suspected, that she couldn’t prove. It was the reason she’d decided to stay in the Valley after all, because there had to be something she was missing, something she could still do.

Her mind is racing, so after the others have drifted off, she rises, and walks through the dark and winding canyon, all the way back to the Archive, and gets to work.

The hours crawl by, and with every passing second dread pools in her gut, until finally --

“Oh, no,” Brea says, her voice a hoarse whisper. She’s all alone, in the Mystic’s Archive -- candlelight glints off of the Crystal shard, the one she found in the shattered Dual Glaive, the same one described in the texts and diagrams before her. She’s found half a dozen scrolls so far, all written at different times, but all telling her the same terrible truth. 

It’s a truth she’s known for a while now, though she refused to believe it. Mother Aughra told her, after the battle at Stone-in-the-Wood, but she didn’t listen, she didn’t want to listen. They have the Crystal shard, and Deet’s going to learn how to cleanse the Darkening, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, because they’ve come here too soon. 

They have all the parts and pieces, but there’s a darkness festering inside them now, and a scar splashed across Brea’s stomach that reminds her they don’t have time to wait.

Mother Aughra was right -- they can’t heal the Crystal of Truth.

They’re all going to die.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

INTERLUDE

-+-

Onica had never seen anything like the monsters that tore through Stone-in-the-Wood, not even in her far-dreaming. They were unnatural, dead long before the Gelfling pierced their armor with swords -- yet still they moved, carrying captured Gelfling away, back to the castle, and leaving the dead and wounded where they lay. The siege had lasted until dawn, and started up again that night, and the next.

The Resistance did not break, but it did fracture. They had no choice but to retreat, to fortify, to formulate a new plan of attack. The clans scattered -- to the south, to the west, or all the way north, to the Silver Sea. 

That was two days ago. Now, Onica is sitting in the belly of her boat, in the bay just north of Ha’Rar, and she is not alone.

It’s dark, save for the light of a single candle. If she closes her eyes, she can feel the rocking of the ship in the ocean’s gentle waves -- and she can hear something, a skittering, a shuffling, the soft clicks of tiny feet against the wood planks.

Onica keeps her eyes shut tight, and she counts the seconds.

She senses motion -- something’s crawling across the carved wooden table, bolted to the floor in the corner of the room -- and so she moves, quick and sure. She slams an upturned glass jar down on the tabletop faster than the spy -- the spider -- can react, trapping it inside. Onica’s heart hammers in her chest as she bends down to the spider’s eye level, keeping her hands firmly on the jar, holding it in place.

“Who are you?” Onica asks, her voice steady, her tone sharp. The Arathim had abandoned their alliance almost as quickly as they joined it, and in their place those horrible monsters had appeared. So, what was one of their Threaders doing on her boat?

The spider raises one of its front legs, and taps on the glass, and then, it speaks. 

“Onica,” says the voice, and it’s muffled, beneath the glass, but it’s still familiar, and her heart aches. “I can explain.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

FOURTEEN

-+-

There’s a knock at the door, and a quiet voice in the dark.

“How is she?” Gurjin asks, his voice a whisper. Every morning, he asks the same question, and every morning, he sounds a little less hopeful, a little more resigned.

Every morning, Naia has the same answer. “Still sleeping,” she says, and every time she says it, she sounds a little less certain, a little more fearful. Every morning for two unum she’s sat at her mother’s bedside, her hands glowing blue with healing magic. In the first Garthim attack on Stone-in-the-Wood, Maudra Laesid had taken a blow to the head that should have killed her, but instead only left her sleeping.

On the outside, her wound has long since healed, leaving only a bumpy scar in its place, but still she has not woken -- despite Naia’s efforts, and the efforts of the rest of the Drenchen healers. Some mornings, Eliona sits at her side, her younger sister helping her to heal their mother, but today, she’s here alone -- except for her mother, still sleeping, and Gurjin, at the door.

Gurjin leans against the doorframe a moment longer before pushing off with a sigh, and coming to sit at Naia’s side. This part’s routine by now, too, so she doesn’t argue, doesn’t fuss as he wraps gentle fingers around her wrist, and turns her arm over. He hisses in a breath, just like he does every morning, but this time it’s a little sharper, and she knows why.

“Naia,” he says, his tone a warning.

“I know,” she sighs. His fingers trace the swirling lines the Darkening left behind, but she can scarcely feel it -- all she can feel below her elbow is cold. They risked everything to save their friend -- to have a chance to save the world -- and this is the price. “Don’t say it.”

He tightens his grip. “It’s getting worse.”

“I thought I told you not to say it,” Naia chides. Finally, she tears her eyes away from her mother to look at Gurjin. She finds she can’t handle the plain fear and remorse she sees there, so she looks down at the ruin of her arm instead.

The Darkening doesn’t have any power over her, she is wholly herself, but the effects are still terrible. Naia’s arm has taken on a faint glow, and purple veins writhe under her skin -- just the way Deet looked, when she was lost to the Darkening. The scar itself has gone black -- it looks dead, necrotic, like the flesh is rotting away. It hurts, if she allows herself to think about it, and it’s always cold.

Out of the three of them, Naia is faring the worst. Her scar and Gurjin’s started off as mirror image twins, but his is not much changed from the night he got it -- only a few inky tendrils are visible as the Darkening starts to spread within him. Kylan’s has spread further than Gurjin’s, but he’s nowhere near as bad off as Naia. She imagines it’s the magic, that’s doing them in. Kylan is sparing with his magic, but Naia is using hers faithfully, every morning, and she has no intention to stop.

“We have to go back,” Gurjin says, shaking Naia from her thoughts. “Deet’s had plenty of time to practice, I’m sure she can do something. We’ll only be gone a few days, there are other healers. Eliona--”

“--Isn’t serving as the Drenchen Maudra,” Naia responds swiftly. She tugs her arm out of Gurjin’s grasp. “I won’t leave our mother, and I won’t leave our people. Don’t ask me to choose, Gurjin. You already know my answer.”

Gurjin sighs, and slumps back in his chair. “I know, Naia. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?” Naia asks, quickly changing the subject. She assigned him to the morning shift just so she could try and avoid this daily argument. So far, that strategy hasn't worked. When Gurjin only grumbles, Naia rolls her eyes. “Here you are, pestering me, leaving our borders undefended.”

“I think our borders are pretty well defended,” Gurjin mutters. When Naia only glares, he heaves a long suffering sigh and pushes himself out of his chair. “Fine. Fine! I’m going.” He stomps his feet all the way out of the room and down the hall. Naia stays, until the first sun’s light streams through the window, casting her sleeping mother’s face in a gentle glow -- and then she leaves, to greet the morning, and all the people depending on her to get them through another day.

-+-

Brea stares up at the shelves lining the walls of the Archive, and sighs. 

For the past two unum, she’s practically lived in here, yet she’s barely scratched the surface of the knowledge it contains. The stacks of books and scrolls that she has read looks pitiful compared to how many texts she still has to study. It’s not just the sheer amount of material that’s the problem -- many of the Mystics' writings are cryptic at best, and absolutely incomprehensible at worst. Some of them are in languages that she can’t even begin to decode -- including the text in front of her. She’s been puzzling over it for hours, and has made very little progress.

“Brea?” 

The princess turns towards the voice, and blinks at the burst of sunlight streaming in through the open archway. It’s morning, which means she’s worked straight through the night, again. There’s a figure backlit in the doorframe -- Deet, looking around the room curiously, a tray in her hands. 

“Oh, there you are!” Deet says, stepping through the doorway and hurrying towards Brea. “I hope you’re hungry! Hup made breakfast!”

“I’m starving,” Brea admits, rolling the scroll back up, and then marking her place in her journal. She does her best to clear the table, but in the end mostly just shoves piles of books and scrolls to the side, making room enough for Deet to set her tray down. 

“I thought you might be,” Deet says. She passes Brea a plate and a cup  -- eggs and roasted vegetables, with sweet fruit juice. Knowing that Hup made it is a relief. The Mystics have always been kind and shared their food, but it’s nothing like what Gelfling normally eat, and Brea still hasn’t gotten used to it. “You didn’t join us for dinner last night.”

“I must have lost track of time,” Brea says, counting back the hours in her head. Was she really in here reading that long without a break? It was so easy to lose herself in the scrolls and in her notes -- especially considering the stakes. She’s been working on a solution, a way to work around the prophecy that has effectively doomed her and her friends. She has to get it right.

Deet hums thoughtfully, and for a few minutes the girls eat in companionable silence. Brea takes advantage of the quiet to run the math on a few of her theories. 

“What have you been reading?” Deet asks, her voice snapping her out of her calculations. Brea focuses in time to see Deet peering at a half-unrolled scroll left on the table. Deet’s fingers trace an image scrawled in the margins -- the three suns, all in a line. The Great Conjunction.

“Prophecies, mostly,” Brea says, and Deet nods to herself. “I know we have the missing shard, and you have your powers, but I’m afraid healing the Crystal is going to be a little more… complicated,” Brea admits. It’s as close to the truth as she’s willing to get. She decided early on not to tell the others until she had a concrete solution -- but maybe Deet can help her get there. Brea runs another calculation, and then decides to just jump in. “Deet, you know about these things, right?”

“I suppose,” Deet says, pushing the scroll aside and returning to her breakfast. She waves her free hand at the stacks of scrolls and books and says, “I’m sure you know more than me about all of this.”

“No, I mean you know things,” Brea says, insistent. “Things that other people don’t know.”

“Maybe?” Deet shrugs, but her smile is faltering, and Brea knows she can’t -- shouldn’t -- press much further. “I don’t mean to. It just happens.”

“I know, Deet.” Brea sighs, and decides to drop the subject. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you,” she adds, but Deet’s smile is already back in place. She chatters happily about her plans for the day -- she has lessons with urSu, and is going on a walk with Rian after that, and then she’s helping Hup with dinner. Brea smiles back and nods in all the right places, but the gears in her mind are still turning.

She’s not sure what she expected. Trying to talk to Deet about her visions is about as practical as talking to a wall -- or a Mystic. At best, she gets cryptic half-answers, at worst, she ends up more confused than she started. Deet’s not trying to be unhelpful -- as far as Brea can tell, the random bouts of infinite knowledge are fleeting, and Deet doesn’t seem to hold on to the thoughts as they come. Pushing the subject only upsets her, and her friends have learned not to question it.

Brea can’t help but wonder -- is it that Deet can’t remember her visions, or that she won’t? Either way, it doesn’t matter, and once again Brea has more questions than she started with.

-+-

It’s not often that the Garthim venture down to the Sog, and those that do, well...they don’t last very long.

“Looks like you’ve got that handled,” Gurjin comments, standing back as Lore rains stone fists down on the lone Garthim that was stupid enough to wander this far south. The Garthim they’ve been seeing these past few unum aren’t as flimsy as the ones they encountered on their journey to the Mystic Valley. Still, while Gurjin’s sword isn’t as effective against these newer incarnations of Garthim, it doesn’t seem to make a difference to Lore. The stone guardian destroys them ruthlessly and efficiently. 

As soon as the foul beast stops twitching, Lore straightens up, and surveys their surroundings before settling down, back into his sentry mode. 

“I am so glad you’re on our side,” Gurjin says, thumping Lore on one stone arm. When he'd left the Valley with Naia and Kylan, Brea had sent Lore with them. As far as Gurjin could tell, the princess had asked Lore to do what Naia said. Naia had set him up as a line of defense for the Sog, and that’s where he’s stayed ever since.

Gurjin surveys the Garthim as it twitches once more, and then falls still. Within moments, it will decay, made of things long since dead -- made of the fallen Arathim. The Gelfling still don’t know exactly what happened -- but there hasn’t been a sign of a single Arathim since the Garthim first started appearing.

It’s unusual to see one this far south. With Sami Thicket razed and the Sog well defended -- thanks to Lore -- there wasn’t much use for the Garthim below the Dark Woods. The forest, meanwhile, was said to be crawling with them, and they’d heard that the other remaining Gelfling stronghold, up in Ha’Rar, was constantly defending against them. 

They’d been lucky -- Lore could take down a couple of Garthim with ease, but even he would be overwhelmed by an army of them. Gurjin’s not sure why the SkekSis haven’t raided the Sog yet. Maybe they had enough Gelfling already in their cages, maybe they were satisfied for now that the Resistance was fractured. Maybe they hoped that this long, slow siege would be enough to wear the Gelfling down. It was practically suicide to venture outside of the few strongholds they had left -- the Drenchen and the Grottan down in the Sog, and Vapra and Spriton up north, in Ha’Rar. They hadn’t heard from the Dousan, out across the desert. The couriers -- a force made mostly of the All-Maudra’s paladins -- had yet to make it across the sands to deliver any messages. And the Sifa and Stonewood were even further away, sailing the Silver Seas, presumably as safe from the SkekSis as anyone could hope to be.

The rest of Gurjin’s shift is uneventful. Around mid-day, another soldier relieves him from his patrol -- he bids farewell to Lore, and starts his trek back home. He’s halfway back to the Great Smerth when he runs into Kylan, sitting cross-legged at the base of an ape-knot tree, bent over the open journal in his lap.

Kylan’s so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t realize he’s not alone. Gurjin takes advantage of the moment to sit back and watch. Kylan’s working with a quill and ink, rather than dream-etching -- just like with Naia, using magic only speeds up the destructive force of the Darkening he took on to save Deet.

Gurjin shifts, purposefully snapping a branch with his foot to make himself known. Kylan tenses at the sound and snaps to attention, but relaxes as soon as he sees who it is. “Gurjin,” he says, letting out a relieved breath. “How was your patrol?”

“Nothing too exciting. Watched Lore pulverize a Garthim.” Gurjin shrugs, adjusting the strap of his pack.

Kylan frowns, setting aside his quill and ink, and then closing his journal. “A Garthim? This far south?” He has a look on his face that Gurjin instantly recognizes -- Kylan’s considering, once again, the odds of them all dying violently today, or tomorrow, or the day after that, and he’s wondering what they can do to try and stop it.

“It’s extremely dead, Kylan, don’t worry about it,” Gurjin reassures him, dropping down to sit beside him at the base of the tree. “None of those things are getting in here, not with Lore standing guard. You know they don’t stand a chance against him.”

“Alright, but how many do you think Lore can handle at once?” Kylan wonders, anxiety twisting up his face, even as he presses his journal tight against his chest. “He’s only one person.”

“A person made of rocks, Kylan, it’s not like they can hurt him.”

“They could hurt you,” Kylan insists, and something in his voice tugs at Gurjin’s heart. Almost as soon as he speaks, Kylan turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but Gurjin’s eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Gurjin says, his tone soft, bumping Kylan’s shoulder gently with his own. “I’ll be fine.”

Kylan hums, clearly still unhappy, but he lets it drop. “I should send word to Ha’Rar,” he says thoughtfully. “They’ll want to know that we’re seeing Garthim again, and I should check if they’ve had any more their way.”

Gurjin sighs in frustration -- when Kylan says send word, he’s talking about a dream-stitched message -- the kind he’s sent up to Ha’Rar, or their friends in the Valley. More magic. “You’re as bad as Naia,” he complains, reaching out and running his thumb along the scar, trailing from Kylan’s cheekbone to his chin, right along his jawline. The Darkening left a mark like a fracture, like cracks in his skin -- he doesn’t look as bad off as Naia -- a low bar to pass, considering her arm looks ready to rot right off -- but the scar is still black and starting to look necrotic, purple veins spreading up his cheek and down his neck. The sight of it hurts Gurjin more than scar on his own arm ever has. “If you two won’t come back to the Valley, I’ll go up there and get Deet, bring her to you.”

“She’d be here, if she could,” Kylan reminds him as Gurjin drops his hand. “Her family is here, and we’re here. When she’s finished training, she’ll come back to us.”

Us, Kylan says, and what he means is, all of us. Kylan and Naia and Gurjin and everyone else here in the Sog. If things were just a little different, us would mean something else. 

Gurjin likes to think he would have acted on this tension between the two of them by now -- he tried to, right before they left the Valley, before everything went sideways. He could try again, except -- except there’s a war on, except his mother has been lying still and silent for weeks, except they’re all of them dying -- bit by bit losing a slow siege of their own as the Darkening festers within them. Most days, he thinks about acting on it anyway. Kylan feels the same as him, Gurjin’s sure of it -- and he’s just as sure that Kylan will go to his grave without ever saying a word about it. It’ll be up to Gurjin, to make the first move.

“Kylan?” he asks, and Kylan looks up, his eyes wide and locked on Gurjin’s. There are a million things he wants to say, and he doesn’t say a single one of them. Instead he says, “You know, we never did finish those swimming lessons.”

“Oh, well.” Kylan blinks, taken aback. “That’s alright, I’m sure you’re very busy--”

“--You’ve been in the Sog for two unum-- ”

“--And I haven’t needed to swim yet,” Kylan interrupts, even as Gurjin jumps to his feet, and tugs Kylan up with him. “Why learn now, when I -- you’re ignoring me, me, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Gurjin says cheerfully, slinging an arm across his shoulders, and leading him home.

-+-

There are some things that Deet just knows.

She knows there is a farmer, taking refuge with her wife and children in Ha’Rar. She doesn’t know her name, but she knows her favorite color -- yellow, soft and warm, like the tall grass in the rolling prairies of the Spriton Plains she had to leave behind. She knows which page a harried librarian marked in the book sitting on his bedside table. She knows that one day, many trine from now, a Gelfling will walk the winding canyons of the Mystic Valley, lonely but not alone, while another roams the sprawling forest, singing to all the trees and creatures, at peace with the world around her.

Deet knew the Rian would kiss her, for the first time, that night before the bonfire, under a clear sky full of stars. She knows he will kiss her, for the last time, a lifetime from now, in their cozy home on a long winter’s night, when they are old and gray and ready for sleep, at the end of a beautiful life.

She doesn’t know how, or why, she knows these things, and she does her best not to think about them. Deet learned early on that if she tries to hold on to the thoughts too tightly, they evaporate, and slip right from her grasp. Instead she does her best not to worry -- she has the thought, and she lets it go, and waits patiently to see what happens next.

Some days, it’s easy to let the thoughts slip away -- urSu’s been teaching her to meditate, to clear her mind, and it helps. Other days, she can’t even concentrate -- too distracted by whispering voices, memories that aren’t hers, and haven’t even happened yet. There’s one in particular, right here in the Mystic Valley -- some nights she can’t even sleep, listening for his footsteps pattering on the canyon floor. 

There’s a ghost in this Valley, and he’s haunting her.

“Well, not a ghost,” Deet explains, with a sigh. It’s one of the bad days, she can barely even hear herself think, and urSu had finally taken pity on her and called for a break. Now, the two of them are sitting on the smooth rocks just outside urSu’s chambers -- she feels a little better, now that she’s not trapped inside. “He’s not dead -- I don’t even think he’s born yet. It’s more like--”

“--An echo?” urSu suggests, and Deet nods emphatically. The Mystic hums quietly, and Deet is patient as he collects his thoughts. Finally, he speaks again. “As I understand it, Deethra, you are seeing these things because you have experienced them.”

“I haven’t though,” Deet argues, frowning as she takes in urSu’s words. “I can’t experience things that haven’t happened yet -- or things that happened to someone else.”

“I believe that somehow, you did.” urSu sighs, and folds two of his hands in his lap. “Perhaps it comes from the Sanctuary Tree, or your time lost in the Darkening. I do not know the reason -- but somehow, you experienced everything, all at once. It is too much for your mind to hold, but sometimes…”

“...Sometimes, the memories slip through,” Deet says, nodding in understanding. Everything all at once, she thinks -- she ought to be terrified, but she’s not. It is what it is, there’s no use being afraid of it. “Maybe that’s why he’s so familiar,” she says, half to herself. “The ghost, I mean,” she adds, and urSu nods. “I feel like I know him.”

urSu hums, and looks out across the canyon. He looks sad, Deet thinks -- he always looks sad, but this is something different. “I think we should conclude our lessons for this morning. Perhaps some meditation will help you clear your mind?”

“Oh, alright,” Deet says, only a little disappointed. She needs to keep honing her skills, to help her friends, and all the creatures of Thra, but she can’t do that if her mind is busy. urSu pats her gently on the shoulder before heading back inside, and Deet closes her eyes, and lets her thoughts wander.

-+-

For the second time in a week, Brea knocks Rian flat on his back. Just as quickly, she extends a hand to help him up. 

“Nice one,” Rian says, sheathing his sword and dusting himself off. “You’re getting better.”

“Thanks! So are you,” Brea says, returning the compliment with an easy grin.

Rian nods. He feels better -- after two unum of rest and recovery here in the Valley of the Mystics, he finally feels like himself again. He’d kept himself going through the chaos of the first few days -- getting Deet back, saying goodbye to their friends -- on sheer willpower alone. He’d crashed, after that, and over the next week and a half he’d been feverish, and spent more time sleeping than he did awake. It was an awful, hazy time, and he was glad when it was over.

As soon as his fever had broken, and he stopped falling asleep every time he got halfway comfortable, he started putting himself through simple exercises to build up his energy and stamina. From there, he started taking short hikes through the canyon and surrounding Valley, pushing himself to go a little further every day.

Sparring had been Brea’s idea -- she’d seen Rian practicing with his sword down in the basin of the canyon, and asked if he would teach her. For someone without any combat training, she had proven to be a quick study. What had started as a way for Rian to regain the strength he lost -- and a way to get Brea out of her library for at least an hour every day -- quickly turned into something they both looked forward to every afternoon. On top of that, Brea was turning into a formidable fighter. She’d come a long way in such a short time, and so had Rian.

The pair quickly and quietly packs up for the afternoon. It isn’t until they’re heading back up the spiraling walkways that Brea speaks again. “Have you told Deet yet? That you’re planning to go south?”

“No,” Rian admits, a little hesitant. “I’m sure she knows. You know how she’s been, ever since…” he trails off. Neither of them quite know how to talk about Deet’s sudden, inexplicable knowledge. As for the others, Hup refused to acknowledge there was anything going on, and Deet didn’t like talking about it -- at least not to them. Rian had no idea what she talked about with urSu, during her long hours of training.

“Rian." Brea stops in her tracks and fixes him with a serious look. “You still have to talk to her. She deserves to hear it from you.”

“I know.” Rian heaves a sigh, his shoulders slumping. Things between him and Deet have been perfect. He’s happy when they’re together, in a way he didn’t think he could be again. Their relationship had clicked into place so easily, like they were made for each other, like they were meant to be together, and now he was planning to leave. There was no point in waiting around here any longer -- he had promised Gurjin he would stay until he recovered, and now he has. It’s time for him to go south, and join his friends in the Sog, and find out what he can do to help their fractured Resistance. “I’m not leaving her, I’m just...leaving.” 

“I understand that,” Brea says patiently. “And she will, too -- if you talk to her.” 

“I will,” Rian promises. “I’m meeting her after her lessons today, there’s something I needed to show her. I’ll tell her, after that.” Brea nods, satisfied, and Rian presses on to his next question. “I know Deet has to stay, to finish her training, but have you thought any more about coming with me?”

“I’ve thought about it.” Brea sighs. “All this time, and I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface of the information in the Archive. And what I have found --” She trails off and shakes her head. “You know, this would all be a lot easier if the Mystics would just answer my questions. Sometimes I think --” She cuts herself off with a frown, and shakes her head.

Rian pauses. “What is it?”

Brea glances around -- none of the Mystics are nearby, no one listening in. “Sometimes I feel like they don’t want us to fight the SkekSis.” When Rian opens his mouth to argue, she presses on. “I don’t mean it like that -- it’s more like...it’s like they don’t think we can. Do you remember what Mother Aughra said, after the battle at Stone-in-the-Wood?”

“She said that we can’t heal the Crystal,” Rian says, thinking back to that night, stumbling into an argument between Brea and Mother Aughra, in the middle of gathering his friends to try and save Deet from the Darkening. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

“She said that we can’t heal the Crystal. That some other Gelfling is going to do it.” Brea looks around again, but they’re still alone. “You’ve seen that room they keep. It’s set up for a Gelfling, but no one’s ever lived in it. They’re waiting for someone.”

“Who?” Rian asks. He knows the room Brea’s talking about -- he’s found Deet in there before, sitting on the bed, silent and staring straight ahead. She wakes up when he touches her shoulder, and doesn’t acknowledge that anything strange is going on at all. She might know who the room is meant for, but the knowledge isn’t something that she can just access at will, on a deeper plane than where the rest of her mind lives -- and if she does know, she isn’t telling.

Brea reaches out and gently taps Rian’s chest, right over his scar from the Darkening. Deet has healed them both once already, siphoned some of the necrotic energy festering in their essence, but there is a fragment buried in them all that will never be gone, not until the Crystal is healed for good. Eventually, it will kill them, and there won’t be anything Deet can do about it. 

“Whoever they are,” Brea says, her expression grim. “We can’t wait on them forever.” 

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

FIFTEEN

-+-

Rian finds Deet in her usual spot -- sitting with her legs crossed on a smooth, flat rock just outside urSu’s chambers. She’s deep in meditation -- her eyes are closed, her expression is peaceful, her hands are folded in her lap. Rian’s never tried it himself, but from what he understands, meditation is just the act of clearing your mind, letting the thoughts float away as soon as you’ve had them. He suspects that what Deet does is something else, something deeper. He doesn’t know where she goes, during these spells, but he knows she’s not here, with him, in this Valley -- at least, not really.

He doesn’t touch her, doesn’t try to wake her. He doesn’t have long to wait -- even though her mind is in the Dreamspace, or somewhere else entirely, she always knows when he comes to her. Only a moment passes before Deet’s face twitches, and she opens her eyes.

“Hello there,” Rian says. He smiles at her, and Deet smiles back. “How were your lessons?” He glances over her shoulder, and sees a shape through the hanging curtain of vines that must be urSu, going about his day. The Mystic Master rarely leaves his chamber -- few of the Mystics break from their routines at all, even with three Gelfling and one Podling living among them.

“They were good,” Deet says, raising her arms and stretching -- Rian has no idea how long she’s been sitting here, she’ll do it for hours if no one stops her. “We finished a little early.”

“Oh,” Rian says. Deet doesn’t talk much about what goes on during her lessons, so he has no idea if that’s normal. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Deet assures him, and Rian nods to himself, relieved, and then he remembers what he came here for.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Rian reaches down, and offers her his hand. “How do you feel about getting some extra practice?”

Deet takes his hand and lets him help her up, and then she frowns, reaching for his chest. “Why? Does it hurt? I can--”

“No, it’s not -- it’s not that.” Rian catches her hand, intercepting her, and squeezes it, and lets their interlaced hands hang at their sides. “I found something on my walk this morning. I think you can help.”

Deet squeezes his hand again, and her frown shifts to a look of determination. “Of course I’ll help. Show me.”

-+-

Kylan had options, after the Resistance fractured. Sami Thicket was gone, razed to the ground, but he could have gone to Ha’Rar with the other Spritons, or sailed away with the Sifa and the remaining Stonewood. If he’d wanted to, he could have crossed the sands and joined the Dousan at their wellspring, and started his life all over again. Instead, he followed Gurjin and Naia all the way south, to the Sog.

He wasn’t the only newcomer to the Drenchen clan. The Caves of Grot were still overrun by Darkened Nurlocs -- Deet had healed one, but couldn’t heal them all. Instead, the tiny Grottan clan came south, too, and made their new homes in the swamp. Drenchen families put them up, welcoming them in their hour of need -- in a time of such fear and tragedy, it was a relief to see the Gelfling united, the old rivalries set aside.

Kylan finds himself living with Naia and Gurjin’s family, in their home in the Great Smerth, an ancient tree that spreads its roots all throughout the swamp. The home is crowded, not just with people but with love and warmth -- though a cloud hangs over them all. Maudra Laesid still lies sleeping, not yet recovered from her injuries. Bellanji -- Laesid’s husband, and the twin’s father, is happy to take in not only Kylan, but Deet’s family as well. Deet’s fathers help Bellanji take care of the house, while little Bobb’n follows Eliona and Pemma -- Laesid’s youngest daughters -- everywhere they go. Kylan isn’t sure what he contributes -- he just tries to find a balance between being helpful and being in the way. 

Despite living with them, Kylan doesn’t see much of his friends. Naia is busy from the time the suns rise until after well after they set. She tries dutifully to heal her mother, and throws herself into her work as the Drenchen’s acting Maudra. Gurjin is often on patrol, out with Lore on the borders of the swamp, on alert for the Garthim. He and Kylan do spend time together -- as friends. 

Neither of them has breathed a word about the night of the bonfire, and the kiss they might have almost shared. There are plenty of explanations -- they’d both had plenty to drink, maybe Gurjin doesn’t remember, or didn’t really mean it, and anyway, Gurjin’s family needs him right now, more than Kylan does.

For now, Kylan’s just grateful to spend time with him at all, whatever shape or form that takes. Unfortunately, Gurjin’s idea of a good time doesn’t always align with his.

“Come on,” Gurjin wheedles, treading water as he stares up at Kylan, who has feet firmly planted on the boardwalk, and has no intention of budging. After his patrol, Gurjin had spouted some nonsense about swimming lessons, and dragged Kylan away. They’d picked up a few tagalongs on the way -- Gurjin’s youngest sister, Pemma, and Deet’s little brother Bobb’n.

“No, thank you,” Kylan says, still holding his ground. “I’m just fine up here.”

“Look, even little Bobb’n is in the water!” Gurjin waves an arm at the childling, shrieking in either glee or terror as he haphazardly paddles around in the swamp.

“Only because you threw him in,” Pemma points out. Gurjin splashes her, and she yelps, and then she launches herself at her older brother, practically clambering up on his shoulders to try and dunk him underwater. Bobb’n throws himself at the pair, the three of them laughing raucously as they tussle. For just a moment Kylan allows a tiny twinge of jealousy as he wonders what it would be like to have siblings, but he pushes the thought away. It isn’t something he can change, so it’s not worth thinking about.

As the three of them wrestle, Kylan finally sits down on the edge of the boardwalk. He’s already taken off his shoes, but now he rolls up his pant legs, and lets his feet dangle in the water. To him, it feels like a compromise. Eventually, Pemma and Bobb’n are able to dunk Gurjin underwater, or else he lets them, and Pemma swims closer to Kylan, resting her elbows on the boardwalk and grinning up at him. She says, “Come on, Kylan, you know you want to come in with us. Swimming is easy.”

“Easy for you, maybe.” Kylan feels obligated to remind her, “I know you can’t drown, but I certainly can. I don’t have gills.”

Gurjin’s still a few feet away, floating on his back, his arms behind his head. “Neither does Bobb’N.”

“Maybe don’t brag so much about throwing a childling in the swamp?” Kylan suggests lightly, and Pemma snorts.

“He’s fine, look how much fun he’s having,” Gurjin says, and then he looks one way, and then the other. “Wait, where did he go?” 

A moment later, Bobb’n pops up from underwater right at Gurjin’s elbow with a happy giggle. Gurjin shouts and curses, and Pemma bursts into laughter, and Kylan lets himself relax, and just enjoy the moment.

-+-

Life in the Mystic Valley is quiet and peaceful, and Deet and her friends quickly fall into a routine. They take most of their meals together -- except for times, like yesterday, when Brea forgets to eat. After breakfast, the four of them split up. Deet goes to her lessons with urSu. Brea loses herself in her Archive. Hup finds someone to help or hassle, depending on the Mystic. And Rian...goes out for a walk.

He’s not just enjoying the scenery, though Deet’s sure he does that too -- it would be impossible not to appreciate the beauty of the Valley. She knows he started walking as a way to build his strength and stamina back up after his injury, and that he pushes himself a little further each day. Sometimes he brings Deet back a trinket or token from his adventure, other days he’s found something he wants her to see, and brings her out to show her in the afternoon, after his sparring lessons with Brea. Usually it’s just something pretty or strange, something he thinks will bring a smile to her face.

The place Rian brings her today doesn’t make Deet smile -- it makes her worry, it makes her stomach twist with a sick fear. He brings her to a tree, not much more than a sapling, utterly ravaged by the Darkening. She feels it long before she sees it -- ever since her time lost to the Darkening, other affected creatures have called out to her, telling her how to find them. She wonders if they know what she can do, if they’re begging her to help.

This isn’t the first Darkened thing she’s seen since her time in the Darkening’s thrall. Three times now, the Mystics have brought her afflicted creatures from their borders along the Crystal Desert or the Dark Woods. Two she was able to save, but the third was too far gone. She’d managed to cleanse the Darkening from the poor beast, but it had already suffered too much, and passed shortly after. She had wept for hours that night, and the image of its still little body haunts her even now.

“Well?” Rian asks, shaking Deet from her memories. He’s standing beside her, and they’re a little way away from the sapling. He pitches his voice low, like he doesn’t want the rest of the trees to listen in. Deet wouldn’t put it past them. “Can you help?”

“I can try,” Deet says, nodding firmly. She resolutely pushes up her sleeves, and unwinds the bandage she keeps wrapped around her left hand. The scar across her palm glows an eerie purple in anticipation, reacting to the proximity of the Darkening. She can feel it, sometimes, when she touches Rian, or Brea, the thrum of the Darkening just under the surface. This is different, this is wilder. This tree is very, very sick -- but it’s not too late, not yet.

Deet wonders if maybe the tree called out to Rian, too, if that’s how he found it. Her friends can’t harness the Darkening the way Deet does, they’re only vessels for the fragments buried deep inside them, waiting, festering, spreading. Deet’s already practiced her powers on both of them, pulling some of the sickness from deep within them. Their scars remain -- Rian’s right over his heart, Brea’s across her stomach -- and the scars will remain, and so will the fraction of the Darkening they carry, until the Crystal is healed at last, and all of Thra along with it. They paid the price willingly, and there’s no going back on it now.

Bit by bit, the rest of the world fades away, as Deet focuses in on this task, and this moment. She doesn’t think about Rian, hovering just behind her, she doesn’t think about the sounds of life chattering in the trees, or the wind rustling through the canopy. She thinks about this tree, its bark peeling away in patches, revealing a thread of the Darkening’s energy, crawling up the trunk. She thinks about its brittle branches, the way its leaves are shriveled and black. She sits there in the rich, soft earth, and lays her left palm flat against the trunk, pressing her scar against the vein running through the tree, and presses her right palm into the earth beside her. She closes her eyes.

urSu has taught her many things, these past two unum. He’s taught her to direct the flow of energy, to pull it into herself. It hurts, it always hurts, but that’s her price to pay. This work is a fight, because to purify the Darkening she has to let it right into her very essence. urSu’s taught her, too, how to defend herself, how to keep the Darkening from taking root in her again, from overrunning her the way it did the first time, before she had any control over her abilities. It’s a fight, letting the Darkening in, but it’s a fight that she wins. She hasn’t just learned from urSu, she’s learned from experience, from the days she spent fighting tooth and nail to survive as the Darkening killed her from the inside out. If she can help it, she’ll never let the Darkening hurt anyone like that, ever again.

It’s impossible to keep track of time, while she’s working, but when she comes back into herself, and opens her eyes, she can sense Rian is still in exactly the same spot. He hasn’t moved an inch, so it can’t have been that long. She catches a glimpse of bright bright light -- purple, from her hand pressed to the tree, and white, from her hand pressed to the earth, and just as quickly, the light fades.

Deet blinks, feeling slowly but surely coming into her hands, her feet. She peers down and finds that a dozen pink flowers have bloomed around her hand, where a moment before the earth was barren. “Oh, look how pretty,” she coos, tracing the petals of one flower with a fingertip, before turning her attention back to the tree. The Darkening is gone, but the damage remains -- missing bark, brittle branches, blackened leaves crumpling to dust and drifting away.

“Will it be alright?” Rian asks, stepping closer to the tree and surveying the damage. Honestly, the tree still looks terrible -- it went through so much, but then again, so did Deet, and so did Rian, and here they are.

“I think so,” Deet says. She reaches out and pats the young tree’s trunk, to reassure it. “Now it’s free to grow.” She pushes herself back up to her feet, and dusts herself off. She reaches for Rian’s hand and laces their fingers together. “I’m glad you found it.”

“Me too,” Rian says, and Deet’s smile widens. He doesn’t say anything else, but she can read his face and knows exactly what he’s thinking. He’s glad that they beat back a little more of the Darkening, he’s glad that this tree will live to thrive and grow, he’s glad that Deet seems happy. 

She is happy, her heart light despite the heavy burden that hangs on her shoulders. The Sanctuary Tree gave her a wondrous gift, and a terrible task, and she’s going to do her very best to finish it.

But then, his expression flickers, and a dark look settles on his face. Deet frowns, and leans back, studying him. “What’s the matter?”

“Deet, I have to leave,” he says, and his words are gentle, like he’s been rehearsing this conversation, but he’s still not sure how she’ll react. “I need to go south, and go back to the Resistance.”

Deet hums a little, taking it in. She didn’t need visions to know this was coming, that their long peaceful days couldn’t last. It doesn’t make hearing it any easier. “Are you leaving tonight?”

“No,” Rian assures her, tightening his grip on her hand. “But, soon.”

“Well, then,” Deet says, tugging Rian a little closer. “What should we do with the rest of the our afternoon?”

Rian blinks, and looks confused, and then relieved, and then confused all over again. “You’re not upset?” he asks, looking at her curiously.

“I think,” Deet says, choosing her words carefully. Glimpses of possible futures and outcomes chase each other around in her mind, but she tries to quiet them, to focus on just this moment, and the path right before them. “It’s fallen on us to save everyone, and we all have a part to play. I love you, Rian, and I don’t want to be away from you,” she admits, and she doesn’t miss the blush in Rian’s cheeks, the adoration in his eyes, “but if you think you need to go south, then I trust you.” 

“I don’t want to be away from you, either,” Rian says, his voice full of emotion. “I love you, too, Deet. I’d spend every moment of every day with you, if I could.”

Deet rolls her eyes and flicks at his shoulder playfully. “Every moment of every day? I’m sure you’d get bored eventually.”

“Never,” Rian insists, his voice steady and sure, and Deet’s heart swells. She leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, and gets a flash of a thousand more moments to come, just like this one -- a lifetime of them -- and knows that she’ll never get tired of this, either.

“You know,” Deet says, her tone light. One hand is still holding Rian’s, and she lays the other flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath her palm. “We did good work today. Don’t you think we should celebrate?”

“Now that you mention it,” Rian says, a playful grin spreading across his face, as her reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I have a few ideas.”

-+-

Naia had always known that one day, she would take up her mother’s mantle as the Drenchen Maudra. As the eldest daughter, she’d been training for this her whole life. She never let herself think about why it would happen -- when she was younger, she thought her mother would one day retire, though she knows now that was a naive thought.

Her thoughts of the future hadn’t included an entire extra clan moving in to the Sog, or maintaining a fractured and fragmented resistance. She’d never thought that she’d lead in a time when Gelfling were facing annihilation at the hands of the very people who had sworn to guide and protect them. As a childling, she hadn’t given much thought to the SkekSis -- in the past, the Lords of the Crystal had been mostly disinterested in the Sog. Gurjin was the only Drenchen castle guard in recent memory, and Naia privately thought they only came and stole him away because they hadn’t heard anything from the Drenchen in a while, and wanted to remind them that they were still watching.

Those thoughts and dreams of her youth matter little now. What matters is keeping her people -- all of her people -- alive for just one more day, alive until they can figure out how to set things right. She feels like she’s biding her time, waiting for Deet’s powers to be strong enough to heal the Crystal. Of course, when that day comes, they’ll have to figure out how to get into the Castle to get her close enough. Naia has long since decided she won’t worry about the plan -- she’s a fighter, not a strategist. She’ll leave that to Kylan and Brea, and just let them point her and her weapons whatever direction they need.

It seemed that fighting was all they were doing anymore. It started two unum ago, and it hasn’t stopped since. The same night Naia and her friends fought the Garthim in a swamp, there were three more attacks -- on Stone-in-the-Wood, Ha’Rar, and Sami Thicket. Her party was lucky, and escaped with only one major injury among them, and Rian ended up alright in the end. If Lore had not shown up when he did, things would have turned out much worse.

The rest of the Gelfling didn’t have the protection of an ancient stone guardian. The Resistance gathered at Stone-in-the-Wood had casualties, but the strongest Gelfling warriors were gathered there, and they repelled the worst of it. Only caretakers and childlings were left behind in Ha’Rar and Sami Thicket. Ha’Rar took heavy losses, but the city was more fortified -- the buildings were stronger, and withstood the attacks. Sami Thicket was ravaged. Most of the survivors were childlings -- not because the Garthim showed them mercy, but because their caretakers sacrificed themselves to keep them safe. Gelfling were killed were they stood or carted off to the castle to be drained, leaving a city of orphans behind.

Sami Thicket was gone -- Kylan was silent as a ghost when they passed through and saw the demolished buildings, only rubble and ruin left behind. The Spriton weren’t the only clan left shattered -- Stonewood had fallen before the Resistance even formed, and the Grottans were exiled from their home. When the Resistance scattered and retreated, the survivors had to find new homes. The Spriton went north, and joined the survivors at Ha’Rar. The Stonewood went further still, and joined the Sifa on their boats, sailing the Silver Sea.

Naia is infinitely grateful that Kylan decided to come with them, and make the Sog his new home. Sometimes, she wonders what it would be like if she hadn’t met up with him, on the road to rescue Gurjin from the Castle of the Crystal. The two of them make an unlikely pair, but Naia is infinitely grateful to have him as a friend and ally, and she’s come to rely on his wise counsel in these trying times. 

She’s just left a meeting with the heads of the Drenchen families when Kylan finds her -- practically crashes into her, in fact --  just outside of their home in the Great Smerth.

“Naia, there you are, I’ve been looking for you,” Kylan says. He is absolutely soaked, little puddles of water forming on the boardwalk at his feet. “Something happened--”

“You fell in the swamp?” Naia asks, surveying Kylan as he wrings out his braids. Her friend looks utterly miserable. She focuses on that, instead of the steadily worsening mark on his face, the faint purple tendrils crawling down his neck and under the collar of his shirt. 

“No,” Kylan sniffs, moving on to try and wring out his tunic, but somehow having even less luck with that endeavor. “I was pushed.”

“Gurjin?” Naia guess, but Kylan shakes his head, flinging droplets of water everywhere. “The girls?”

“Bobb’n,” Kylan says, sounding betrayed, and Naia laughs. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Naia says, and then she slings an arm across his shoulder, and ushers him inside. “Come on, let’s get you dried off.” 

Kylan finds a towel and dries out his hair, and Naia sinks down in front of the hearth. She’s got nearly an hour before her next meeting, she can afford to just sit for a moment. She’s exhausted, from trying to heal her mother, from trying to keep her people alive for another day, from the fragment of the Darkening, poisoning her from the inside out. Gurjin’s right, she can’t keep going like this for much longer, but she can’t leave, and that’s all there is to it.

Eventually, Kylan gives up on his hair, and drops down to sit beside her at the hearth. Naia asks, “You said something happened?”

“Yes,” he says, hands outstretched to warm them in front of the fire. “Gurjin saw a Garthim on his patrol this morning. It’s dead, Lore took care of it,” Kylan hurries to add, reaching for Naia’s elbow when she moves to stand. “And I’ll send word north with the next courier. That’s all we can do for now.”

“It’s been weeks since any were spotted,” Naia says, gears in her mind turning as she thinks over the implications. The Garthim rarely venture this far south. Does this mean another wave of attacks will be starting soon? What will they do if they’re overrun? Will Lore really be enough to keep her people safe? Is she enough to keep her people safe?

Naia’s thoughts are interrupted by footsteps as Eliona bursts into the room, the door slamming open as she crashes through it. One look at her little sister’s face, wide eyed and panicked, and Naia is instantly on her feet, fearing the worst.

“Naia!” Eliona gasps, her chest heaving, “Come quick!”

“What happened?” Naia demands, already halfway across the room. She hears scrambling behind her as Kylan rushes to follow. “Is she--”

Eliona takes her by the hand and squeezes, and Naia suddenly understands the look in her sister’s eyes. It’s not fear, it’s not loss -- it’s joy, it’s relief. Eliona smiles now, her voice a reverent whisper as she says, “She’s awake.”

-+-

There are three quick knocks, catching Brea’s attention. She glances up from her journal to see Rian, peering through the arch into the Archive, his knuckles still rapping a pattern against the stone. There’s a dreamy expression on his face, and he looks light, not a care in the world. Brea briefly wonders what he and Deet have been up to, and then decides she doesn’t want to know.

“Deet sent me to fetch you,” Rian says, when he realizes that Brea’s seen him. “She didn’t want you missing dinner again.”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Brea says, and then she turns back to her journal, and grabs the pencil tucked behind her ear. “I need to finish these annotations, I’ll come down and grab something later.”

Rian shuffles into the Archive, glancing around at the piles of scrolls and books. “She said not to take no for an answer.”

“Really?” Brea says, and this time she does look back up, only so she can raise one eyebrow in disbelief. Rian shrugs, palms up, but he looks serious. Brea rolls her eyes, and closes her journal -- she is hungry, and could use some fresh air -- but she complains just for the sake of it. “For the record, I’m choosing to come with you. You can’t make me do anything. I outrank you.”

“You might be a princess,” Rian says, motioning for Brea to take the lead. She scoops up a couple of scrolls to bring with her, mostly to annoy him. “But I’m not a Vapran. You have no power over me.”

“That’s what you think,” Brea teases. She smacks him on the arm with a rolled up scroll, and then follows him out of the Archive and back home.

-+-

His mother’s room is crowded. Gurjin finds himself all the way back against the wall, beside Eliona. Bellanji stands at Laesid’s shoulder, and Naia sits in a chair at the bedside, and Pemma has crawled right up into the bed.

Gurjin’s heart swells with joy to see his mother sitting up, awake and talking. He’d run all the way here, as soon as he’d gotten the news, and arrived just in time to see his mother practically fighting to stand up and get back to work. It has taken the combined efforts of Naia and their father to get her to rest.

Now, she’s listening patiently as Naia recounts the events of the past two unum -- all of it, their journey to the Mystic Valley, healing Deet from the Darkening, the Garthim attacks, the fractured Resistance, welcoming the Grottans into the Sog, and the recent Garthim sightings. 

“Let me see,” Laesid says, when the story is done. She reaches for Naia’s wrist, and motions for Gurjin to come closer, too. He pulls up his sleeve and offers his arm. Laesid traces his scar first, and then lingers on Naia’s, examining the tendrils of the Darkening worming their way under her skin. “This other Gelfling -- your Spriton boy -- he has this same mark?”

“Yes,” Naia says, and then she quickly adds, “And he’s Gurjin’s Spriton boy, not mine.” 

“I’m not sure why that’s important,” Gurjin hedges, but his mother silences him with a glare -- Naia uses the same one on him, though it’s not quite as powerful. “But our other friend, Deet -- the one who’s back with the Mystics -- she’s learning how to heal this.”

“And she can heal the Crystal?” Laesid asks, glancing between her son and daughter. “If you can get her into the Castle?” Gurjin and Naia exchange a glance, and then nod. Laesid sighs, and fixes them both with a flat stare. “Then what in Thra’s name are you still doing here?”

“I --” Naia opens her mouth, and closes it, for once at a loss for words. “I had to be here, to take care of you, and our people.”

“And you did very well. You have done me proud, Naia,” Laesid says, resting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You have kept our clan safe, just as I knew you would, when your time came. But now,” she says, and her voice is stern, her expression serious. “Now it’s time for you to save everyone else.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

SIXTEEN

-+-

The Archive glows with the gentle light of flickering candles, but outside, the sky is dark. It’s not quite midday, but a storm rolled in overnight, and still hasn’t broken. For once, Brea’s not passing the long hours of study alone. Deet’s lessons have been cancelled for the morning, and she offered to help Brea in her day’s project -- finally reshelving the scrolls and texts that she’s finished sorting through.

Deet’s been quiet company -- she seems distracted, none of her usual happy chatter. She hovers near the bottom of Brea’s stepladder, passing up scrolls when Brea points to them, answering questions when they’re asked, but nothing beyond that. Brea bites her tongue, tamping down on her curiosity, and trusting that Deet will talk when she’s ready.

Slowly, the storm fades, until only a light drizzle remains. Nearly an hour passes in companionable silence, and then--

“Oh,” Deet says, suddenly. She tilts her head to the side, her shoulders getting tense, and her face goes blank. Brea’s seen her like this before -- usually Rian can snap her out of it, but Brea’s never had much luck. Deet’s somewhere else, right now, somewhere that Brea can’t reach.

She tries anyway, hopping down off of her ladder, one hand reaching for Deet’s shoulder. “Deet? Can you hear me?”

Brea lays a hand on Deet’s shoulder, and her friend blinks -- just like that, Deet seems to come back into herself. She’s still frowning, still looks distracted, but at least she seems aware of her surroundings. “I’m sorry, Brea,” Deet says, shaking her head. “I have to go.”

“You have to go?” Brea repeats, and then a moment later Deet is tipping an armload of scrolls into her hands and scrambling towards the door, practically tripping in her haste to get out. “Deet!” Brea calls after her, concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine!” Deet assures her, grabbing the door frame for support when she staggers. “I’ll be right back, I promise!”

And with that, she’s gone, ducking out into the rain, leaving Brea standing there, confused, her arms full of scrolls. Not even a minute later, Rian appears in the doorframe, tugging down his hood, and then peering outside after Deet’s retreating form.

“Was that Deet?” he asks, turning back to Brea, his expression a mix between concern and confusion. “I thought she had lessons?” Brea just shakes her head, still puzzling it out. “Should we go after her?”

“No,” Brea decides, a moment later. “She said she’s alright. Just leave her be.”

Rian’s frowning, unsure, but he sighs and shakes his head. “Looks like the rain is clearing up. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Brea says, letting out a breath, and trying to let go of her worries. “Let’s go.”

-+-

Compared to their first journey to the Mystic Valley, the trip north is rather uneventful. Gurjin, Naia, and Kylan set out the morning after Maudra Laesid wakes, leaving the Sog as the first sun rises. They travel light, even leaving Lore behind to defend the Sog — the lumbering, ancient guardian is a formidable fighter, sure, but a sentient pile of rocks isn’t exactly stealthy. They’ll need to be light on their feet to avoid the packs of Garthim said to be wandering the Dark Woods.

At a quick pace, they should have made it to the Valley in a little under two days. Unfortunately, a heavy storm rolls in halfway through the second day, pushing their journey into a third morning.

Things only get worse from there.

They hear the Garthim before they see it -- at first, just a rustling in the trees -- too big to be anything else, and moving with purpose right towards them -- a wall of skittering legs and deadly claws, built for one thing, and one thing only. And now that it’s caught sight of its prey, that’s it -- the Garthim won’t stop until it has them. 

“Run,” Gurjin says, before he’s even finished thinking it. They can’t fight, or at least, if they fight, they won’t win. “We have to run, right now.”

Kylan’s already on the same page, backpedaling, but Naia is hesitating, her feet dug in. Her bad arm is pressed into her chest, and in her other hand she has a tight grip on her dagger. She’s never liked running away from a fight, but this is different. Gurjin grabs her arm, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and tugs her with him.

“There’s only one,” she counters, even as she lets Gurjin lead her away. “We’ve killed them before.”

“Not this kind,” Gurjin says, shaking his head. He’s spent more time at the border than the others, and he’s the only one of them who’s faced the Scientist’s new and improved Garthim design. This is not one of the flimsy, hastily patched together beasts they fought two unum ago. The cracks in the armor have all been patched up, its rage and blood-lust intensified. Lore can still crush the beasts with practically no effort, but Lore isn’t here. It’s just the three of them, alone in the woods, with hours and miles and monsters between them and their destination.

Behind them, the Garthim howls, and there’s a crashing sound as it tears through the trees. It’s fast, and it’s heading straight for them. Kylan’s already running as Gurjin tugs at Naia again -- she twists out of his grasp but moves to jog beside him. Too late, Gurjin thinks, with a desperate glance over his shoulder. The Garthim is barreling forward, gathering speed, snarling and howling as it closes in — there’s no way they can outrun it. 

There’s no way all three of them can outrun it.

It’s not a conscious decision. Gurjin slows his pace, purposely falling a step behind Naia, and then another. He doesn’t let himself think about what will happen next, about what will happen once the Garthim catches up to him. Naia and Kylan will have a chance to get away. The rest doesn’t matter.

Naia glances back at him, just for a second, just long enough for realization to flash across her face, followed by a brief glimpse of fear, followed by a seething rage that settles across her features. She opens her mouth to speak, but Gurjin doesn’t get to hear what she has to say, because —

“—Over here!” The sudden shout is enough of a shock that Gurjin stumbles in surprise, and Naia skids to a halt. Kylan’s still ahead, but he starts to slow, to turn towards them, and that’s when the voice comes again. “Hurry! This way!”

Naia is fighting to catch her breath, but she manages to gasp, “Was that--?”

There’s another rustle in the treeline, but from ahead of them this time. It’s something smaller, not another Garthim, but --

“Deet!” Gurjin says, taking in the sight of his friend -- her pale hair frizzy and out of order, her eyes wide and dark. He’s relieved, and then he remembers the beast that’s chasing them, and he takes a halting step towards her,  “Deet, we have to go, there’s—“

“I know, come on!” Deet says, and then she’s gone, right back into the brush, calling over her shoulder, “Hurry, they won’t follow!”

Gurjin hesitates for only a second before pushing through the brambles, with Naia and Kylan right at his heels, following Deet further into the forest.

-+-

It was a stroke of luck that urSu had cancelled their lessons that morning, Deet thinks, as her friends collapse on the edge of a stream, finally out of reach of the deadly Garthim. Not that it had felt lucky at the time — the ghost had been driving her mad for two days now. His footsteps echoed in the canyon, louder than the thunder, louder than the rain. She laid awake for hours at night as they echoed off the walls, and caught herself drumming the rhythm when her fingers were still. 

urSu had taken one look at her this morning, frazzled and restless, and sent her away. Deet had sought sanctuary with Brea and her Archive. The repetition and simple tasks kept her hands occupied, and her pounding heartbeat was finally calming when she saw it — a figure, just out of reach, darting out of the Archive and into the fading storm. Deet didn’t even think about it, she just knew she had to follow.

She’s glad that she did. The ghost was finally quiet, and her friends were safe, if a little weary and winded after their close call.

“See,” Deet says, grinning widely as her friends catch their breath. Gurjin is learning forward, hands braced on his knees, Naia is sitting cross-legged on the sandy bank, and Kylan is splayed out on his back, just breathing. “I told you they wouldn’t follow us.”

Sure enough, the Garthim had only chased them to the edge of the stream. As soon as they’d waded across, it had hesitated on the opposite bank, letting out one last, unholy wail before giving up and scuttling off.

“Is it looking for another way across?” Naia asks, pushing herself to her feet, and glancing between Deet and the place where the woods just swallowed the Garthim back up. She’s holding her arm close to her chest, but even from here Deet catches a glimpse of dark tendrils of energy, glowing through the bandages binding her wrist. Gurjin’s mark is still subtle, just a flash of purple on the inseam of his wrist. Kylan’s scar is noticeably worse than Gurjin’s, trailing from his cheek up to his temple, and stretching down to his neck. The wound is starting to turn black, and something in Deet’s chest twists with the knowledge that they are suffering, for her. 

Deet realizes that Naia is still waiting for an answer, and shakes her head. Gurjin stands up a little straighter, but Kylan makes no move to get up, still lying on the bank with his eyes closed. Deet explains, “They don’t come into the Valley. I don’t think they can get near the Mystics, since hurting them means hurting their masters.” 

“Good.” Naia gives a satisfied nod. “In that case,” she says, and then she stalks forward, planting her good hand on Gurjin’s chest, and shoving him, hard.

“Hey!” Gurjin shouts in surprise, even as he stumbles, nearly tripping over Kylan’s prone form, and barely keeping his footing. Kylan yelps and rolls out of the way, scrambling to his feet as Gurjin asks, “What was that for?”

“What do you think?” Naia demands, shoving at her brother again. Gurjin throws up a hand in defense, but makes no other move to stop Naia’s assault, a look of grief clouding his features. “You would have let that thing kill you! What were you thinking?”

“Maybe this isn’t the best time,” Kylan hedges, glancing nervously between the twins, but neither one is listening to him. Deet reaches for his wrist and tugs him back to stand beside her as Naia lunges forward once more.

“Naia, stop, I just — I was trying to keep you safe,” Gurjin argues, doing his best to stay out of Naia’s range, but she keeps closing the distance between them, footsteps crunching in the rocky soil at the water’s edge. Her closed fist collides with his chest, two quick strikes, before Gurjin catches her wrist and she stills. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is hollow, his breathing ragged, his eyes fixed on Naia’s face. “But I’d do it again, Naia. For my Maudra. For my sister.”

Naia takes a sharp breath, and seems to lose her balance. She crumples, and Gurjin sinks with her, steady hands keeping her mostly upright as she slumps on the banks of the stream. Gurjin’s eyes are wide and frantic as he looks up and locks eyes with Deet, a silent plea for help.

Deet moves without realizing, dropping to her knees beside the twins. “May I see?” she asks, and Naia nods. She’s clearly dazed, her eyes unfocused as Deet quickly unwinds the bandage from around her arm, and reveals the extent of the damage. Deet feels the wave of necrotic energy even before she sees the wound -- Naia’s swooping, spiraling scar has turned black, and it looks like the magic is rotting right through her. Purple tendrils throb and pulse beneath her skin, overtaking her veins, traveling from her fingertips all the way up above her elbow. Her skin is like ice under Deet’s careful touch. “Oh,” Deet says, doing her best to keep her tone light. Beside her own battle with the Darkening, Naia’s infection is the worst she’s seen.

“Oh?” Gurjin echoes, and his panic is nearly as strong as the dark energy pulsating from Naia’s wound. Wordlessly, Kylan moves to stand beside him, one hand fluttering down to rest on his shoulder. “That sounds bad.”

“It is bad,” Deet says, frowning as she traces the swirling, arching lines of Naia’s scar with her free hand. She feels a swoop of that same darkness within her, a memory of those long days, lost and alone. “But I think I can help.” 

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

SEVENTEEN

-+-

Two unum ago, Gurjin sat in a clearing just like this one. They were on the outskirts of Stone-in-the-Wood, and Deet was still gripped by the Darkening. That night, Naia tried her best to heal Deet, but it was no use -- Naia’s magic was meant for healing wounds, and mending injuries, not for cleansing dark forces. The powers that held Deet were too strong for her to break.

But now, on the banks of a stream just beyond the Mystic Valley, the roles are reversed. Naia is quiet and slumped against her brother’s side, her afflicted arm outstretched and resting in Deet’s careful grasp. Kylan stands nearby, wringing his hands and anxiously watching their surroundings, all of them half-fearful the Garthim will return. 

Gurjin has questions and concerns -- Is this safe? Did they wait too long? -- but he trusts Deet, so he bites his tongue as she closes her eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

At first, it seems like nothing is happening. The girls are both sitting very still, their knees brushing, their breathing slow and even. Kylan’s grip on his shoulder tightens, just a fraction, as they wait. It feels like the forest is waiting, too. It’s unsettling, Gurjin thinks, how quiet the world has gone, like they’re encased in a wall of silence, just the four of them, and the gently flowing stream, and the trees looming overhead. The silence stretches on for a minute, and another, and another, and then --

Gurjin jumps in alarm as Deet sucks in a harsh, ragged breath. Her eyes snap open -- not dark and curious, but shimmering, glimmering, violet. It’s a harsh and sudden reminder of the time Deet spent lost to the Darkening, their tense and harried journey to the Valley. It’s awful, seeing her like that again, so he tears his gaze away from Deet’s face and down to her hands -- an eerie purple glow radiates just beneath the surface, her grip tight on Naia’s Darkened arm.

Slowly, so slowly, the tendrils under Naia’s skin retract, shrinking back into the mark on her arm as Deet siphons the Darkening away. Naia’s scar lightens -- no longer black and necrotic, but bright violet, shining like Deet’s eyes, like the energy pulsing around her fists. 

Time passes -- maybe a minute, maybe an hour, the measurement feels irrelevant compared to the strange and ancient magic happening here. Eventually, Deet lets go of Naia’s arm and pulls back. The second she breaks contact, Naia seems to shake out of her stupor, blinking awake but still leaning against Gurjin, as Deet lurches to her feet, swaying.

“Deet?” Kylan asks, taking a hesitant step forward, but Gurjin reaches up and grabs him by the wrist. Deet’s hands are still glowing, and he can see the purple tendrils writhing under her skin now, snaking up her arms. Her eyes are still open wide, and shining.

“I don’t think we should touch her,” Gurjin warns, keeping his voice low. Kylan freezes, looking conflicted, but then he nods.

Another moment passes in tense silence, and Gurjin can’t help the swell of fear in his chest. As far as they know, Deet’s spent the past two unum honing this power, learning from the Mystics. She wouldn’t have offered to heal Naia all on her own if it wasn’t something she could handle...would she?

Deet takes one more deep breath, and closes her eyes. When she opens them the purple glow is gone, replaced by a brilliant white light. When Gurjin saw the Crystal, it was corrupted, but he imagines this is the color it’s meant to be. The violet tendrils beneath Deet’s skin wither away, and her hands glow again, this time with that same, pure white. She takes a lurching step forward, past Naia and Gurjin, past Kylan, all the way to the edge of the clearing, and presses the palms of her hands to the trunk of the nearest tree.

The change happens faster than Gurjin’s mind can truly process. First, the tree is static, silent, still, and then -- it flickers, flipping through seasons, one after another. Green buds grow and swell and burst, soft pink flowers blooming from them faster than he can blink. The petals fall, and the leaves turn yellow, orange, red, and then they wither, and then they, too, tumble to the ground. And then, the cycle repeats, again, and again, and again.

It only lasts a moment, but it feels like a tiny eternity before the wind whispers through the branches overhead, showering the four of them in one last burst of soft pink petals and crisp autumn leaves. Just like that, it’s over. Deet releases a breath, barely more than a sigh, and sinks to the forest floor.

Time seems to catch back up to them, all at once. The trees rustle in the breeze, the canopy is filled with the sounds of chattering life. Kylan moves towards Deet, but Gurjin stays with Naia. His sister still seems a little dazed, a little disoriented, as Gurjin takes her arm in both of his and examines it. The purple tendrils have retreated, just barely visible around the edges of her scar, which is a faint purple once more. It’s a marked improvement, looking worlds better than it had been, but still a little worse than the night they took in the Darkening. It’s a grim reminder of what they’ve known all along -- they’re playing a losing game. Deet can prolong their lives, but the Darkening will always keep spreading. Unless they can heal the Crystal and cleanse Thra of this poison for good, eventually, it will kill them all.

“Naia?” Gurjin calls, carefully letting her arm drop back into her lap. Maybe it can’t be fully healed, maybe things won’t ever go back to the way they were -- but it’s better than it was, and he’ll take it. “Hey, are you with me?”

Naia blinks, her eyes clearing and locking on to his. She looks down at her arm, and runs her free hand along the faint purple scar. Already, the glow is fading. “I’m fine. Deet?”

“I’m alright,” Deet says, though she sounds a little faint. Gurjin looks up to see Kylan crouched beside her, a hand on her shoulder. She’s leaning just a little into the touch, probably grateful for the support. Her eyes are her own, wide and dark, if a little tired, and her skin is clear of the Darkening’s poison veins. “Just haven’t done that much all at once, is all.”

“We can rest here a bit,” Kylan offers, glancing over at the twins, but Deet is shaking her head.

“Really, I’m alright,” she insists. She lifts one hand towards Kylan’s face, her fingertips brushing the scar crawling across his jawline. “I still need to help you and Gurjin,” she says, her voice still quiet, but a little more sure.

Kylan just frowns, and catches her hand in his own, guiding it back down to her lap. “That can wait,” he says.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Gurjin chimes in, settling to sit a little more comfortable beside Naia in the grass. “Naia’s arm was practically falling off, but we can wait a while.”

“Are you sure?” Deet sounds unconvinced, and it’s clear she only has eyes for Kylan and his scar. “I know it’s hurting you.”

Kylan squirms uncomfortably, but Naia doesn’t even flinch. Gurjin thinks of all the times the two of them insisted that it didn’t hurt, that they couldn’t feel a thing. The worst Gurjin’s scar ever did was itch, but he didn’t have any magic. He figured they were lying to him, and now Kylan’s guilty expression finally confirms it. Before he can open his mouth and start another argument, Naia elbows him, and changes the subject.

“Is it always like this?” Naia asks, sitting up a little straighter, and motioning to the leaves and petals scattered all around them. Gurjin looks up into the branches of the tree above them -- from the ground, he can’t tell if it looks any taller, or any older, or if it has changed at all.

“Like what?” Deet asks, and then she seems to notice their surroundings for the first time. She scoops up a handful of pink petals, her face breaking into a gentle smile as she examines them. “Oh, that’s nice!” she says, and then she opens her fingers, and lets the petals flutter back to the ground. “I’m not really sure. Usually I just make things grow.”

“How does it work?” Gurjin asks, his curiosity piqued. He understood Drenchen healing magic, and he’d learned a little of Kylan’s, but this was entirely new.

Deet frowns a little, and seems to be searching for the words. “The Darkening kills everything it touches,” she says, with another glance up at Kylan’s scar. “I can’t make the Darkening go away, not without healing the Crystal, but I can change it into something new.”

“Life?” Kylan guesses, and Deet nods, another smile stealing across her features. Kylan hesitates, and then asks, “What do you think will grow, when you heal the Crystal?”

“Oh, wow,” Deet says, her eyes going even wider. “That’s a very good question.” She hums a little to herself, and ticks something off on her fingers, counting. “A tree, I think,” she finally says, her expression dreamy as she tilts her head back, staring up into the canopy. “Just like this one, with flowers in the spring. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

For a moment, Gurjin can almost see it, a great white tree erupting through the roof of the castle, with a crown of pink petals and a crystal for a heart. But it’s such a fragile hope, so he keeps it to himself, afraid to jinx it. Instead, he clears his throat, and finds his voice, and simply says, “Yeah. I think that’d be nice.”

-+-

For the third time in a week, Brea knocks Rian flat on his back. Somewhere up above, along the spiraling walkway that leads down into the basin of the canyon, someone whistles, and claps. Probably Hup, Rian thinks to himself -- watching Rian lose sparring matches has quickly become the Podling’s favorite sport. But then --

“Finish him!” Gurjin calls, and Rian leaps to his feet, not even bothering to dust himself off, and stares up at his friends in surprise.

“Rian, Brea!” Deet calls, her hands cupped around her mouth as she leans over the edge. “Look who I found!” Beside her, Kylan gives a little wave as the twins start down the path, and Rian is moving without even realizing it.

“Gurjin!” Rian starts, practically colliding with the other boy at the base of the path, but the rest of his words are muffled as his best friend crushes him in a fierce hug. They’d gotten messages, of course, but a dream-stitched memory was shallow compared to finally seeing his friends in the flesh.

“It is so good to see you,” Gurjin says, finally releasing Rian, only to hold him at arm's length, his hands on his shoulders as he glances him over. “How are you? You look better,” he assesses, nodding in obvious relief.

“I’m fine,” Rian says, and he means it -- seeing his friends again lifts a weight from his shoulders. There’s so much to be done, and so much stacked against them, but at least they’re together again. “I was about to head south and join you, why are you --” Rian stops, mid sentence, suddenly remembering why his friends had left the Valley in the first place. 

“Your mother,” Brea asks quietly, beating Rian to the question as she sheathes her sword and joins the reunion. “Is she --?”

“She’s going to be alright,” Naia says, stepping up beside her brother just as Gurjin steps away, swooping Brea up into a hug, the princess’s somber expression dissolving into surprised laughter as he lifts her off her feet. “She woke a few days ago.”

“Practically threw us out of the Sog,” Gurjin adds, setting Brea back down, his grin wide and wild. “So we figured we’d come back up here, see what you all were doing, now that Naia’s been demoted.”

“I wasn’t demoted,” Naia cuts in swiftly. “My service was no longer required.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Gurjin asks, but Naia just rolls her eyes, and clasps hands with Brea.

“That was very satisfying,” she says, tilting her head towards Rian and nodding her approval. “Someone’s been practicing.” Brea beams at the praise, and Naia turns to Rian, jabbing him lightly in the old wound in his side, long since scarred over. “I was wrong, before,” she says, as Rian bats her hand away. “You’re not a bad teacher, Kylan’s just a bad student.”

“That’s unfair,” Kylan complains, finally joining the group, but there’s no heat behind his words. He hugs Brea, and then Rian, and then steps back in time for Gurjin to hug them both again. “It’s probably best you stayed put, Rian, the trip up here was...eventful.”

“Eventful?” Rian repeats, scanning his friends for injuries or signs of battle, as Deet sidles up to him, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Kylan’s scar from the Darkening is impossible to miss, far worse than Brea’s or his own, but other than that the trio only looks travel-weary. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Why don’t we all sit down?” Deet suggests, her tone light, a spring in her step as she tugs Rian back towards the center of the basin, and the rest of their friends follow. “We have a lot to talk about.”

-+-

“I have to show you something,” Brea says later, wrapping her fingers around Kylan’s wrist and tugging him away from the group. The others are distracted -- Gurjin’s promised presents, and is digging around in his pack excitedly. “Come with me.”

They’d spent the afternoon in a loose circle down in the bottom of the basin, trading dreamfasts and stories of the past two unum. Hup had joined them before long, and one of the Mystic brought them tea and odd little sandwiches. It was the best afternoon Kylan’s had in quite a while -- soon everyone was brought up to speed, and after that they just talked, and enjoyed each other’s company.

Now, Brea leads him out of the basin, and through the winding paths of the canyon, all the way to a room he’s seen only once before -- the Mystics’ Archive.

“Brea?” Kylan asks as he follows her inside, and gets his first glimpse of the surroundings. “Are you...do you live in here?”

Brea hums noncommittally, and shifts aside a pile of unrolled scrolls, depositing them on...yes, Kylan thinks to himself, that definitely looks like a bed. Rian had mentioned something about sparring to get Brea out of her room. Kylan’s starting to see what he meant by that. “I know it’s around here somewhere,” she mutters, presumably to herself, as she flips a scroll over, and then upside down. 

As Brea searches, Kylan wanders away to give her room to look, and to better examine the Archive for himself. The place seems transformed since he last set foot in here, that sunny afternoon two unum ago. What was once a neat and orderly place has slipped into a barely controlled chaos. Scrolls and books seem to have exploded right off the shelves, and are arranged into tottering, wobbling piles. He supposes Brea must have a system, but it’s not easily recognizable, and Kylan usually has a mind for these sorts of things. And beyond that, even with as many scrolls as Brea has clearly worked her way through, the room is still packed with shelves, floor to ceiling, full to bursting with more texts that she doesn’t seem to have touched.

Brea’s still digging through piles and muttering under her breath, so maybe her system isn’t working so well for her, either. Kylan would help if he could begin to make heads or tails of it.

“What’s this stack?” he asks, examining a pile of tightly wound scrolls closest to the exit, not shelved, and possibly not even touched.

“New arrivals,” Brea says, sounding exasperated, and not looking up. “Every day, urAc brings more. As if there isn’t already enough in here for me to read.” She makes a triumphant noise, a scroll clutched tight in her hands, and moves towards Kylan. “Nothing he’s brought has been useful, so I stopped reading them -- I think he’s just trying to keep me busy.”

Kylan blinks, confused, because what she’s implying doesn’t quite track. “Keep you busy?” he asks carefully. “Why? I thought the Mystics have been helping us?”

“They have,” Brea agrees, frowning thoughtfully. “I don’t mean it like that, Rian took it the wrong way, too. Here, let me just -- do you remember this?” She presses the scroll into his hands, and Kylan unfurls it.

“When single shines the triple sun,” he reads aloud -- it’s a moment before he can place the memory, but then it clicks. He read the same line when he and Brea first came to the Archive, two unum ago. “This is that scroll I found last time.”

“No, it’s not,” Brea says, her eyes alight, her face intense, the pursuit of knowledge sparking something in her. For maybe the first time since he’s known her, Kylan sees Brea entirely in her element. “I’ve found references to this same passage dozens of times.” She starts digging through another pile as she talks, no longer looking at Kylan. “And that’s just in the texts I’ve made it through so far. It took them a thousand trine to write all this. Even if I stayed in here for the rest of my life, I’d barely scratch the surface.”

Kylan reads through the scroll, and then rereads it. Something in him aches every time he reads the words. “What is this?”

“It’s a prophecy,” Brea says, and she’s flipping through her journal now, this one filled with her own neat handwriting. “It’s the answer to everything. Healing the Crystal, restoring balance to Thra, all of it. Here, look.”

She opens to another page and points out a drawing. It’s done in her own hand, but he takes it to be a faithful copy from a scroll or text somewhere in this very room. It shows a figure, holding the Crystal shard, and the Crystal itself, made whole again.

“What was sundered and undone,” Kylan murmurs, reading through the text again. “The Crystal?”

“Or the Mystics and the SkekSis. Probably both,” Brea says, and Kylan nods in agreement. “If we can heal the Crystal, they’ll be united again.”

Kylan points to the first part of the prophecy, the line about the triple suns. “The suns will line up? When?”

Brea sighs, and seems to weigh her words carefully. “They’ve written a lot about that, too. They call it the Great Conjunction. The last time the suns lined up is when the Crystal was split. Apparently it can only be healed when the suns all shine as one again."

“When?” Kylan presses. It sounds like such a long shot, to time things so perfectly that they’re at the Castle, ready to heal the Crystal at exactly the right moment -- but aren’t prophecies meant to come true? “How long do we have?”

“Too long,” Brea says, and she shifts, uncomfortable. Her eyes are fixed on Kylan’s scar from the Darkening, and he forces himself to hold her gaze. “Longer than we can afford to wait.” She breaks off, and looks down at her journal before continuing. “There’s someone else -- another gelfling, they don’t write much about him, but I know they’re waiting for him. He’s the one the Mystics think will heal the Crystal, not us.” She pauses, and that excited light has faded completely from her eyes, her expression solemn. “We’re dying, Kylan. I know you feel it too.”

Kylan nods, once, because she’s right. If he lets himself, he can feel the icy chill crawling across his skin, the drain on his very essence. He does his best not to think about it, but late at night the fear will crowd all the other thoughts from his mind, and it’s all he can do to just breathe. They knew the price when they decided to pay it, and he doesn’t regret it, not one bit. A chance to save Deet, to save everyone, was more than worth the risk. He made the right choice, but he’s still afraid.

“Is that it, then?” he asks, finally finding his voice once more. “There’s nothing we can do?”

“Well, now,” Brea says, and for the first time since she brought him to the Archive, her lips twitch into a smile. “I didn’t say that.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

EIGHTEEN

-+-

Rian runs careful fingers across the front of his gift. It’s a wooden shield, carved with a symbol Deet’s seen before -- at the Circle of the Suns, and again and again in her visions -- the Aureyal, to represent unity between the seven Gelfling clans. It suits him, Deet thinks, nodding a little to herself as Rian says, “It’s beautiful, Gurjin. Thank you.”

Gurjin shrugs, closing up his pack and pushing it aside. “Eh, I didn’t do much, only had it commissioned. And the symbol was Naia’s idea.” Deet gets a flash of a scene she couldn’t possibly remember, of five Gelfling gathered around a table. They’re staring at a symbol none of them yet understood, that one of them wouldn’t live long enough to understand. Deet shakes her head, and tries to focus on the present moment.

“You can thank us by not getting stabbed again,” Naia suggests, her tone on the line between teasing and scolding. Rian winces, then flashes an apologetic smile. Deet hides a grin as Hup sneaks up on Rian from behind, his own gift raised high above his head -- a ladle, nearly as tall as the Podling himself.

“I’ll do my best,” Rian concedes, dipping his head. It’s lucky timing, as he seems to catch Hup moving in the corner of his eye. He raises his new shield at the very last second, just quick enough to parry the blow. There’s a loud crack as spoon meets shield, and Rian says, “Nice try, Hup.”

“Stand! Fight!” Hup challenges, whacking at the shield with his spoon once more. “SkekSis scum!”

“Why do I always have to be the SkekSis?” Rian complains. Whack. Whack. “Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he finally relents, pushing himself to his feet with a laugh.

“Hold on, Hup,” Naia calls, rising as well. “I can’t let you fight the SkekSis all alone, now can I?”

Hup cheers, and Rian looks a little nervous as Naia moves to join them on the other side of the basin, leaving Deet and Gurjin alone beside the Mystics’ strange standing stones. Deet takes a moment to examine her own gift a little more closely, she had been so preoccupied with Rian’s before. It’s a gray stone, small enough to close in her fist, and perfectly smooth. There’s a tiny round hole near the top that allows it to hang from a thin leather cord. Just like Rian’s shield, it’s carved with the Aureyal.

“It’s not just a necklace,” Gurjin says, and Deet glances back up at him. “There’s a little more to it than that, but I better let Kylan tell you that part.” He pauses for a moment, considering, and then adds, “Bobb’n helped, too. He picked out the stone.”

“Thank you for looking out for him,” Deet says, emotion rising up in her chest at the thought of her little brother. She misses him, and her fathers, fiercely, but she knows she’ll see them again, when this is all over. They have so many happy moments yet to come, and that, she thinks, is worth a little loneliness.

“He’s a good kid,” Gurjin tells her, and Deet beams with pride. “Took right to life in the Sog -- learned to swim in about a minute.”

“He did?” Deet asks, grin widening. Gurjin nods, and then reaches out, offering his hand. Deet takes it, and lets the dreamfast wash over her. She sees Bobb’n, happily paddling about in the warm, slow waters of the Sog, surrounded by people who care for him. It loosens something that's been wound tight in her chest, seeing him like that -- carefree, and safe, and loved.

The dreamfast fades, over as quickly as it had begun, but Deet keeps hold of Gurjin’s hand. Gently, she turns his wrist over, revealing his scar from the Darkening. Deet doesn’t say anything, just glances up and meets Gurjin’s eyes, trusting him to understand what she’s asking. Gurjin frowns, but nods, once, and Deet runs her thumb down his wrist, tracing the spiraling pattern of his scar.

Gurjin’s infection is nowhere near the level of Naia’s, but it has begun to spread. Still, Deet knows, with that same sick jolt that comes with every other unwanted flash of knowledge, that the Darkening won’t be what kills Gurjin, not in any of the possible timelines. Deet takes a breath and lets that thought drift away, refusing to follow the thread any further, and gets to work.

-+-

“Alright, can you just--?” Rian’s voice is muffled, his face buried in his hands. He sounds as exhausted as Naia feels. “Say the whole thing again, one more time.”

Brea sighs, and clears her throat, before reciting the Mystics’ Prophecy once more.

“When single shines the triple sun,

What was sundered and undone

Shall be whole, the two made one,

By Gelfling hand, or else by none.”

The first sun sinks below the horizon as she finishes. Their group has gathered at the site of the bonfire they held that fateful night, two unum ago. It seems fitting to come back now for this discussion. The Resistance is hanging on by a thread, and a grim deadline hovers over them all. It seems that it's up to the seven of them to decide what happens next.

It was Brea’s idea to move the conversation somewhere a little more private, after she and Kylan had rejoined the others. Naia hadn’t missed the way Brea kept her eyes trained on the Mystics circling the walkways up above them, so she’d gone along without question or complaint. Privately, Naia didn’t see the point of trying to keep secrets -- weren't the Mystics supposed to know everything? Wasn’t that what had led them to this standstill?

“I don’t see why any of this matters,” Gurjin says, breaking the silence that’s fallen over the group after hearing the Prophecy once more. He gestures vaguely to Brea’s journal, open to a drawing of Thra’s suns, all in a neat row. Brea had called it the Great Conjunction, and it was apparently the answer to everything, and a death sentence for Naia and her friends. “The Prophecy says the Crystal can only be healed by a Gelfling, and we all are -- well, most of us,” he amends, with a nod to Hup, before continuing. “We have the missing shard. We have Deet, and she has magic powers.” He counts his points on his fingers, one, two, three. “I say we get to the Castle, put the Crystal back together, and let Deet do her thing. Who cares if the suns are are lined up?”

“The Mystics seem to care about it,” Brea reminds him. “They’ve written about it dozens of times.”

“Maybe Mystics wrong,” Hup offers, and Gurjin nods in agreement.

“Maybe they are,” Brea concedes. “Or maybe we fail on a technicality, because we’re missing that one line from the Prophecy. Do you really want to take that chance?”

“I’m not dying on account of some stupid poem,” Naia says, arms folded across her chest. On Gurjin’s other side, Kylan coughs, a poor attempt to hide a hollow laugh. 

Gurjin rubs at his temples. “What I’m saying is, we’re just accepting this Prophecy as the truth, because -- why? Because the Mystics can see the future? Is it guaranteed to come true?”

“They can see a future,” Deet chimes in. She has a lap full of yellow blossoms, that had bloomed after she’d siphoned the Darkening away from Kylan. This whole time, she’s been deftly weaving a flower crown, and not contributing much to the conversation at all. “But it’s not the only future. Prophets don't know everything.”

“Right,” Gurjin says, though a frown creeps across his features, a mixture of confusion and concern as he asks, “That was you agreeing with me, right, Deet?”

Deet doesn’t respond, she only hums, already refocused on her work. Gurjin glances at Naia, who only shakes her head. Neither of them had known Deet for very long before her brush with the Darkening, but it’s plain that she’s been acting strangely since they brought her back. That very morning, she’d saved the three of them from the Garthim, seconds before Gurjin had done something incredibly stupid -- but afterwards, she was unable, or unwilling, to explain how she’d known to come and find them in the first place, no matter how hard Naia had pressed.

Silence falls over the group once more. The seven of them have been having this argument -- this conversation -- all afternoon, rehashing the same ideas over and over, without getting anywhere. They could talk in circles for as long as they wanted, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this Great Conjunction was supposedly the only chance to heal the Crystal, and it wouldn’t come until many trine from now -- at least twenty, according to Brea’s calculations. With the Darkening coursing through them, none of them would survive that long. Not to mention, Mother Aughra herself had told them that a different Gelfling was destined to heal the Crystal -- a Gelfling the Mystics had been preparing for all along.

The answer is right in front of them, but no one wants to say it. Naia says it anyway. “I don’t think it’s meant to be us.”

“No,” Kylan agrees. “I don’t think so.” His hands are folded in his lap, his expression downcast. The scar on his face has faded somewhat, thanks to Deet. Now, it shines only with a dim purple light, though the tendrils creep down towards his chin. “But, Brea’s plan could work.”

“Mirrors?” Naia says, her voice flat, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “Is that really what we’re going with?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Brea cuts in, sounding ruffled. “Don’t say it that way. Mirrors? Like we’re just going to waltz around the castle, setting mirrors everywhere.”

Rian reaches for Brea’s journal, flipping a few pages to a diagram of the Castle of the Crystal, and holding it up. “That is exactly what you said we’re going to do. I trust you,” he adds quickly, raising his hands in defense when Brea rounds on him. “You’re the smartest person I know, Brea, and if you think this will work, I’ll follow you. I’m just saying what it sounds like.”

“I know how it sounds,” Brea says, swiping her journal back from Rian, and skimming through it herself. Naia catches a glimpse, and sees row after row of numbers and equations. It doesn’t mean a thing to Naia, but clearly Brea’s put in the work. She’s patiently talked them through her plan twice already -- rather than waiting around for the real thing, they’d manufacture their own Great Conjunction, using a series of mirrors to manipulate the suns’ light. Brea sighs, and continues, “The truth is, I’ve worked at this from every angle, and this is the best I can come up with. And honestly, we can’t afford to wait around for the real Great Conjunction, and neither can anyone else. The SkekSis are draining Gelfling every day -- how many of us will even be left by then?”

Across the circle, Deet makes an unhappy sound. Her busy hands fall still, and her eyes go wide, staring at something in the distance. Rian reaches out, and lays a gentle hand on her knee. “If we wait, how many Gelfling will be left?” he asks, his voice low, his attention wholly focused on Deet.

Deet breathes in, and she breathes out, and the rest of them wait in silent anticipation. She takes a flower in one hand, and with the other she twists the petals off, one by one. They tumble to the sandy ground, and all the while Deet doesn’t blink, the nectar staining her fingers. She shreds one flower, and then another, and is ready to start on a third before Rian reaches for her hands, tangling their fingers together.

“Deet?” Hup calls, tugging at her sleeve, but Deet doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Talk to us, Deet,” Rian says, clearly worried. “Please?”

“Two,” Deet finally says. Her voice is a hoarse whisper, nearly lost on the desert breeze. “Only two.”

“Alright,” Rian says, his voice hollow. He leans back, but he doesn’t let go of Deet’s hands. His shoulders slump, but he nods, and seems to resolve himself. “I suppose it’s not much of a choice after all, is it?”

“No,” Brea agrees. She’s clutching her journal so hard her knuckles have gone white, and her eyes are fixed on Deet. “I suppose not.”

“How does she know that?” Naia asks, once she’s found her voice again. It feels like the world’s gone sideways, like the very ground has crumbled beneath her feet, as she tries to imagine the near annihilation of her people. “Deet, how do you know that?”

“I don’t mean to,” Deet says. Her voice is small, but her eyes are a little more focused. She keeps a tight hold on Rian with one hand, and with the other she brushes Hup’s shoulder. “I don’t want to. It’s because of what happened to me, I think. I just know things, sometimes.”

“What kind of things?” Kylan asks carefully, earning a sigh from Deet, and a glare from Hup, ever defensive of his dear friend.

“Things that happened a long time ago,” Deet tells them. “Things that will happen someday, or might happen someday, or could have happened -- it’s all very confusing,” she admits, and this time, when she blinks, her eyes are completely clear, and she’s fully present once more. When she speaks, she sounds serious, and so unlike her usual cheerful demeanor. “I know the Prophecy has to come true. We can’t just ignore it. If we try to heal the Crystal anyway, even with my powers -- I’ve seen it,” Deet says. Her voice goes cold, and she pulls her hands back only to hunch in on herself. “It won’t work, and the SkekSis catch us. They drag us to the chairs, and strap us in, one by one.”

No one moves, no one speaks. Naia’s not even sure that anyone’s breathing as Deet goes on, each word more terrible than the one before it.

“They make you go last, Rian,” Deet finally finishes, looking him right in the eyes. “They make you watch.”

“Stop,” Kylan says, sharp enough that Naia jolts out of her shocked state, and turns towards him, only to realize that Gurjin has gone grey, his hands balled into fists, his breathing ragged. Naia reaches for her brother instinctively.

“Oh, Gurjin,” Deet whispers, mournful and guilty. “I’m so sorry.”

Kylan’s got one hand on Gurjin’s shoulder, and the other folded around his clenched fist, rubbing circles in the back of his hand with his thumb. Slowly, slowly, Gurjin relaxes, escaping from the onslaught of memories Naia glimpsed once before.

“Sorry,” Gurjin finally manages, his breath a shaky exhale.

“Don’t apologize,” Naia tells him, as gentle as she can, despite the rage swirling in her chest. She thinks of the what the SkekSis did to her brother, the scars they left behind. She thinks Brea can do what she likes with her mirrors, just as long as Naia gets inside that castle. She wants to tear it apart, brick by brick.

“Will, uh.” Gurjin takes another deep breath. He glances down, seems to finally register Kylan’s touch, and relaxes even further, though he’s clearly still rattled. “Will that happen, if we do Brea’s thing?”

“Brea’s plan will work,” Deet says. She uncurls herself a little, and her voice sounds sure, and Gurjin nods.

“What about the Prophecy?” Kylan presses. “You said it has to come true.”

“Technically, my plan does still follow the Prophecy,” Brea points out. “As long as we can get all the angles and measurements just right, and we get three beams of light hitting the Crystal in the same place, at the same time -- that still fulfills that first line.”

“That’s cheating, right?” Naia feels obligated to point it out. “It sounds like cheating.”

“Only a little bit,” Brea insists. “And we’ll have to make up for it -- without the real Great Conjunction to power it, Deet will have to heal the Crystal all on her own.”

Once again, all eyes turn to Deet. “I can do it,” Deet says, even more confident now. “I’ve been practicing, and I'm ready.”

“Well, alright then,” Rian says, with a sigh. “What do you need to make this plan work, Brea?”

Brea pauses, thinking it over, and then she says, “It would help if we could visit Mother Aughra’s Orrery.” She taps the cover of her journal, still pressed tightly to her chest. “I’d like to double check some of these equations, and they don’t have the equipment here. If I don’t get this exactly right--”

“We get the picture,” Naia says, cutting her off with a grimace. “I think we can make that happen.”

-+-

Deet lies awake for hours that night, long after her friends have fallen asleep. For once, it’s not the ghost keeping her awake, but her own guilty conscience. In the morning, they will hammer out the final details of their plan, and then head north. For now, Deet rises, careful not to wake the others, and sneaks away.

She’s not surprised to find urSu waiting for her. He’s sitting on one of the smooth, flat stones outside of his cavern, and Deet takes her usual spot on the stone across from him. How many mornings have the two of them sat like this as urSu coached her, teaching her to harness her strange new powers? How many nights has she sat by his side, counting the stars, listening to the low rumble of his voice as he tells her their names, and the stories behind each and every constellation?

“We’re leaving,” Deet says, twisting her hands in her lap. “I’m sure you already knew that, but I thought -- I thought I should tell you myself. After everything you’ve done for me, I thought I owed you that much.”

urSu hums, that same low, rumbling sound. “You do not owe me anything,” he tells her. Deet studies the swirling lines of his face, committing them to memory as best she can. “Tell me, what is on your mind?”

“Do you remember the first time we talked about my visions?” Deet says, all in a rush. She can’t help but feel the press of time all around her, and is suddenly afraid of it running out. “And I said how I didn’t want to tell my friends very much about it? Because knowing the future is kind of terrible, sometimes, and I don’t want them to feel sad, or scared?”

urSu nods. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them what’s going to happen to the Gelfling,” Deet confesses, staring down into her lap. “I told them how almost all of our people die, if we wait for the Prophecy to come true.” She tries not to see them, the last two Gelfling, and all the others that will die waiting for the Crystal to be healed. She tries to let the thoughts float away, but it’s so hard, sometimes, and it’s been getting harder every day. “And I told them what happens if we don’t follow the Prophecy at all -- but Brea’s got a plan for that, and I know it can work. I’ve seen it.” And she has -- the visions of that path, of that beautiful, possible future, are the only things that make the bad thoughts bearable. 

“I see.” Deet risks a glance at urSu, only to see him nod thoughtfully. “And what didn’t you tell them?”

Deet pauses this time, the words sour in her mouth. “I didn’t tell them that if we try Brea’s plan, and we fail, that the Crystal will never be healed. That everyone, everything will die. Thra will be lost.”

“Why didn’t you tell them that?” urSu asks. He doesn’t sound accusatory, just curious, and wondering.

“Because...because they’d do the right thing, if they knew,” Deet whispers. “Because they’d wait, and waste away, instead of risking everything. I didn’t tell them because I want them to try -- I need them to try. Is that wrong?”

“No, Deethra,” urSu says, shaking his head, his voice impossibly gentle. “You want to live. You want your friends to live, and all the rest of your people. There is nothing wrong with that.”

“But, what about all the other creatures of Thra?” Deet insists, not quite understanding how urSu can be so calm in the face of this. She didn’t expect him to be angry, but on some level, she’d hoped he would be. “What about you? You’ll never be whole again. You’ll never go home.”

urSu hums again. “We are the ones who caused this pain. If that is the price we must pay for the harm we have wrought, then so be it.”

“What about Jen?” Deet asks, the name escaping from her lips all on its own. She didn’t know his name before. She thinks she’s known it all along.

For as long as she’s known him, urSu has been careful with his words. Now, he seems to measure each one, testing the weight of them before he asks, “What about him?”

“You love him,” Deet says. It isn’t a question.

“I would have,” urSu agrees. He doesn’t meet her eyes, instead staring out across the canyon, towards the Crystal Desert beyond, and he waits for Deet to continue.

“You’ll never meet him.” As Deet speaks, countless memories whisper by, echoing through the Valley. They dissipate like mist, never to be. “You won’t get to raise him.”

urSu sighs, and settles into his bones like a mountain sinking into the sea. “No, I will not,” he says, and then looks Deet in the eyes, and he smiles. It’s the saddest thing she’s ever seen. “But you will.” Deet's breath catches, and she finds she can't respond, so urSu continues. “You know why he haunts you, Deethra.”

“Yes,” Deet whispers, finding her voice once more. “I know.”

She sees herself, then, three trine from now, nearly to the day, with a newborn childling in her arms. His face is red and wrinkled, and he’s wailing, and he is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She sees the paths, next, laid before her -- three of them, stretching to the horizon.

The first is the path the Mystics have foretold. On this path, Deet dies when Jen is very small, and Rian dies two weeks before he’s born, and all the rest of the Gelfling die waiting for Jen to fulfill his destiny.

The second lies right before her, and is the path they will tread if Brea’s plan fails. Deet and Rian will both die in the Castle, and Jen will never be born, and all of Thra will wither and rot, lost to the Darkening.

The third path is the narrowest of all, and it’s the only one that ends with Deet’s friends and family safe, and happy, and whole, where the Gelfling can live in peace.

She knows Jen, now, knows the face of the ghost that’s been haunting her in this Valley. He doesn’t even exist yet, but these paths are for him, too -- he could be a savior, or a promise unfulfilled, or he could just be Jen, and live his life free of prophecies and destinies. Deet knows what she would choose for her son -- her son -- if she had the choice. She does have the choice, it’s up to her and her alone, and she realizes that she’s already made up her mind.

Deet blinks, and the paths fall away, until it’s only her, and urSu, and the night between them. urSu is watching her carefully, and when he sees that Deet is back with him, he speaks. “I know what the Prophecies have foretold. I have studied the shape of the future, and I have known its path for longer than you can imagine. I know how your quest is destined to end.” He sighs, and looks up at the stars. “But I also know you, Deethra, and for the first time in a very long while, I do hope that my prophecies are wrong.” He looks back down at her now, and lays a hand on her shoulder. “If anyone could change the future, I do believe it would be you.”

Deet can’t hold herself back any longer, and throws her arms around urSu, hugging the Mystic as tightly as she can. “Thank you, for everything,” she says, her voice wavering. “Thank you for teaching me, and for believing in me.” She pulls away, and wipes tears from her eyes. Another thought hits her, cold and sudden. “I’m not going to see you again, am I?”

“No,” urSu sighs, his voice heavy. “I do not think so.”

“Oh.” Deet shifts, and sinks a little into herself. “In that case, is it alright if I sit here for a little longer?”

“I would like that,” urSu says, tilting his head up, up towards the night sky. Deet does the same, and for the very last time, she sits with her friend in silence, and counts the stars.

-+-

Rian wakes with a start, as Deet slides back into bed. It’s the dead of night, but her eyes are bright and wide awake.

“Deet?” he murmurs, still half asleep. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Deet whispers, pressing up close against him, and tugging the blankets back over them both. “Everything’s going to be fine. Go back to sleep, Rian.”

He’s already halfway there, lulled by the steady breathing of their friends nearby, and the rhythm of Deet’s heart as she nestles into his chest. Rian sleeps, and in the morning, he doesn’t remember waking up at all.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

NINETEEN

-+-

Brea rises with the second sun, and finds most of her friends still sound asleep. It’s not much of a surprise -- after Deet’s startling revelations the night before, she can’t imagine sleep came easily for anyone. It certainly hadn’t for her. Brea had laid awake long enough to see Deet sneak out in the middle of the night, and then slip back in more than an hour later. 

Here, in the light of day, Deet’s missing again, only this time she hasn’t gone far. Brea finds Deet and Kylan both just a little way from the mouth of the cavern. The pair is sitting at the very edge of the winding walkway, with their legs dangling over the side. There’s a crown of yellow flowers resting lopsided on Kylan’s head, and he’s correcting Deet’s grip on his firca. 

“There, try it now,” Kylan says, pulling his hands away from the bone flute, and then glancing up as Brea approaches. “Oh, good morning, Brea. I hope we didn’t wake you.”

“No, it’s alright,” Brea assures them, taking a seat on Kylan’s other side. “What are you two up to?”

“Kylan’s teaching me to play,” Deet explains, bright and cheerful as always. Wherever Deet went last night, it seems to have done her some good -- her expression is animated, her eyes clear of that distant and fearful look. “Here, listen!”

Deet draws a deep breath, closes her eyes tight, and blows one loud, high note. It echoes through the canyon, turning the gazes of three Mystics in the midst of their morning rituals, and scaring a flock of birds from their roost. Brea resists the urge to clamp her hands over her ears, but only barely.

“That was...better?” Kylan says graciously, but Deet just grins, easy and playful, pressing the firca back into his hands. “With enough practice--”

“I think it’s best I leave it to our Song-Teller.” Deet reaches up to straighten his flower crown, and then her dark eyes go wide. “Oh, Kylan! You can give Brea her present!”

“A present?” Brea repeats, surprised and curious as Kylan hurries away in search of his belongings, and Deet launches into a detailed explanation of the gifts the rest of them had received yesterday afternoon.

“--and Hup got a spoon that’s as big as he is!” Deet holds up her hands to demonstrate, and nearly smacks Kylan in the nose as he reclaims his space between the two girls. He’s holding a package, wrapped in plain brown paper, and tied off with twine. Based on the weight and shape alone, Brea’s already got a solid guess on what’s inside.

“Obviously, we knew you liked books, but they didn’t have many, in the Sog.” Kylan clears his throat as Brea gingerly unwraps her gift, so as not to tear the paper. “Or, well, any books at all, actually...so, I made you one.”

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you.” There’s no title, just the symbol of the Aureyal on the leather cover. Brea skims the first few pages -- it’s all done in ink, instead of the dream-etching she knows Kylan prefers. At the top of each section is a name, in printed block letters, followed by Kylan’s careful, tiny handwriting -- sometimes only a few paragraphs, sometimes page after page. She sees Gurjin’s name, and Naia’s, but most of them are unfamiliar. “What are these?”

“I’ve been interviewing people, and recording their stories,” Kylan explains, and Brea feels a swell of excitement at the thought. “It’s a little bit of everything, really -- things that happened in their lives, folktales and legends, bedtime stories. A couple of very bawdy jokes,” he adds, with a wince. “We Gelfling rely so much on dreamfasting but -- those memories die with us.” Kylan shifts a little, and stares down into the canyon. “I thought it was important to write these things down, considering, well -- considering everything.”

“Kylan.” Brea lets the book rest in her lap, and smiles gratefully. “This is amazing, thank you. I love it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Kylan turns towards Deet, and gestures at Brea’s book. “I’ve got something from all the Grottans, I think. Your Maudra Argot had a lot to share, and so did a friend of yours.” He taps the name printed at the top of the open page -- Amri -- and Deet grins.  “The Drenchen were a little more...skeptical, but Gurjin helped me convince people.”

“I wonder what stories the Vapra would tell,” Brea says thoughtfully, scanning through the pages. She realizes there’s something sticking out, near the back of the book, and it catches her interest.

“We could ask them,” Kylan suggests brightly. “I actually really enjoyed this, I wouldn’t mind working on a few more volumes.” Brea nods, a little distracted, as she flips all the way to the back cover, and finds an envelope tucked between the pages. Her name is on the front, in looping, unfamiliar handwriting.

Her friends don’t seem to notice as Brea opens the envelope -- on his other side, Deet is tugging at Kylan’s wrist and saying, “Gurjin told me to ask you about my necklace.”

“Oh, right.” Brea’s eyes scan the letter, reading the message once, twice, three times before the meaning starts to sink in. Her breath catches in her chest, and Kylan continues. “It’s really from your fathers -- I dream-stitched some of their memories of your family into the stone. If you just hold it in your hands and think of them --”

Kylan breaks off as Deet launches forward, crushing him in a swift, sudden hug. Brea’s barely aware of the exchange, reading the letter for the fourth time. “Oh, thank you, Kylan!” Deet exclaims, releasing him and jumping to her feet before he can even respond. “I’m going to try it right away!” With that, she scurries down the path, the stone already clutched tight in her hands.

“Who was it from?” Kylan asks, once Deet is gone. Brea blinks up at him, her mind still reeling, and Kylan elaborates. “The letter, I mean. One of the couriers brought it down from Ha’Rar, right before we left the Sog.”

Brea takes a breath, and composes herself. “It’s from my sister,” she says smoothly, and Kylan nods, seemingly unsurprised. She returns the letter to its envelope and slips into the back cover, before hugging the book tight to her chest, and flashing her brightest smile. One mystery at a time, she decides -- first, she’ll go to the Orrery and finish her plan to beat the Prophecy, and then she’ll find out if what this letter says is true.

-+-

There isn’t much to do in the morning, except get on their way. Despite Brea’s concerns that the Mystics wouldn’t approve of them essentially going rogue, their party wakes to find supplies packed and ready to go. Naia and Gurjin take stock, while their friends tie up some loose ends. Brea, Deet, Hup, and Rian are bidding goodbye to the Mystics who sheltered him these past two unum, while Kylan gets directions and guidance for their journey ahead.

Gurjin has been quiet and reserved all morning. Naia hasn’t pressed, figuring he’ll talk to her sooner rather than later. He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, not without consequences. There were cracks in his carefully constructed mask last night, and she knows it won’t be long before it shatters completely.

They’re sorting through rations when Gurjin finally caves in, and says, “Look. I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“About your stunt with the Garthim?” Naia asks, tying up a bag with just a little more force than necessary. She imagines that when Gurjin does eventually break, it might play out like that encounter in the woods, in which case it’ll be a matter of protecting her brother from his own self-sacrificial nature. She’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it. “We’ve already talked about that.”

Gurjin scowls. “I mean, you punched me, I’m not sure that counts as talking.” Naia begs to differ, and says so with a blank stare. Gurjin shakes his head. “Sure, fine, but -- no, not that part.” He shifts, clearly uncomfortable with the topic, and Naia waits patiently for him to continue. “Last night, I -- I know I reacted...badly...to all those things Deet said. And I don’t want anyone to think--” Another pause, a frustrated sigh, and Gurjin scrubs a hand over his eyes. “I can handle this, alright? I’ve got it under control.”

“Gurjin.” Naia tries very, very hard to keep her voice calm and even. “I’m going to stop you right there. Are you trying to apologize because you got upset, remembering the time you were imprisoned and tortured?”

“Well, it doesn’t sound very reasonable when you put it like that,” Gurjin grumbles, not quite meeting her eyes. He’s sitting just out of Naia’s reach, his legs crossed. His shoulders are hunched up and tense, and he’s folded in on himself, his expression anxious and miserable.

“No, it doesn’t,” Naia agrees. She pauses, thinking over her next words carefully. She could tell Gurjin that he doesn’t have to go back to the Castle, that there are other ways he can help the Resistance, but that would be a waste of her breath. If Rian is going, Gurjin will follow, and Naia will be at his side. Instead, she says, “What you went through -- as far as we know, no other Gelfling has survived it. You’re probably the only person who’s been drained, but didn’t die. You don't need to apologize for being affected by it.”

“Sometimes --” Gurjin starts, but then he cuts off, staring down at his hands.

“Say it,” Naia tells him. “I want to know.”

“Sometimes, I think I did die, a little bit,” Gurjin admits. His voice is hoarse, and Naia’s blood runs cold. “Sometimes I think there’s...less of me, now.”

Naia takes a breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly, trying to calm her thundering heartbeat. She smooths the flap of the pack in front of her, just to have something to do with her hands, and then she rises, moving to sit right across from her brother. She bumps their knees together, and reaches out to grab his hands, squeezing them tight.

“Look at me,” Naia commands, and he does. He looks so tired, and so afraid. She says, “I’m only going to say this once, so you had better listen. I know you better than anyone, Gurjin, and I promise -- you are just as bold, just as loyal, and just as stubborn as you’ve ever been. You are not less of anything. You are my brother, and I love you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Gurjin says. His voice is shaky, and his eyes are wet with unshed tears, but his shoulders don’t hang quite so heavy, and he does his best to smile. “I love you too, Naia. I think I’d be lost without you.”

Naia gives his hands one more squeeze, and then reaches up to pat his cheek. “Yes, you would be.”

-+-

They make good time, out of the canyon and back through the Valley, reaching the banks of the Black River in about an hour. Deet had assured them that they wouldn’t encounter any Garthim on the way, and it’s true -- the woods are peaceful and quiet as the seven of them set out, Kylan with an updated map and directions to their next destination tucked safely in his bag.

On top of the supplies, they’ve been offered the use of a boat, left by the Mystic urSan on her last visit to the Valley. Travelling by water will cut their journey nearly by half. It’ll take a day to sail north, on the swift currents of the river. Then, another day to hike to Mother Aughra’s Orrery on the High Hill. By the third morning, they should reach their destination, where Brea can finish her calculations, and they can plan their infiltration of the Castle, to end this mess once and for all.

As it turns out, boat might be a bit of an exaggeration -- the vessel is crude, just a series of planks lashed together. It is floating -- though Kylan isn’t sure he wants to know how long it’s spent tied to the weathered and rotten dock -- and it stays afloat, even after Gurjin clambers aboard and does his level best to capsize it. After the stress of last night’s conversation, Gurjin finally seems back to himself. When Kylan returned with his maps and notes, he’d found the twins deep in conversation, and had quickly veered away to give them privacy. Whatever Naia had said to her brother must have gotten through to him, as Gurjin’s sullen and reserved mood seems to have evaporated, and he’s up to his usual antics.

“It’s fine,” Gurjin calls, and then he waves for Rian to start tossing him their packs, the two of them working quickly to get everything loaded up and ready to go.

“Aren’t boats supposed to have, I don’t know. Sides?” Brea asks, peering skeptically from the bank.

“That’s not a boat,” Rian assures her, looking, if possible, even less impressed than the princess, as he tosses the last of their supplies up to Gurjin. “It’s barely a raft.”

“Come on, Rian.” Gurjin hops back up onto the dock, and very nearly puts his foot through a hole in the battered wood, reaching out for Kylan’s shoulder to steady himself. Kylan doesn’t miss the way Gurjin’s touch lingers, just a second longer than necessary, or the sly grin Gurjin shoots him before letting go, and rolling his eyes at Rian. “Would you rather walk?”

Hup grumbles under his breath, and Kylan knows just enough Podling to pick up that Hup, would, actually prefer to walk, but he quiets when Deet lays a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Just don’t fall off, and you’ll be fine,” Naia says, clapping Rian on the shoulder as she passes him by.

“Nobody’s falling off the boat,” Kylan says, as panic twists in his chest, climbing back down from the dock to join the others on the bank. He knows that Naia’s only teasing, but still -- the world has gotten more and more dangerous with each passing day, and based on what Deet told them last night, the worst is yet to come. And to make matters worse, Kylan’s friends have a habit of putting themselves in harm's way. 

“But, if you do, one of us will come in after you,” Gurjin adds. Naia scoffs, so Gurjin amends, “I’ll come in after you.”

“No, I mean it,” Kylan insists, trying, and failing, to quell his swelling anxiety. The others all turn to him, and he straightens his shoulders. This has been bothering him for a while now, and he knows he needs to press on and speak his mind before he can lose his nerve. “If we’re doing this, then we all need to agree to be a lot more careful. Especially you three,” he adds, pointing at Rian, Naia, and Gurjin.

“What?” Gurjin actually has the gall to look baffled, and Kylan huffs in frustration. “What did I do?”

“You made me leave you behind in the Castle,” Rian reminds him, sitting down the edge of the dock.

“You almost let a Garthim kill you yesterday,” Kylan adds, and Naia hums. 

Rian blinks. “You did what?”

“You’re one to talk,” Gurjin says, rounding on Rian. “Too stubborn to tell us you were bleeding to death,” and then to Naia, “Too stubborn to get help when your arm was rotting off.”

“Right, that’s why I didn’t argue with Kylan’s list,” Rian counters. “What does he mean, almost let it kill you--?”

“I stand by my actions,” Naia cuts in flatly. Gurjin scowls at her, and looks ready to argue, and this is not going the way Kylan wanted, at all.

“This isn’t the point!” Kylan says, raising his hands in frustration. He glances back to Brea, Deet, and Hup, the three of them watching the exchange with various levels of interest. Surely they’ll back him up, he thinks, but Brea is frowning. “Brea?”

“It’s just,” Brea winces, and glances over at Deet. “You did make a pact with an ancient tree, absorb the Darkening, and nearly die.”

“Oh, right,” Deet says. She frowns a little, glancing between Brea, Kylan, and the others. She whispers, “Does that mean I’m on the list?”

Hup looks offended on Deet’s behalf, but Rian sighs, and pats the dock beside him. Deet scurries over, adjusting her skirt as she folds her legs to sit, and then smiling up at Kylan, motioning for him to continue.

“Right.” Kylan pauses, trying to get his thoughts back in order. Deet raises her hand. “Yes, Deet, what is it?”

“Well,” Deet says, tapping her fingertips together, one by one. “It’s just, I really have to keep absorbing the Darkening, you know. Otherwise this isn’t going to work.”

Kylan sighs, and rubs at his temple as a headache blooms behind his eyes. “Alright, Deet, you’re back off the list.”

“Perfect, thank you!” she says. She kisses Rian on the cheek, earning a blush, and then flounces back over to stand between Brea and Hup.

“How is this talk going, do you think?” Naia asks, deadpan, and Gurjin chuckles under his breath.

“Will you all just--” Kylan takes a deep breath, and just says it. “I care about all of you, and I don’t want to lose anyone. We've had some close calls already, and this isn't going to get any easier.”

A warm pair of arms wrap around his middle, hugging him from behind. "We love you, too, Kylan,” Deet says, squeezing him just a little tighter before letting go. “Everyone’s going to be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” Kylan says, letting out a breath. He can’t quite make eye contact with the others. “Maybe we should just get on the boat.”

“Still don’t think that’s a boat,” Rian mutters, but then he laughs when Gurjin shoves at him, and then the two of them scramble to see who can get on board first. Naia hangs back, and gently nudges Kylan with her elbow. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression has softened, and she gives him a nod. Kylan lets himself breath out the tiniest sigh of relief. As long as they’re all looking out for each other, maybe it really will be alright.

-+-

Their first day of travel passes almost without incident. The raft sails smoothly down the Black River, taking them north. They’re all on alert for the Garthim, or any other dangers that might get in their way. Thankfully, the woods stay quiet, save for the chattering of life all around, birds and little creatures flitting about in the trees above them. For most of the day, they’re pulled along on swift currents, but from time to time the river is slow and meandering. Around midday, Gurjin sheds his armor and drifts lazily alongside the raft for a while, but the rest of them are more than happy to stay out of the water.

As dangerous as this quest is sure to be, Rian is relieved to be setting out again. As a Castle guard, he had dreamed of proving himself, especially to his father, a war hero and respected captain. Rian’s dreams have changed -- he’s had more than his fill of adventure, and he’d like nothing more than to settle down and live a peaceful, quiet life -- hopefully with Deet, if she’ll still have him after all of this is over. But before that can happen, they have to heal the Crystal, and avert the bleak future that’s been foretold. He and his friends were called into action by Mother Aughra herself, chosen to try and save Thra, and that’s a call he will gladly answer. 

The first sun is just starting to set when Deet stands without warning. She’s slight, but her sudden movement rocks the raft. Gurjin jerks awake, half in a doze against their pile of packs and supplies, and reaches out to steady her.

“Hey, you alright?” he asks. Deet doesn’t answer, she just narrows her eyes and peers out into the woods, her face wrinkled up in concentration. “Better sit down, we’re in some rough waters.” He’s right, the current is stronger than it’s been all day, and here and there the water is broken by rocks and swirling rapids.

“I’m alright,” Deet says, still standing, still staring out into the trees. She sounds distracted, and Rian’s heart hammers in his chest. He’s seen this look on Deet many times these past two unum, and it’s never meant anything good. She wore it when he would find her sitting in that strange room, meant for the Gelfling from the Prophecy, or when she would make cryptic remarks that neither he or Brea could make heads or tails of -- and then again last night, when she told them of the terrible fate in store for them all. A quick glance at Brea, and Rian sees his same worries reflected in her eyes.

“Deet?” Brea calls, her voice light, as Rian shifts, trying to get closer to Deet without startling her. If he can just touch her, maybe he can snap her out of it. It’s worked before, and he’s hoping against hope that it will work now. “Why don’t you come sit up here by me?”

“Do you hear that?” Deet asks, and Rian’s so close, his fingers are just about to brush the back of Deet’s hand -- and then she takes a step forward, off the raft and down, straight down, into the water.

“Deet!” Rian moves, but Naia’s faster, wrapping fingers around his upper arm and wrenching him back before he can follow Deet into the water. He tugs to try and break her grasp, but she tugs harder and pulls him backwards, the raft rocking with their movement.

“Why don't you let one of us handle this?” Naia says, her voice firm, and Rian realizes that Gurjin has already gone in after Deet, his armor and sword left behind as he dives under the waves.

“Can she swim?” Brea asks, her arms full of squirming Podling -- apparently Hup had the same idea as Rian, and is muttering curses as he tries to get free.

“Bobb’n couldn’t,” Kylan says, wide eyes staring at the place where Deet and Gurjin went in. The current is still relentless -- a good thing, back when they needed to keep a decent pace, but less so now that they’re quickly leaving their friends behind. “But he’s only a childling.”

Naia squeezes Rian’s arm and asks, “If I let go of you, are you going to do anything stupid?”

Rian doesn’t get the chance to answer, because there’s another splash as Gurjin and Deet resurface. Gurjin casts a glance at the rest of them, still up on the raft and quickly floating away, before striking out for shore, tugging Deet along with him.

“Do we have an anchor?” Brea asks, looking around on their meager raft. Rian does the same, and he doesn’t see anything that looks heavy enough to weigh them down. By the time they reached their destination, they would have been in calmer waters, and the twins could have easily guided them to shore.

“No,” Naia says, letting go of Rian and reaching for their supplies.

“How are we supposed to stop, then?” Rian asks, not tearing his eyes away from Gurjin and Deet, now up on the shore, and getting smaller and smaller as the rest of them sail away. The raft rounds a bend in the river, and just like that, their friends are out of sight.

Naia stands, coiling up a length of rope, and slinging it over her shoulder. She scans the branches, hanging low and spanning across the river, and ties a knot. “We improvise.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY

-+-

“Right,” Gurjin says, standing on the banks of the Black River and watching the rest of his friends round a bend, and disappear from sight. He doesn’t need to catch his breath, technically, but it is a little disorienting -- his body deciding which way it wants to breathe, his gills flattening against his neck and along the tops of his shoulders as he inhales sharply through his nose, and exhales through his mouth. It takes a moment for his breathing to find a rhythm, for his heartbeat to calm. “Did you hear Kylan’s whole thing? About not falling off the boat?”

Deet’s coughing, which means she’s breathing, which is a relief -- by the time he’d reached her, she was caught in a current far below the surface, unable to break free. She’d been limp and pliant as Gurjin all but dragged her through the shallows, and up onto the shore. Now, she’s sitting on her knees, her fingers buried in the rocky, sandy gravel. “I didn’t fall,” she finally manages, getting her breathing under control.

“You didn’t fall?” Gurjin repeats. It didn’t seem like she fell, he was just trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. The alternative was she had done it on purpose, and that was more than he could wrestle with right now.

Deet shakes her head, flinging droplets of water everywhere. She shifts around and sits down properly, glancing up at Gurjin. “No,” she admits. There’s still an echo of that distant, distracted look in her eyes, but she seems a little more present. Maybe the water shocked her out of the strange state she had slipped into, right before she jumped off the boat.

“Okay,” Gurjin says, resigned. He sighs, and drops down to sit beside Deet, trying to decide what to do next. Their friends will figure out a way to stop the raft, hopefully before they get too much further away. He’ll give Deet a minute to catch her breath, the two of them will hike downstream, while the others will probably hike upstream towards them. They’ll all meet somewhere in the middle, and get back on their way again. Everything will be fine -- except there’s one problem. “Why’d you jump, Deet?”

“I heard singing.” Deet struggles back up to her feet, and Gurjin scrambles to follow her, unwilling to let her out of his sight. “I think there’s something out there.”

“What kind of something?” Gurjin asks, torn between looking downstream, desperately wishing that their friends would reappear, and keeping an eye on the looming treeline. He’s half expecting something terrible to burst out of the woods at any moment, and meanwhile his armor and sword are back on the raft -- a thin shirt and his fists aren’t going to be much use against a Garthim. “Is it a good something, or a big monster that wants to kill us something?” 

Deet reaches out with her bandaged hand, and grips Gurjin’s wrist, right over his mark from the Darkening. There’s a strange sick jolt, as she makes contact, and -- oh, he thinks. That kind of something.

“We need to get back to the others,” he tries, but Deet just shakes her head and lets go of his wrist. If only Rian was here, or Brea -- maybe one of them could get through to her. “It’s not safe out here.”

“I could--” Deet’s eyes are going unfocused again, and she takes a half step toward the trees. “I could fly out there, and come right back. It wouldn’t take long,” Her wings flicker, fluttering against her back, and Gurjin’s worry spikes and twists in his chest.

“No,” he says, his voice firm and resolute. “You can’t, you’ll--” Deet turns back, looking up at him with wide eyes, but the rest of Gurjin’s words are lodged in his throat. He can’t make himself speak, so instead he takes Deet’s hand and dreamfasts. Just like that, he’s back in the Castle, with Rian at his side. They’re watching Mira swoop down into the catacombs without them, never to return. The memory is clear and sharp and real, and he can’t stand more than a few seconds of it, dropping Deet’s hand and pulling away. Is it worse, he wonders, because he knows what she felt, in those last moments? 

“Gurjin,” Deet says, and it’s like she’s wavering, fighting to be here in the present with him, but pulled by whatever’s calling to her, out there in the woods. She looks sad. She looks determined. “It needs my help.”

“I know.” Gurjin sighs, and sets his shoulders, his mind made up. He keeps his back to the river, turning towards the woods. “But I haven’t got wings, so -- so we’ll just have to walk.”

Deet nods, and takes his hand, leading him away from their friends, and into the forest.

-+-

“Do we know where we’re going?” Gurjin asks, pulling a branch aside so Deet can make her way through the bramble. Her grasp on time is a little hazy at the moment, but she doesn’t think they’ve been walking for very long -- maybe twenty minutes, at the most. “Or what kind of animal we’re looking for? Is it an animal, or like, a tree or something? Deet?”

She can’t hear the singing, not anymore. It was another echo, one of those strange sense-memories that’s been plaguing her since her time in the Darkening, just like the ghost in the Valley. This one was much fainter, maybe because it isn’t hers, not the way Jen was -- is -- will be. But, even though the singing voice is gone, the pull of the Darkened creatures remains, and so, Deet carries on, moving through the woods almost on instinct.

“Deet?” A hand falls onto her shoulder, and Deet stops. She blinks up into Gurjin’s face, only to see his expression twisted into a frown. She’s worrying him. He had to jump into the river after her. She knows she’ll feel badly about that, later -- when her mind is clear again, once her own thoughts aren’t crowded out by the thrumming pulse of her powers, and the pleas of the Darkened creatures, somewhere out in these woods. “Hey, are you with me?”

“I’m not sure,” Deet admits. Gurjin tightens his grip, just a fraction, and Deet tries to focus on that, tries to let it ground her. It’s not like before, not really -- this isn’t possession, it’s purpose, but still. It is all-consuming, and she can’t help but be afraid. “I don’t -- I don’t like --” 

“Yeah.” Thankfully, Gurjin seems to understand what she’s trying to say. He lets out a breath, and glances around, scanning the woods for danger. He drops his voice lower, and says, “I want to help you, Deet. What do you need?”

“Just --” Deet shakes her head, struggling to hold both things in her mind at once -- the pull of the creatures that need her, and her own sense of control. She needs something to distract her, to anchor her to this present moment. “Just keep talking to me, I think.” 

“I can do that.” Gurjin nods, squeezing her shoulder one more time, before letting go, and motioning for her to take the lead once more. “I mean, I’ve got plenty of embarrassing stories about Rian, if you think that’ll help.”

“Oh, yes,” Deet says, with a grin that feels like her own. “I really think it will.”

-+-

Deet doesn’t say much, as they hike. Gurjin can tell she’s trying to be present, but whatever called to her has her in a tight grip. It’s not the same as those days she spent completely absorbed by the Darkening -- she’s not glowing purple, for one, and he gets a few quiet laughs as he tells stories of his misadventures in the Castle with Rian and Mira -- but still, she’s not herself, and it leaves him feeling uneasy.

He’s so wrapped up worrying about Deet, and watching for Garthim, that he doesn't realize where Deet’s been leading them until there’s a break in the forest, and Stone-in-the-Wood lies before them.

The first time he saw this place, it was full of life and charged with energy, as the seven Gelfling clans united and won a decisive victory over the SkekSis. When he’d returned, the Gelfling were fresh off of a defeat. His mother was gravely wounded, his sister standing in her place as the seven Maudras voted on the fate of the Resistance. As a council, the Maudras had decided, almost unanimously, to retreat and reinforce, rather than press on and take the fight to the SkekSis. Naia was the lone dissenter, and so the clans split once more, biding their time.

The Stone-in-the-Wood he comes to now has changed once again. What was once a bustling village is now a barren ghost town. There’s not a single sign of life -- the homes stand empty, their windows broken, their doors hanging open. Many are entirely destroyed, their walls and roofs caved in by the deadly Garthim -- even the great sturdy trees that housed the Stonewoods are beaten and battered. The Crucible in the heart of town still stands, but it’s gone cold and dark. The place is abandoned -- there weren’t many survivors from the Stonewood clan, most of them died in the belly of the castle before the Resistance even formed, and those that remained sailed away with the Sifa. There’s nothing left in Stone-in-the-Wood now, except memories.

“I don’t like this,” Gurjin announces, reaching out for an empty door, and pressing it shut. The click of the latch is loud enough that it echoes through the empty town. “Whatever this thing is, let’s find it quick, and then get back to the others, alright? Deet?”

She doesn’t answer. Gurjin turns back around, only to realize that he’s lost sight of her, she’s just gone. In his memory, he hears the buzz of Mira’s wings, sees her swoop into the darkness. He curses under his breath, and then calls out again, “Deet?” His own voice echoes back to him, and his panic builds. 

The suns are setting in earnest, now, and there’s not much daylight left. He listens, but there’s nothing, not even birds chattering in the trees overhead, not even the wind. Gurjin tries not to imagine a dozen different horrible scenarios, and then he imagines them anyway. He shakes his head, trying to chase the images away, and then he sees a light, in the dark doorway of one of the abandoned houses. A flash of purple, eerie and all too familiar, and the scar on his arm twinges. 

“Deet?” He slips inside the house, keeping his voice low -- hopefully just for her ears, and not for whatever monstrous creature she’s probably trying to heal. The terrible images in his mind sprout teeth and claws, cruel and sharp. He’s picturing something strong and deadly, and Deet’s just so small. His heart is pounding in his chest as he calls out, “Deet, where are you?”

There’s a sound, a murmur, too low and muffled for him to make out, deeper in the house. He pushes through another door, and finally, finds Deet.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by flowers -- pale blue and sprouting right up from between the floorboards, life blooming even here, in the middle of an empty home, because of her. Deet isn’t paying any attention to the rapidly-growing flowers, and she’s not glowing or overtaken by the Darkening or anything like that. She is, however, completely enthralled by the litter of small, squirming creatures in her lap.

“Gurjin, look!” Deet cries, her eyes wide and her voice full of joy as she holds up the tiniest, fluffiest Fizzgig he’s seen in his entire life. “It’s just a little baby.” She presses a kiss to its face before setting it back down with its siblings.

Gurjin steps closer, and counts five Fizzgigs in total, ranging in color from dark brown, to a pale cream. Their eyes are huge and fixed right on Deet, and their tiny teeth look plenty sharp as they nibble at her. “They were Darkened?” Deet nods, still focused on the babies, who are still focused on gnawing at her hands. “Are they...trying to eat you?”

“They’re hungry,” Deet says, and she’s practically cooing over them. She reaches out and tickles one, right under its chin -- it makes a sound that’s probably supposed to be endearing, but sounds more like a shrieking beast, before flopping over and letting Deet rub its belly.

“So, that’s a yes,” Gurjin mutters, but he crouches down beside Deet all the same, and reaches out tentatively to pet the tiniest of the Fizzgigs. Its fur is a nice solid brown, and turns out to be incredibly soft -- as soon as he touches it, the little creature leans into his touch, and purrs. Gurjin makes a sound, a low happy hum, because Naia’s not here to tease him about it, and because he honestly can’t deny how adorable the little thing is.

“Oh no,” Deet murmurs, and Gurjin looks up as Deet examines one of the Fizzgigs a little closer. “He’s hurt.” She holds it gingerly, and shows Gurjin the wound on the creature’s foot, the flash of blood staining its fur. Deet looks crestfallen, but only for a moment, before glancing back up at Gurjin hopefully. “Can you heal him?”

“I mean, I could clean it up, try to bandage it,” Gurjin offers, taking the Fizzgig when Deet presses it into his hands. The little creature squirms a little, but mostly cooperates, and Gurjin’s relieved to see the injury looks worse than it actually is. “But, I can’t do what Naia does -- our mother tried to teach me, when Naia learned, but.” He shrugs, apologetic. “I don’t have any magic.”

For a long moment, Deet just stares, her eyes narrowed. “But,” she says, and then she bites her lip, like she’s considering her words before she speaks. “You healed Kylan.”

Gurjin’s already shaking his head. “No, that was -- when he broke his arm, do you mean?” It’s the only thing he can come up with, Kylan’s injury on their journey to the Valley, the first time they saw a Garthim. Deet was lost to the Darkening by then -- Gurjin’s honestly surprised she remembers much of that trip at all. “That was Naia.”

“Oh,” Deet says, her words still careful, her eyes still tracking Gurjin. “That must have been it.” She doesn’t sound convinced, and he catches a glimpse of it, again, that distant look. He thinks of what Deet said just last night -- she spoke of the future, of things that were yet to come. She said them like they simply were, like she remembered them, even though they hadn’t happened yet. Terrible things, things that he didn’t want to imagine. 

“Deet,” Gurjin says, as fear settles in his gut. “Is something going to happen to Kylan?”

“I wonder where their mother is?” Deet says, her voice suddenly bright, looking up and around as she very obviously tries to change the subject. “She might be Darkened, too. Maybe that’s how they were exposed?”

“Now, hold on,” Gurjin says, even as Deet stands, her arms all full of baby Fizzgigs. She dumps the whole litter into Gurjin’s lap before he can fully protest. “Go back to the thing you said about Kylan, I -- where are you going?”

“We have to find her!” Deet explains, practically skipping back out the door. Gurjin curses under his breath, and starts looking around for a safe place to put the little Fizzgigs -- they’re in a childling’s nursery, from the looks of it, with an empty bassinet in one corner. He tries not to wonder what happened to the family that lived here as he sets the babies down one by one, as gently as he can while still looking over his shoulder where Deet just disappeared. They’re already falling asleep, huddling up together in a little pile, nestled in the blankets.

There’s a crash, from outside, loud enough that it rattles the windows, and Gurjin’s heart drops into his stomach.

-+-

Deet’s only outside for a minute or so before Gurjin catches back up to her. She hears his footsteps pounding on the floorboards of the Fizzgig house, but she can’t turn to face him. She stands in the open center of town, with her hands outstretched, staring down another Darkened creature.

“Deet?” Gurjin calls. It sounds like he’s still at the front of the house, and like he’s stopped moving. “I don’t think that’s their mother.”

“No,” Deet agrees, not breaking eye contact with the creature in front of her. “You’re probably right.”

Deet doesn’t know much about Armaligs -- she knows that the SkekSis used them in their carriages, and something about them reminds her of her beloved Nurlocs. This one definitely reminds her of the Darkened Nurlocs that overran the Caves of Grot -- the Armalig’s eyes are glowing, purple veins writhe and twist beneath its skin, and it’s practically vibrating with an unbridled rage. Rian told her that the Armaligs in the castle were beaten and broken down, with no fight left in them anymore. This one apparently has plenty of fight still, and it looks ready to use it on them.

Gurjin’s shifting around the edge of the circle, she can see him now from the corner of her eye. He’s not looking at her, he’s not even looking at the Armalig -- he’s looking at the Crucible, just to Deet’s right, with all the Stonewood weapons stashed inside, and more lying abandoned at its base.

“Gurjin,” Deet calls, still focusing most of her attention on the Armalig. It’s growling, a low whining noise, getting louder and louder and worse and worse with every passing second. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s not in his right mind.”

“Deet--” Gurjin starts, as the Armalig shifts. It edges closer, the whine growing louder, and turning into a howl. “Come back over here. Slowly.”

“I can help you,” Deet tells the Armalig, still looking right in its eyes. She keeps her voice low, taking one step closer, and then another. “You just need to stay...still…”

The Armalig screams, rolling up into a ball and charging right towards her. Deet doesn’t have time to react, but Gurjin does -- he lunges forward and bowls right into her, sending the pair of them sprawling at the base of the Crucible. The Armalig might as well be a boulder, crashing over the spot where Deet was just standing, and then colliding with a house on the other side of the circle. There’s a shudder and a shake as the wall cracks and buckles. Deet watches as the Armalig struggles to free itself -- for just a moment it’s stuck, and then it wriggles its way out of the hole.

“Alright, Deet?” Gurjin asks, reaching down and pulling her up to her feet, scanning her for injuries. She hadn’t even seen him get back up -- she’s having a hard time keeping focus, or thinking about anything other than getting her hands on that Armalig, and cleansing the Darkening that’s infected it. She nods, then points at the brand new Armalig-shaped hole in the wall. “Yeah, I saw,” Gurjin tells her, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I have an idea.”

“A good idea?” Deet asks, as the Armalig starts to roll itself back up, ready for another attack.

“Not really, no,” Gurjin admits. “Just trust me, alright?” He glances back, takes stock of the Armalig's position, and then adds, with a grimace, “And if I die, please tell Naia it looked cool.”

For just a second, the paths flicker before her, and Deet knows an awful truth -- that Gurjin will watch his sister die, in every timeline but one. She squeezes his wrist and says, “Be careful.”

Gurjin reaches up past her, tugging a sword down from the Crucible, and scooping up a shield from the ground nearby. “Always,” he says, slipping on an easy grin just like a mask, before sprinting away.

-+-

Gurjin skids to a halt on the broad side of another empty home, banging his sword against the shield. The clang of metal echoes through the abandoned village, but just in case, Gurjin shouts, “Hey, over here!” 

It’s a terrible plan. Rian would be proud.

The Armalig stills, before shuffling towards these new sounds, and away from Deet. She’s still standing at the base of the Crucible, her palms open and waiting. If Deet needs this thing to stand still, Gurjin will get it to stand still, one way or another. “Yeah, this way!”

He sees the purple flash of the Darkening in the Armalig’s eyes, the pulse of sick tendrils under its skin, right before it rolls up and charges. It bounces, once, right before it gets close, skipping over a loose rock, and then it’s practically on top of him. Gurjin dives out of the way at the very last second, past the point where the Armalig could change its trajectory, tucking and rolling as the beast sails overhead. He hears Deet’s concerned shout, but files that away, popping back up to his feet just as the Armalig crashes into the side of the building with another crack and thud. Just like before, there’s a moment when it gets stuck and has to wriggle its way back out, but it’s not long enough for Deet to get in there and do her work.

Gurjin glances to Deet, who’s still waiting by the Crucible. She’s watching him, now, and not the Armalig, waiting to see how his plan plays out. He scans the surrounding buildings, and then levels his borrowed sword at a wide-set doorway. “That one!” he shouts, and Deet follows his gaze, and then nods in agreement.

As the Armalig rolls itself back up, Gurjin maps it out in his head. The angles are all wrong, he’s going to have to make a few more moves before he can get the beast in place, but it’s possible. And maybe by the time they've dealt with this, Naia and the others will have caught up with them. They’re certainly making enough noise that they’ll be easy to track -- he just hopes that nothing worse finds them before that. 

It takes two more tries, to get the Armalig lined up exactly where he wants it. His plan is working flawlessly, of course when Naia’s not even there to see it. It’s working so well, in fact, that the Armalig’s not just chasing the sounds anymore -- it is absolutely furious, and seems to want to kill Gurjin, specifically. He hopes that hatred doesn’t carry over after Deet has healed it. 

The Armalig is charging forward one last time when Gurjin sees a flash of movement, out among the trees. There’s something out there. The distraction only costs him a second, but that’s enough. 

He’d always wondered, back in his days as a Castle Guard, how badly it would hurt, getting run over by an Armalig. As it turns out, the answer is: a lot.

The beast only clips him, which is a lucky thing -- if the dense and heavy Armalig ran him right over at full speed, it very well could kill him outright. Still, he feels the impact in his chest, like a wall of force. The blow steals the air from his lungs, knocking him aside like an afterthought There’s a moment where he’s in the air, and then, he’s on the ground. The side of his head strikes something hard --

-+-

-- and there’s a pulse of pain in his skull, sharp and dizzying. For a moment he doesn’t see anything, and all he can hear is a ringing in his ears, and his own heartbeat hammering in his chest. Then he blinks, and he can see again, though his surroundings are blurry. He can barely make out the Armalig -- it’s finally gotten stuck, wedged into the doorframe, and it’s not budging no matter how hard it struggles. Gurjin clings to consciousness long enough to see Deet moving in, her arms outstretched. She lays her hands on the Armalig, and then he blinks again, and the sounds fade, and --

-+-

There’s something snuffling, warm and wet, right beside his ear. Gurjin jolts upright, trying to get away, and immediately regrets it as his whole body protests, his injuries making themselves known.

“Gurjin, no, stop.” That’s Deet’s voice, and when he forces his eyes to open, he’s looking up into Deet’s face. Her eyes are clear and focused, but she looks worried. She’s got one hand pressed to his head, and the other pressed into his shoulder. He thinks she’s trying to hold him down. He thinks that’s pretty ridiculous, on account of he’s twice her size and could throw her over his shoulder, if he wanted to, and if he could figure out how to get his body to listen to him. There’s something hot and tacky down the side of his face. Deet says, “The others will be here soon, and Naia will fix you right up!”

“Okay,” Gurjin hears himself croak. His head hurts, and his vision is swimming -- probably a concussion, as he’s bleeding heavily from a head wound. His chest hurts, too, a white-hot pain when he so much as twitches -- cracked ribs, if he’s lucky, or broken, if he’s not. He hears snuffling again, and looks up to see the Armalig right beside Deet. It’s no longer Darkened, and it's sniffing him with concern.

“I think he’s sorry,” Deet says, glancing up at the creature, and then back down at Gurjin, wearing a guilty frown. “I’m sorry, too. This is my fault.”

“Not your fault,” Gurjin manages, a little steadier this time. “And it’s not his, either.” He takes a breath, rallying himself, and then says, “Help me up.”

“Gurjin,” Deet says, sounding uncertain, and then, “I really don’t think,” but by that point Gurjin’s already struggling to sit himself up, and she swoops in to help. She keeps him steady, and leans him back so he’s propped up against the Crucible. Moving takes about everything he has, and leaves him feeling winded. Deet grabs a piece of cloth -- torn from the hem of her skirt, and stained with blood. She presses it against Gurjin’s forehead, and then guides his hand and helps him hold it in place himself. “Hold that tight, okay?”

Gurjin murmurs in agreement as Deet sits back on her heels. She reaches up to pat the Armalig, and it shuffles away, snorting happily to itself. Gurjin just breathes, glancing around the village. He sees all the damage they’ve caused, before focusing on the place where the Armalig got stuck. The doorframe is buckled in and collapsed, the structure only held in place by a swatch of thick vines that definitely had not been there before -- the result of Deet’s strange powers, transforming the deadly Darkening into something new.

“We need to get out of the open,” Gurjin says. His eyes are getting heavy, the steady tug of unconsciousness threatening to pull him back under. He’s not sure how far Deet can drag him, so he’ll have to do his best to help. He’s wondering how to even get his feet back under him when suddenly, he remembers. His breath catches in his aching chest, even as his vision starts to go gray at the edges. “Deet, there was something out there, something in the woods.”

“Where?” Deet says, but then she turns and looks exactly where Gurjin saw the movement, even without him pointing it out. Deet’s standing up and moving before Gurjin can even think of how to stop her, and then, the world goes dark once more.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-ONE

-+-

“Spread out, but stay in earshot,” Rian instructs, his voice low, his sword drawn, as the five of them approach the ruins of Stone-in-the-Wood. “We have to be getting close.”

Brea hopes that he’s right -- by her estimate, they were about half an hour behind Gurjin and Deet, and they’ve almost lost the daylight. It had taken several long minutes to stop the raft and disembark, and the hike back to the spot where they’d last seen their friends was rugged and dense. Luckily, from there the others were easy enough to track, and they made up some time.  Occasionally, Rian had pointed out Deet’s light footprints in the earth, but Gurjin’s were unmistakable, as if he’d been deliberately stomping about, leaving a trail for them to follow.

Now, Brea and her friends fan out, picking carefully through the shattered remains of the once proud Stonewood clan. It had been the site of several battles in the past two unum, and the effects are obvious, and devastating. Only a handful of buildings are intact, and even those are severely damaged. Broken and discarded objects are strewn across the ground, the only artifacts left of the people who made this their home.

“Are they still here, do you think?” Kylan whispers, sticking close to Brea’s side. He’s glancing up into the trees that loom overhead, on alert for any lurking dangers. They hadn’t seen any signs of Garthim, but there were reportedly scores of them roaming the Dark Woods. “It’s getting late, maybe they stopped for the night?”

“That depends,” Brea answers, taking a closer look at the nearest house. It looks like something collided with the outside wall with great force. She runs one careful hand along a crack in the wall, and when she pulls her hand away, her fingers are coated in a fine dust. There’s more, a thin layer on the forest floor and the debris scattered around the area. Out here in the forest, this kind of evidence would quickly be swept clean by the wind, or tracked away by animals. This damage is recent -- very recent. Kylan’s standing just at her shoulder, still quietly looking up at the trees, and so she continues. “I don’t think Deet would have stopped until she found what she was looking for.” 

Honestly, she’s not sure Deet could have stopped until then. It was plain to see that Deet had been changed by her experiences, but this was something else -- an upsetting reminder of the time Deet had spent lost in the Darkening’s thrall. And on top of that, while Deet had made plenty of strange and cryptic comments these past two unum, she’d never said anything as direct or dramatic as her grim prophecies last night. As Deet’s powers seem to grow, Brea can’t help but wonder -- is she getting stronger? Or is she getting worse?

Brea moves around the corner, towards the front of the house, with Kylan at her heels. The arch above the door has buckled, and she imagines it would have collapsed entirely, possibly taking the house with it, were it not for the thick, strong vines supporting the structure. Just like the dust, something about the vines catches her attention -- they’re so green, so vibrant, with no signs or damage or wear and tear from the elements. Deet was here, Brea’s sure of it, and not too long ago.

The door is shattered, so Brea stares into the darkness of the empty home. The darkness stares back, and then -- it blinks.

-+-

Rian has his sword in one hand, his new shield in the other, and Hup at his side, as he stares down into the rascal hole. They’re standing in the heart of Maudra Fara’s ruined hall -- here, the ceiling’s partially caved in, and the setting suns provide just enough light to see the pit’s single occupant.

“Deet down there?” Hup asks, his enormous new spoon held tightly in his grip, peering over the edge and into the darkness below.

“I don’t think so,” Rian says, grimacing as the Garthim trapped deep in the pit beneath them snarls and hisses. He can’t see any signs of Deet or Gurjin, just the beast as it thrashes, throwing itself against the walls. It’s useless, the sides are far too steep for the Garthim to escape...or at least, he hopes they are. “What should we do about this?”

Hup shoots him an incredulous look. “Hup not go down there,” he scoffs. His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he taps Rian on the arm with his spoon. “Rian not go down there.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Rian assures him. Hup doesn’t look entirely convinced, but nods in agreement. Rian supposes he’s earned a little skepticism, but he can’t say that he likes it. “We can’t just leave it down there. What if it finds a way out?”

Hup pretends to throw something, and then traces an arc through the air, whistling as it drops. He spreads his hands, miming an explosion. “Boom!”

“Hmm.” Rian thinks it over, and nods. That could work. He says, “Well, when we find Deet, let’s ask if she can make something a little stronger than smoke bombs.” Hup looks a little too excited at the prospect, and Rian files that concern away for later. “We should keep looking.”

For the time being, their only real option is to cover the rascal hole back up, and hope the Garthim doesn’t find another exit before they can deal with it. Together, they drag the grate back over the top, and it clicks into place, a perfect fit. 

Outside, someone shouts, then cuts off suddenly. Rian and Hup exchange a worried glance, and then move towards the front of the hall, sword and spoon at the ready.

-+-

Naia hadn’t gone far, just to the base of the Crucible, so when she hears Kylan shout, it only takes her a moment to reach him. When she gets there, she finds Brea, with her hand clamped over Kylan’s mouth, and Deet, hovering nervously under an archway made of vines, the only thing supporting a partially collapsed doorframe.

“I’m sorry,” Kylan says, as soon as Brea lets him go. He has one hand on his chest, and he’s still catching his breath. “You startled me, is all. Are you alright, Deet? Where’s --?”

“Is that blood?” Brea cuts in, reaching out for Deet’s hands, stained a dark pink. It’s under her nails and spotted on her sleeves. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Deet says, making eye contact with Naia. She looks even smaller than normal, her shoulders hunched, her eyes guilty. Naia doesn’t have time for that. 

“Where is he?” Naia asks, her voice steady despite the fear building in her chest. Deet nods to the dark doorway, and Naia brushes past her, not willing to wait a second longer.

The house is small -- one main room, from the looks of it, and two smaller rooms in the back. It’s so dark inside that she can only make out vague shapes, at first, until her eyes slowly begin to adjust. There’s a table, with the chairs knocked aside, there’s a hearth, stacked with firewood but unlit, and there, slumped against the wall, is her brother.

“Gurjin?” she calls, her voice tight as she moves towards him. She drops to her knees and reaches out, laying a careful hand on his shoulder. He twitches, just a bit, at her touch, or the sound of her voice, and his head lolls towards her, but that’s all the reaction she gets. There’s not enough light for her to see the extent of his injuries, but even in the darkness she can tell the right side of his face is covered in blood. She thinks of their mother, lying still and silent for two unum after a wound just like this one -- and then she takes that thought, and locks it up tight, and focuses on what needs to be done.

Behind her, Naia can hear footsteps as the rest of their friends catch up, and Deet’s voice, quickly explaining. “--And then Gurjin said he saw something in the trees, but it was only the momma Fizzgig. Oh!” Deet hurries to the hearth -- Naia only watches from the corner of her eye, her attention mostly focused on Gurjin, but she catches Deet rummaging around in her satchel, and hears the strike of a flint. There’s a whoosh as suddenly the room glows with firelight, and she finally gets a better look at the damage. “Sorry, Naia, that should be better for you!”

“How did this happen?” Naia asks, sparing a glance at Deet before tilting Gurjin’s chin, running careful fingers along his scalp, looking for the source of the bleeding. As Deet recounts their encounter with the Armalig, Naia locates a swollen knot, just above Gurjin’s right ear, with a cut that’s thankfully not as deep as it looks. The bleeding has stopped, but his pupils are uneven, and Deet reports that he’s been fading in and out of consciousness. Naia doesn’t let her fear grow, just files it away, and moves on.

As Naia continues her examination, the rest of their friends start to move in. Rian crouches at her side, and winces in sympathy when Naia tugs up Gurjin’s shirt, revealing a chest that’s already blooming with dark bruises. Kylan looks absolutely terrified as he sits beside Gurjin, close enough to touch, though he keeps his hands to himself, wringing them anxiously. Deet hovers just over Naia’s shoulder, while Brea and Hup stay on the other side of the room, close to the door. Naia does her best to shut them all out, and keeps working.

“Oww,” Gurjin says, sucking in a breath as Naia presses on a definitely broken rib. He starts to stir, but Naia doesn’t stop. His whole left side is a mess, one rib cracked, two more broken, and deep bruising on the rest -- but his breathing sounds alright, and his abdomen isn’t rigid, so Naia’s not too worried about further internal damage. It’s bad, but it could have been much worse. Still, it will take hours to put him back together, and it won’t be a perfect fix, even with her magic. Naia sits back on her heels, and thinks.

“Gurjin?” Kylan’s voice is light, and Gurjin blinks, long and slow. For a long, frightening moment he just stares at Kylan, his expression blank. Then, his face softens, and he breaks into a wide, easy grin.

“Hey, Kylan,” he says, reaching for Kylan with his left hand. It takes him two tries, but eventually he manages to grab Kylan’s hand and squeeze it tight. Kylan stares down at their linked hands for a few long seconds before looking back up at Gurjin, his eyes wide. “Me and Deet were just talking about you.”

“Hush,” Naia scolds, brushing back Gurjin’s hair once more to look at his wound. Best to start there, she decides, if his dazed and loopy expression is anything to go by. Her mark from the Darkening pulses just at the idea of using her magic, but she pushes that thought away, too, burying it with the rest, and turning to Rian. “This is going to take a while.”

“Right.” Rian nods, sitting back on his heels, and surveying the room. “We may as well camp right here. Best to have some shelter, if any Garthim are wandering around out there.” He rests a hand on the hilt of his sword, and moves as if to stand. “I’ll check the perimeter, make sure there’s nothing nearby.”

“No, stay,” Naia tells him, shaking her head and rolling up her sleeves. “I need to focus on healing him, and I’m not sure he’ll...cooperate.” Naia doesn’t elaborate further, but Rian’s gaze settles on her scar. She’s well aware that it’s much worse than anyone else’s, with purple tendrils crawling up to her elbow, after two unum of trying to heal her mother -- and she’s equally aware that healing Gurjin tonight is only going to make it worse.

“Hup and I can take care of it,” Brea offers, the Podling at her side brandishing his spoon and baring his teeth. Rian nods at them both gratefully, and the pair heads back outside. 

Gurjin, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice Naia’s scar, or their friends departing  -- he only has eyes for Kylan, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You said,” Gurjin starts, his words coming slow, like he’s having to dredge them up from deep below the surface. “Naia, you said I should tell him--” Gurjin breaks off, clearly still struggling to collect his thoughts.

“Tell me what?” Kylan asks, his gaze darting from Gurjin, to Naia, and back again. For one selfish moment, Naia considers letting Gurjin finish that sentence -- but then she sighs, and does the right thing, instead -- as much as it pains her.

“Kylan, why don’t you go with Brea and Hup,” Naia suggests, her voice quiet, but firm, leaving no room for argument. Kylan may be a Spriton, and Naia no longer a Maudra -- but he’s one of her people now, and she looks after her own. “Gurjin’s going to be fine. We’ve got this covered.”

“Alright,” Kylan says, though his gaze lingers on Gurjin for just a moment longer, his expression cautious, but curious. He squeezes Gurjin’s hand once, before letting go, and pushes himself to his feet, slipping out after the others without another word. As soon as he’s gone, Deet takes his place, sliding down to sit with her back against the wall.

“It was all nice things, you know,” Deet offers, twisting the end of one of her braids around her fingers. She shows none of Kylan’s hesitation, sitting right at Gurjin’s side, and not seeming to mind when he starts to slump against her. Without Kylan to keep his attention, it appears Gurjin is slipping under once again. Naia leans in and presses the palm of her hand against Gurjin’s head wound as Deet continues. “He was only saying that Kylan is very clever, and handsome, and so talented with his music, and--”

“--and that he could sit and watch him write in his little books for hours?” Naia prompts, and Deet nods emphatically, finally breaking into a smile. “I’ve heard it all, believe me -- and Kylan needs to hear it, too.” Naia sighs, and her hand lights up with the blue flames of her healing magic. “But not like this.” 

Naia isn’t sure how to explain what she knows about her brother, and her best friend -- that Kylan would convince himself that Gurjin only said those things because he’d hit his head, that for all of his boasting and bravado Gurjin was secretly terrified that Kylan didn’t feel the same as him, that he would only continue to make excuses and delay, that the two of them would just keep dancing around the situation instead of getting on with it, and Naia would have to suffer through their pining for even longer. She’s been too busy to meddle, between serving as Maudra and returning to the Valley, but she’s honestly not sure how much more of this nonsense she can take.

“Huh,” Rian says, breaking the long moment of silence. He frowns, but nods thoughtfully. “I can’t say I saw that coming.”

“No,” Naia agrees. “Kylan could do much better.”

“I heard that,” Gurjin mutters, his eyes lidded, his fingers twitching towards Deet’s. Deet takes his hand and holds it tight.

“Go to sleep, Gurjin,” Naia tells him, rolling her eyes. A moment later, he does, his breathing evening out once more. Satisfied, Naia leans into her magic, and drifts.

-+-

The twins fall silent and still, the two of them locked into the strange ritual of Naia’s healing magic. Deet tries to focus on that, on the blue flames lighting up Naia’s fingers, slowly but surely sealing Gurjin’s wound -- rather than focusing on the awful tendrils of the Darkening, standing out in stark contrast against Naia’s skin. Deet remembers exactly what it felt like, to have the Darkening burn right through her. She’d been inches from death, and would have been lost if it wasn’t for her friends. They took on such a heavy burden, for her -- and Naia’s going to pay the price for it, Deet knows with a terrible certainty -- sooner, rather than later. 

“Deet?”

She blinks, and focuses on Rian. He’s sitting diagonal from her, on Naia’s other side. The firelight flickers on his face, and he’s frowning. Deet thinks maybe he’d called her name once before, and she hadn’t heard him. 

“Yes, Rian?” Deet asks. She settles Gurjin’s hand, limp and quiet, back into his lap, and lets go. “What’s the matter?”

Rian nods to the other side of the room, towards the front door. “Can we talk?”

The two of them move quietly, careful not to disturb either twin, as they make their way to the archway holding up the front of the house. Deet pats the vines in gratitude, and can’t help but feel proud of her work, turning the Darkening into something new, something good. She turns next to stare out across the silent remains of Stone-in-the-Wood. Moonlight casts everything in sharp relief, and the Crucible looms even taller, still and cold. She catches sight of Brea, Hup, and Kylan, gathered on the front steps of Maudra Fara’s old hall, locked in quiet conversation.

“Are you alright, Deet?” Rian asks. He isn’t looking at the moons, or the town, or their friends, he’s only looking at her.

“I’m fine,” Deet says. She takes Rian’s hands and squeezes them, doing her best to reassure him. “I wasn’t even hurt.”

“That’s good,” Rian tells her, his eyes still focused and searching her face. “That wasn’t really what I meant, though.” Deet frowns, and shifts just a little, anticipating what must be coming next. “Deet, when you --” He breaks off, and takes a deep breath, before pressing on. “One minute you were fine, and then you just...jumped. Why did you do that?”

“Rian, I --” Deet’s not sure she has the right words for it, she can barely wrap her mind around it as is. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I just had to do it -- I could hear them, out there.” The Fizzgigs, the Armalig, countless other plants and creatures calling to her even now, their cries on the fringes of her mind. “They were suffering. They needed me.”

“We need you, too, Deet,” Rian says, his eyes locked on hers, his expression serious. “Brea’s plan, sneaking into the Castle -- none of it will matter if we don’t have you to heal the Crystal. And if that’s not enough, I need you.” His voice is almost pleading as he drops her hand, only to reach up and cup her face. Deet leans into the touch automatically. “I was afraid, today,” Rian continues, barely more than a whisper. “I was afraid that something would happen to you, or Gurjin, and I wouldn’t be there to stop it. Or that you were getting sick again, that the Darkening had taken you over, just like before.”

“That won’t happen,” Deet assures him, her voice steady and sure. She won’t let it happen, no matter what she sees on the paths before them. She admits, “I could always hear the Darkened creatures, Rian. They just weren’t so loud before. I think the Darkening wasn’t so bad, back in the Valley.”

“I didn’t know that.” Rian frowns, dropping his hand only to take hers once more.

Deet shrugs. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“It’s too late for that,” Rian says, with a sigh. He stares up at the moons and the stars. “I know I’ve done some foolish things, Deet, so I don’t have the right to ask you this. But please. Please, be careful.” He turns back, and the look in his eyes is desperate, and intense. “If there’s something out there that needs your help, then tell me, alright? We’ll find it together.”

Deet believes him, wholeheartedly. Wherever she goes, Rian will follow her. He proved that when she was first lost to the Darkening, and has proven it again and again ever since. “I’ll try,” Deet tells him. “That’s all I can promise.” It doesn’t feel like much, but it’s all she can give.

“Then that’ll have to be enough.” Rian takes another deep breath, and lets it out. He looks so sad, and she loves him so much she can’t stand it. She steps in to his space, and reaches up, only to tug him down close and kiss him -- the same way she’ll kiss him three trine from now, when she begs him not to leave, if they give up this quest and follow the Mystics’ path -- and the same way she’ll kiss him again and again, a thousand times over the course of a perfect life, if they follow this path, and they win. 

They’re going to win, Deet reminds herself. They’ll repair the Crystal, and heal the Darkening, and bring peace to Thra. It doesn’t matter what the Mystics have foretold, or what terrible things she’s seen on the paths before her. Everyone and everything is going to be alright. She’s going to make it happen, no matter what it takes. 

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-TWO

-+-

Kylan wakes at the first sunrise, still exhausted and on edge. It had been a long, restless night -- the seven of them had laid out their bedrolls in a semi-circle around the gently glowing hearth, rather than setting up in the bedrooms. It felt wrong, somehow, sleeping in the same place as a family who had, in all likelihood, been murdered. They’d set a watch, to keep an eye out for Garthim -- the Garthim trapped in the rascal hole, in particular -- but it wasn’t much comfort, and they remained uneasy.

To make matters worse, Gurjin had woken halfway through Naia healing him, and her earlier prediction turned out to be right. He wasn’t cooperative, upset that Naia would use her magic on him, even though it would only cause the Darkening to spread within her. There was a heated argument, which Naia won -- because it was Naia, and she never backed down from anything -- and because Gurjin was still too weak and hurt to fight both her and Rian, who pressed steady hands to Gurjin’s shoulders and spoke in a low, calming voice while Naia healed his ribs. 

Eventually, Gurjin had quieted, slipping back under. Naia was able to finish her work, falling deeply asleep as soon as it was done. Kylan, however, had sat awake for a long time afterwards, watching the steady rise and fall of Gurjin’s chest, and the sickly purple glow of the Darkening as it twisted and writhed under Naia’s skin, her scar once again turning black and necrotic. Kylan watched, and he worried.

In the morning, he leaves the twins, still sound asleep and curled towards each other, and wanders out into Stone-in-the-Wood in search of the rest of his friends. It’s unseasonably chilly, and a low layer of fog has settled in the night, making his view of the ghost town all the more eerie. It doesn’t take long to find the others, scattered about the quiet village. He sees Hup, standing guard near the rascal hole, spoon resting on his shoulder, eyes focused on his target. He sees Brea and Deet, with their heads bent over some kind of workbench, engaged in a hushed conversation. And then, he sees Rian, sitting in the shadow of the Crucible. He has his back pressed to the imposing structure. There’s a slump to his shoulders, and a deep frown etched on his face. 

Kylan can imagine what he’s feeling -- probably the same heartache that Kylan himself experienced, moving through the ruins of Sami Thicket on his way south, to the Sog. Lucky for him, the Drenchen had opted to press on, rather than camp there for the night, and Naia had very obviously led their trio around the fallen city on their way back to the Valley. He can also imagine that Rian won’t admit that he’s uncomfortable being here, not with Gurjin injured, and not when their whole party benefits from the safety and shelter of the Stonewood homes. Kylan doubts he can get Rian to talk about it, but he thinks he can at least get Rian to talk.

Rian nods, as Kylan approaches, but doesn’t say anything. He’s focused on the shield Gurjin gave him, tracing the swooping lines of the Aureyal with his thumb, following the pattern again and again. For a long moment, Kylan doesn’t speak, either, reaching up and running his hand along the cool metal of the Crucible -- once a symbol of the proud Stonewoods, now a cold, dead thing.

“I heard the story of the Crucible, when I was a childling,” Kylan says conversationally. He drums his fingers on the metal, feeling the vibrations echo back to him. “My father knew so many stories, a different one for every night -- but this was one of his favorites.” Rian’s gone still, his hands resting on the shield, and so Kylan adds, “I think it reminded him of home.”

“Your father was a Stonewood?” Rian asks, glancing up at Kylan in surprise. Kylan only nods, and sits down beside Rian, tipping back his head to lean against the Crucible. He can feel Rian’s stare sharpen, studying his features intently. “I wouldn’t have guessed,” he finally says, motioning to his own face, the stripe of color across his forehead.

“No,” Kylan agrees. “I look like my mother.” He runs his hands along his firca, hanging on its cord around his neck, before adding, “Maudra Mera brought me to Sami Thicket, and took me in, after--” It seems it’s Kylan’s turn to fall silent, the words stuck somewhere in his chest.

“After the Hunter?” Rian prompts, his voice quiet, and gentle. Kylan nods, a lump in his throat, even after so many trine, and Rian continues. “I saw him, in your memories, the night we took the Darkening from Deet.” What a harrowing experience that had been, seeing the very worst bits of everyone’s hearts and minds, all at once. Kylan shivers at the thought.

“I was so young,” Kylan says, once he’s found his voice again. “When I thought of what happened to my parents, all I saw was a monster. I didn’t put it together until you fought him.” He nods to the space across town where the Hunter stood, in those last moments, the killer that made orphans of them both.

Rian follows his gaze, and nods, seemingly lost in those same memories. “He’s gone now,” he says, after another long silence. “He can’t hurt anyone else.”

“No, he can’t.” Kylan turns towards Rian, and fixes him with a serious stare. “Does that make you feel better?

Rian frowns, thinking it over. In the distance, Kylan can hear the low murmurs of Brea and Deet, still hard at work, and the stirrings of a forest coming to life. “No,” Rian finally says. “No, it doesn’t.”

Kylan nods, and takes a deep breath. “Me neither,” he admits. Rian only hums, and the two of them sit in silence, remembering all that they’ve lost.

-+-

“I’m sorry,” Deet says, letting go of Naia’s arm, and folding her own hands in her lap. Her eyes have gone from sickly purple, to pure white, and now, they’re back to normal, wide and dark, watching Naia carefully. A ring of mushrooms has sprouted up around them, as she siphoned away as much of the Darkening as she could. “That’s all I can do.”

“It’s enough,” Naia says, tugging her sleeve back down to hide the worst of the damage. She’s grateful that Gurjin is still sound asleep, sprawled out beside her. What’s done is done, and there’s no point talking about it, so instead Naia asks, “Are the others waiting on us?” It’s well into the morning, judging by the light filtering in through the broken window, but she’d only just woken up when Deet came to check on her, still exhausted from healing Gurjin the night before.

“Not really,” Deet says, scooting back a bit, to give Naia her space. “Everyone’s been keeping busy. Rian’s watching the Garthim, and Hup and Kylan are making breakfast. Oh, and Brea and I made bombs. ” As Deet speaks, she rummages around in her satchel, and pulls out something small and round, pressing it into Naia’s hands.

Naia takes a moment to examine the bomb a little closer. It reminds her of Deet’s Grottan smoke bombs, a tightly wound ball stuffed with black powder. Those had exploded on impact, but this one has has a wick dangling from one end. Naia doesn’t know much about explosives, but she has a feeling that’s an important part. “Is this safe?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Deet says. At Naia’s blank stare, Deet motions to the wick, and adds, “Just don’t light this bit on fire, and it’ll be fine. Probably.”

Naia presses the bomb back into Deet’s hands. “And this will kill a Garthim?”

“It should -- I put a lot of powder in there.” Deet carefully packs the bomb away in her bag, only to fidget with the front flap. She sighs, and says, “I wish we didn’t have to kill them. I wish there was a way we could help them instead.”

Personally, Naia doesn’t have any qualms about killing Garthim. Mother Aughra called her fierce for a reason, just as she called Deet gentle -- and Naia knows that they’ll need both of those traits if they’re going to accomplish what they’ve set out to do. She brushes a hand over her scar from the Darkening, and asks, “You think you could heal them?”

Deet shakes her head. “It’s not the same. A Darkened creature is sick, and when I take the Darkening away, they get better. But a Garthim is already dead, and the Darkening just keeps them moving around. It’s energy.”

Naia nods, thinking it over. Deet has a much more intimate understanding of the Darkening than anyone else, so she’s happy to take her word for it. Still, she can’t help but wonder, “What would happen if you took that energy away? Would the Garthim just...stop?”

Deet hums, tapping her fingers on her knee. “I don’t know.” Her lips twitch into a frown as she considers it. “I’ve never tried. I’m not sure I could get close enough to one.”

“The bomb idea is probably safer,” Naia suggests lightly, and Deet nods, still looking uneasy. There’s something on her mind.

“It’ll be loud, is the only problem,” Deet says, finally setting aside her satchel, only to worry at her skirt instead, smoothing out the same wrinkles, again and again. “We might just have to leave it locked up. Brea’s worried the sound could attract even more Garthim.”

“I’d rather not find out.” Naia peers down at Gurjin, and brushes his hair out of his eyes -- a gesture she can only get away with because he’s fast asleep, and because Deet’s the only witness. “I’m not sure he’ll be up to outrunning anything today.” She’d taken care of the swelling and the cut on his head, and sealed up his cracked and broken ribs. They’d brought his armor, when they left the raft on the banks of the river, which should provide a little more support. Even so, she imagines he’ll be dizzy and sore for the next few days, at least.

Deet’s quiet for another long moment, her hands never quite falling still. “I really am sorry, Naia,” she says in a rush, that guilty look flashing in her eyes once more. “Gurjin got hurt because of me, and now you’re hurt, too.”

“Gurjin got hurt because he picked a fight with an Armalig,” Naia points out, just as quickly. “He’s spent too much time with Rian.”

Deet laughs, a soft, hollow sound. “That does sound like something Rian would do.”

The thing is, Naia thought she would be angry at Deet. It would have been easy to channel all that emotion at her, to give her coiled rage a place to land. Those feelings had evaporated the moment when Deet explained what had happened, that the Darkened creatures had called out to her. Naia pauses, weighing her options. She wonders what she owes Deet, and then decides it doesn’t matter.

“I’ve heard them, too,” Naia admits, her voice low, and only meant for Deet to hear. Deet’s eyes go wide, and her nervous hands go still. “I can’t hear them now,” Naia continues. Her fingers twitch towards the scar on her arm, and she clenches her fist. “But before we left the Sog, when the Darkening was at its worst, I could hear them.” She’d tried to ignore it, just as she’d tried to ignore the dark, pulsing ache of her scar, a reminder that she was dying a little more each day. It wasn’t easy to do, so of course Deet, who’d nearly been consumed by the Darkening, had no choice but to answer the call. “I could hear their voices, calling out.”

“Naia.” She blinks, and looks down at Gurjin, now wide awake and watching her, his face twisted up in concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I knew you’d look at me like that,” Naia chides. She lays her palm across his forehead and leans a little further over him. “Because I had it under control.”

“Doesn’t sound like it was under control,” Gurjin mutters. He bats Naia’s hand away, and slowly pushes himself to sit upright. Naia watches carefully, ready to intervene if necessary, but he manages just fine on his own, although his movements are stiff.

“How are you feeling, Gurjin?” Deet asks, edging a little closer, her eyes wide and worried.

“Oh, I’m just fine,” Gurjin says, flippant even as he tries to hide a wince, and mostly fails. He gestures at Naia’s arm, his expression turning serious. “Can I see?”

“No,” Naia tells him flatly, adjusting her sleeve once more, making sure her arm is fully covered.

“Naia.” Gurjin sighs, clearly frustrated. He looks to Deet for help, but she only shrugs. “You hurt yourself to help me, at least let me worry about you.”

Naia scowls, but yanks up her sleeve. Gurjin’s reaction is instant, hissing in a sharp breath as he catches sight of the damage. The lines of the Darkening’s poison hum and glow beneath her skin, crawling up just past her elbow, and the original scar is still black at the edges. It’s not as bad yet as it was after two unum of trying to heal her mother, but the more she uses her magic, the quicker it seems to spread, and the less Deet can siphon away.

“Naia, that looks--” Gurjin breaks off, his hand hovering in the air between them, his own scar still faint -- once a twin to Naia’s mark, now a mere echo. He turns to Deet, and asks, “You already healed her?” Deet nods miserably, and motions at the ring of odd blue mushrooms encircling them. Gurjin looks back at Naia, not bothering to hide the fear in his eyes. “Naia, that looks almost as bad as before.”

“Well then, stop getting hurt,” Naia suggests. She keeps her tone light, but there’s an edge to it -- either Gurjin doesn’t pick up on that, or he ignores it, because he still looks ready to argue. Naia presses on before he can get the chance. “I have these abilities for a reason, Gurjin. I can’t just stop healing people. I won’t.”

“Not even if it’s making you sick?” Gurjin shakes his head in disbelief. “How long until it kills you?”

Across from them, Deet goes still, and her eyes go wide and blank. Naia recognizes the expression with a swoop of dread, and so, it seems, does Gurjin. His breath catches, and his shoulders tense.

“How long, Deet?” he demands, as Deet’s eyes clear, and her expression grows troubled. “How long?”

“Don’t answer that,” Naia cuts in. At Gurjin’s incredulous glare, she simply says, “I don’t want to know.”

Gurjin buries his face in his hands and lets out a frustrated sound. “You don’t want to know? What if we can stop it?”

“Isn’t that what we’re trying to do?” Naia argues. Gurjin looks up at that, opens his mouth, and closes it, and Naia knows that she has him. “We’re going to stop it. I’ll be fine after we heal the Crystal -- right, Deet?”

“Right!” Deet says, perking up and nodding enthusiastically. “Once the Darkening’s gone, we’ll all be safe!” She pauses for a moment, and then adds, a little more subdued, “And Naia’s right. You don’t want to know. I wish I didn’t.” There’s something heavy in her voice, something mournful. Deet’s new powers may be extraordinary, but Naia doesn’t envy the price Deet has paid for them, the price she keeps paying.

“Well,” Gurjin says, leaning back to slump against the wall, and closing his eyes. “As long as I don’t go out getting run over by an Armalig, I suppose it’s fine. Can’t say I’d like to do that again.” Deet laughs, and then seems to regret it, clamping a hand over her mouth, but Gurjin only grins. Naia thinks she’d be proud of the way he cleverly relieved the tension, if she wasn’t so annoyed with him. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Naia says, flicking at his shoulder, and earning a sideways glare. “If you ever try something that stupid again, I’ll kill you myself.”

-+-

“I think,” Kylan says carefully, as the seven of them gather for breakfast, before packing up and getting back on their way, “That we should lay out a couple of ground rules.”

At Brea’s left, Deet shifts and leans in a little closer to whisper, “I’m really on the list now.” 

Brea coughs to hide a laugh, and then nods. “I think you might be at the top,” she whispers back, and Deet grimaces.

“First rule,” Kylan continues, raising his voice just a little. Brea nudges Deet, and both girls go silent. “No falling off the boat.”

“Yeah, but Deet didn’t fall off the boat. She jumped,” Gurjin says. He’s got a bowl of porridge balanced on his knee, and is not very subtly leaning against Rian. “So, she hasn’t really broken any--”

“Second rule,” Kylan says, glaring at Gurjin, though Brea doesn’t miss the tiniest smile, at the corner of his lips. “No jumping off the boat.”

Deet sighs, pushing her spoon about idly. “That’s fair. And I’m really sorry about that.”

Gurjin reaches out to Deet, who’s sitting at his right, and drops a hand on her shoulder. “Third rule, stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he says, and Deet smiles gratefully.

“Fourth rule,” Naia cuts in, with a pointed glare at her brother. “No goading Darkened creatures into attacking you.”

“That’s not a bad plan, though,” Rian counters, earning a look from everyone but Gurjin, who only nods, clearly vindicated. “What?”

Deet rummages around in her satchel, and pulls out one of the bombs that she and Brea had put together this morning. Brea’s itching to test them out, but it would have to wait. Deet holds it up and asks, “Should we make a rule about the bombs?”

Kylan drags his hands down his face, the faint purple glow of his scar shining between his fingers. “I give up,” he says, dropping back down to his spot on Brea’s other side, defeated. “Let’s just all agree not to get killed, how does that sound?” he suggests. Hup leans over and pats his knee apologetically. 

"How about this?” Brea sits up a little straighter, and does her best to channel her mother’s regal posture. “We have just one rule, and it’s that we all do our best to take care of ourselves, and each other.” 

There’s a moment of silence, as they all mull that over, and then Rian nods thoughtfully. “That about sums it up.”

“I can live with that,” Naia agrees. “So, are we ready to go, then? Because the longer we sit here, the more likely our friend,” she hikes a thumb towards the rascal hole, and the Garthim trapped within, “is to get out and kill us all.” 

At that grim reminder, they all hurry to finish their meal. Deet reaches for Brea’s hand and squeezes it tight. “It’s a very good rule, Brea. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Brea glances about at their friends. “I just hope everyone follows it.”

“I do think,” Kylan hedges, eyeing Deet and her satchel with skepticism, “that if we did have a second rule, it should be that we are very, very, very careful with those bombs.”

Deet flips open the bag once more, starts rooting around, and cheerfully asks, “Do you want to carry one, Kylan?”

Kylan looks horrified at the very thought. “Absolutely not.”

“Alright,” Rian says with a laugh, setting aside his bowl, and nodding to the rest of them. “Let’s clean up. Five minutes, and we’re on our way.” 

-+-

“Well,” Deet says, as the seven of them stand on the edge of the river, exactly where they’d left their raft the evening before. “Let's look at the bright side! Now nobody can fall off the boat.”

“Yeah, alright,” Gurjin says, gingerly sitting himself down on a fallen log. Naia had done good work, but her magic wasn’t an instant cure. His chest still ached and a headache pounded behind his eyes, after less than an hour of hiking. “I’ll be over here, if anyone needs me.”

Rian nods in understanding, and then goes back to arguing with the others. “We tied it up right here,” he says, gesturing at a large tree, with roots spilling out of the bank, and into the slow moving water.

“No, I tied it up right here,” Naia says, arms folded across her chest. “Which means it should be exactly where I left it. Someone must have taken it.”

“Who would have taken it?” Rian scowls. “A Garthim?” Gurjn tries to picture that, a Garthim, on its spindly little legs, floating down the river on a wobbly raft. He laughs. No one seems to notice.

“One of the couriers, maybe?” Kylan suggests. He’s peering into the brush around them, as if he’s expecting the boat-thief to come dashing out at any moment. “Or some other gelfling foolish enough to be wandering around in these woods.”

“We’re wandering around in these woods,” Gurjin points out, as Deet sidles over and sits next to him on the log. “What’s that say about us?”

Naia holds up a hand to shush him, but doesn’t even turn in his direction. Gurjin just shrugs, then regrets it as his newly-healed ribs shift. There’s the creak of branches, in the tree up above, and then Brea sticks her head out of the canopy.

“I don’t see anything from up here,” she calls. Her wings buzz, and she flutters down to join the rest of them, her feet touching down lightly on the sand. “But the trees are so dense, it was hard to see very far. If the rope came loose--”

“--It didn’t,” Naia assures her. 

“But, if it did,” Brea presses,  “If it did come loose, and the raft floated away, maybe it’s just a little ways downstream. We could at least check.”

“How far is it to the Orrery?” Rian asks, turning to Kylan, who immediately rifles around in his pack. He pulls out his journal, and opens up to a map.

“If we had the raft, it’d be another hour on the water, and then a day, to hike to rest,” Kylan says, focused on his journal, eyes tracing from one side of the page to the other.

“And from here?” Deet asks. She tilts her head and rests it on Gurjin’s shoulder, a quiet comfort, and he pats her hand in thanks.

“Two days.” Kylan frowns, and closes his book with a snap. “It’s due east from here, but still. That’s two more nights of camping out.” Two more nights of risking detection by the Garthim -- and Gurjin’s not sure that’s a fight they can win.

Rian nods, seeming to come to a decision. “Brea’s right, it won’t hurt to check -- a few of us will go half a mile downstream. If we don’t find it, we’ll come back, and hike from here.”

“Are you up for that?” Naia asks, nodding to Gurjin, who only waves a hand, and then she turns back to Rian. “Fine. But I still don’t think you’ll find it.”

After a brief discussion, the party splits in two -- Rian, Brea, and Hup hike north, along the river, while the rest of them wait. Kylan comes to sit on Gurjin’s other side, pouring over his maps again, but Naia stays right at the water’s edge, the waves lapping at her feet, her eyes fixed on the opposite bank. 

For a few minutes, it’s quiet, except for Deet, humming to herself, and Kylan, flipping pages as he scans through his notes. Gurjin tries to focus on those sounds, and not the way the world slowly tilts, or the pooling dread that comes when he thinks of two more days of walking. 

“Did you hear that?” Naia asks suddenly, startling Gurjin from his thoughts. She unfolds her arms, and turns to look north.

“Uhm, no?” Kylan says, his hands falling still. He tilts his head to the side, and Deet’s ears twitch. Gurjin listens, too, but he doesn’t hear anything. “What did it sound like?”

“It sounded like Rian.” Naia takes a step closer. Her expression is neutral, but Gurjin knows her too well, has known her their entire lives, and catches a glint in her eyes. “Deet and I should go check on the others.”

“I didn’t hear it,” Gurjin says, narrowing his eyes at his sister, instantly suspicious. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

“Maybe you’re not listening hard enough.” Naia shrugs. “You hear it, Deet? Don’t you?” She’s focused on Deet now, her expression intense.

Deet looks at Gurjin, and then Naia, and then back to Gurjin again. Realization dawns on her face, and she says, “Oh . Yes, Naia’s right. We should definitely go check on them.” She grins at Naia, and winks. Gurjin has never felt so betrayed in his entire life.

“I really don’t hear anything,” Kylan offers, but it’s too late. Deet is practically skipping to Naia now, and grabbing her by the hand.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be long,” Deet calls, tugging Naia away, heading after the others. Gurjin has a split second to catch Naia’s smirk before she disappears into the brush.

“Well,” Kylan says, returning to his book. “That was odd.”

“Yeah.” Gurjin sighs, watching Kylan’s hands as he traces their new path on his map. There’s a definite set to his shoulders, and Gurjin can tell he’s feeling awkward, and on edge. Gurjin’s memories of the night before are hazy at best, and the parts he can remember are -- concerning. “Hey, Kylan?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light. “Did I say anything...strange? Last night?”

“No,” Kylan says. He doesn’t look up from his book, but Gurjin can tell that this time, it’s deliberate. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Right.” Gurjin frowns, and wracks his brain, searching for even one clear detail in the fuzzy mess. He has a vague memory of talking to Deet, of telling her -- oh no, of telling her how he liked watching Kylan write in his little books. Well, that explains the wink, anyway. Gurjin sighs, and steels his nerve. “We should talk, I think.”

Kylan goes still, and finally closes his book. He looks up at Gurjin, a strange and cautious look in his eyes. “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

“You know,” Gurjin gestures vaguely between the two of them. “About...us.” Kylan’s just staring at him now, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted, and he is no help at all. Gurjin’s got half a mind to just kiss him -- at least that way he won’t have to talk, won’t have to find the words to say that he’s never felt like this before, about anyone, that most nights he lies awake thinking of what the future could be, if they were together, that he regrets not kissing him when he had the chance, that night in the Valley, and so many times since.

“Gurjin,” Kylan says, and then he goes utterly still, and says, “Okay, I definitely heard that.”

A second later, Gurjin hears it, too -- an awful, screeching howl, coming from across the river. It’s a sound that can mean only one thing. There’s no time to think -- he leaps to his feet, ignoring the ache in his chest, and grabs Kylan by the arm, tugging them both into the treeline without a second’s hesitation. They crouch low, trying to stay out of sight, as a pair of Garthim break through the thin cluster of trees on the opposite side of the river.

Gurjin holds his breath, and Kylan presses a hand over his own mouth. The Garthim don’t seem to notice them, scuttling along the bank of the river, heading south. There’s a rustling, to his immediate left -- Gurjin reaches for his sword, as something climbs out of bushes -- then relaxes when he sees it’s only Naia. Her face is grim, one finger pressed to her lips. She crouches beside Gurjin, reaches for his hand, and dreamfasts.

Six more Garthim, headed north, comes Naia’s voice, echoing in his mind. Deet and the others are hiding a quarter mile from here. She breaks the dreamfast, and Gurjin nods, before reaching out for Kylan and passing on the message. 

The three of them wait, absolutely still, and absolutely silent, as the Garthim move further south, and eventually disappear from view. It’s another ten long minutes before they begin to relax, and five more before the rest of their friends return, looking just as rattled as Gurjin feels. 

“Thank Thra, you’re alright,” Brea says. She hugs them one by one, and Deet does the same. “We were afraid you’d been spotted.”

“We can’t stay here,” Rian says, his sword and shield in hand, his attention focused on the surrounding woods. “More could be coming. Is this a safe place to cross?” He turns to Naia for the last part, and she looks out into the water.

“As safe as any,” she decides, putting one foot into the water. “The current’s slow, and it’s not too deep. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting across.”

“Wait, we’re going towards the Garthim?” Kylan asks, his journal clutched to his chest. “Are we sure about that?”

“What choice do we have?” Rian presses. “The Orrery is due east, and that,” he levels his sword, pointing at the opposite bank, “Is east. We’ll have to move quickly -- once we leave the woods, we lose our cover.”

Gurjin feels all eyes turn to him, so he stands a little straighter. “I can keep up,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Rian sighs, and Gurjin gets the feeling that he doesn’t quite believe him, but he doesn’t have any other choice. He nods, and looks out across the river, setting his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-THREE

-+-

“We’ll camp here tonight,” Rian says, surveying the gently sloping landscape, with his sword in hand. The party had pushed on for as long as they could, hoping to cover as much ground as possible -- but the suns are setting in earnest now, and they have just enough time to set up camp before they lose the light. They’d been keeping a good pace, without the dense vegetation of the forest to slow them. The downside was, their journey into the highlands left them completely, hopelessly exposed.

Here, at least, they have some measure of cover -- they set up their camp in a little dip between two low hills. It will shield them from any Garthim that might approach from the north or south, although if any enemies crest either hill they’ll be caught, and they’re plainly visible from the east and west. Still, it’s the best they can hope for, and it’s better than nothing at all.

“No fire tonight,” Naia says, and Rian nods in agreement. She’s staring down at her brother, who’d flopped to the ground the second Rian had called for a stop, and is now lying in the tall grass, his eyes closed, his face drawn. He hadn’t complained once on their relentless journey here, which is a clear sign of how bad he’s actually feeling. Naia had gotten him back on his feet, but Rian knows from personal experience how long recovery can still take.

He can’t help but remember another night like this one, on their way to the Valley, continuing on through half the night even after Kylan was injured. How many more of his friends are going to get hurt on this journey, Rian wonders, and how many times will he ask them to press on anyway? It’s not as if they have a choice -- the fate of all Gelfling is resting on their shoulders, Deet’s vision of their people’s destruction weighing heavy on them all. They have a chance to save everyone. Rian would risk his life for far less, and as much as his friends scold him for his recklessness, he knows they all feel the same.

Without a fire to worry about, setting up camp is a simple affair. In just a few minutes, they’ve unfurled their bed rolls, and passed out rations for a simple dinner of dried meats and fruit. There’s not much discussion, all of them worn out after a full day of moving forward and looking back over their shoulders, expecting the Garthim to crest the hills at any moment. They set an order for a watch, to be safe, and drop off one by one, into a deep but uneasy slumber.

It feels like Rian’s only just closed his eyes when he feels hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. He can’t see much, by the faint light of the moons and stars overhead, but he makes out the frizzy halo of Deet’s hair. It’s time for his watch, he thinks, until he notices the intense look on her face, her dark eyes wide and staring straight through him.

“Wake up, Rian, wake up,” Deet says, her voice low, her grip on his shoulders so tight it almost hurts. “Something’s coming.”

“What?” It only takes a few seconds for Rian to scramble to his feet, draw his sword, and look around wildly at...nothing. The normally bright light of the moons is shrouded by clouds, and he can barely make out the shapes of his friends. He listens, instead, and hears the lower murmur of voices as Hup rouses Brea and Kylan, while Deet moves to the twins, shaking them both awake. And then, he hears something else -- wings. Not the familiar buzz and hum of Gelfling wings, but a frantic flapping of something small, getting closer and closer and--

“There!” Deet’s pointing at something, up in the air -- he narrows his gaze, and focuses until finally, he sees it -- or at least, he sees a dark shape against a darker sky, diving right towards them.

The next thirty seconds are chaotic and confusing -- Deet’s the only one that can really make out where the thing is, and Rian’s afraid to swing his sword blindly and hit one of his friends. In the end, it’s Hup that knocks the creature out of the air, swinging his spoon like a club. Once it’s on the ground, he brings the spoon down on it again, and again, until it finally stops twitching and lies still, not much more than a twisted pair of black wings, and a dull crystal.

“That was a little much,” Gurjin says, as Hup nudges the corpse with his foot, and then spits on it. “Alright, then.”

“What is it?” Brea asks, pressing in close. The longer Rian’s awake, the more his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he can see the look on Brea’s face -- her curiosity, as usual, outweighs her fear. “And what was it doing here?”

“It’s a spy,” Deet says, still sounding uncharacteristically tense. “What it sees, the SkekSis see.” The moons shine through a break in the clouds, and Rian can see her a little better. She’s staring up into the night sky, her ears twitching as she listens intently. “It’s not alone. Listen.”

They do, all seven of them standing still, weapons draw and at the ready, until finally a second creature swoops overhead. This one doesn’t dive down and attack, instead flying just above them, out of reach and heading west.

Deet says, “Don’t let it get away!” but by then Naia’s already in motion. She pulls out her bola, eyes locked on the dark shape hastily flapping away -- she swings once, twice, and releases. The bola sails through the air, and then connects. The creature lets out a cry as it's struck, and then drops to the ground like a stone.

“Nice shot,” Rian compliments, but Naia just shrugs it off, and turns to Deet.

“Do we need it alive?” she asks, and Deet shakes her head, her eyes distant. Naia nods, and says, “Good,” then moves towards where the creature fell.

“Wait, don’t squash this one, I want to look at it!” Brea scrambles after Naia, and Rian and Kylan both move to follow, leaving the others behind. By the time they catch up to the girls, Naia’s already scooped up her bola, and the squirming creature it’s tangled around, holding it tightly in both hands as it bucks and fights. 

“Deet said the SkekSis can see through this thing,” Rian says, stepping a little closer to try and get a better look. The moonlight glints off another piece of crystal -- not the crystal, though looking directly at it still makes him uneasy. If he looks close enough, he can almost see blurry shapes trapped inside.

“Are they watching us?” Kylan asks, looking terrified at the prospect -- Rian can’t say he blames him. Do the SkekSis know what they’re trying to do? Or were these things just out looking for any Gelfling who might be wandering in the wilderness?

Naia adjusts her grip, and twists her hands. There’s a snap, and the creature falls still. The crystal inside tumbles to the ground, and goes dark. Naia presses the dead thing into Brea’s hands, and says, “Not anymore.”

-+-

Brea has to wait until morning to get a better look at the creature -- Deet called it a Crystal Bat, and assured them all they were safe to stay at their campsite, now that both the spies were dead. If the bats had gotten the chance to report back to their masters, Deet had said, they would have been swarmed by Garthim and all been dead or dragged to the Castle before dawn.

Between Deet’s ominous words and the adrenaline from the encounter, no one rests easy. Brea can’t seem to quiet her mind -- never an easy task, but especially not now, with another puzzle at her fingertips. She finally nods off just as the skies begin to lighten, and only manages another hour or so of sleep before it’s time to get up and get moving again.

At breakfast, Brea is more focused on the remains of the Crystal Bat than she is her own food -- more dried rations, courtesy of the Mystics. It takes Deet’s gentle prodding, and Hup’s less gentle prodding, to remind Brea to eat at all. Even then, she hardly tastes it, as wrapped up as she is in the examination. The body itself is mostly unremarkable -- more wings than anything else, and a small torso armed with talons that seem to be designed to hold the crystal in place. Designed really is the only word for it -- much like the Garthim, Brea suspects these creatures were created by the SkekSis in their lab. She wonders, with a morbid curiosity, what else they could make.

The crystal itself went dark when the creature died, and easily fits in the palm of her hand. She holds it up to the light, and watches the beams refract and glimmer as the light breaks apart. It’s enough to get her thinking -- for her plan to work, ordinary mirrors won’t be enough to do the trick. She isn’t sure that these crystals are quite the solution, either, but it’s a step in the right direction.

“Brea?” She blinks, looking up from her journal, where she’s been hastily sketching the Crystal Bat, and marking down a few of her observations, only to see Kylan standing before her, his pack already slung over his shoulder. Nearby, she sees the rest of their friends, gathering the last of their belongings, so they can get on with their second day of hiking. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, yes,” Brea says, hurriedly packing her journal away, along with both crystals -- the rest of the body she leaves where it lays. She hops up to her feet, patting Kylan on the arm as she passes, and joins the group, her mind still whirling with ideas and possibilities.

-+-

By the second day of travel, Gurjin’s glad to find that his ribs don’t ache so much, and his dizziness and vertigo have faded to a minor, if stubborn, headache. Still, those comforts do nothing to ease the guilt that swells at the sight of Naia’s arm, and the quickly spreading Darkening writhing under her skin. She’s hurting because of him, and he can’t stand it.

Apparently Naia’s already gotten tired of his guilty glances, as she’s put some distance between them for the day’s journey. Their group is slightly staggered as they move through the foothills, moving in twos and threes instead of one large pack. Naia’s up at the front with Kylan, who’s consulting his maps. In the middle, Brea’s got her journal open as well, pouring over her notes and calculations. She’s flanked on either side by Deet and Hup, but seems completely oblivious to their happy chatter. Gurjin keeps to the back with Rian, and they both keep an eye on their surroundings, on high alert for any approaching dangers.

“So,” Rian says, barely twenty minutes into their journey. “Kylan?”

Gurjin coughs, sputters, and asks, very casually, “What, uhm? What about him?”

“Nothing,” Rian says. He’s got one hand on the hilt of his sword, and his gaze fixed on the rolling hillsides, but he’s wearing a smirk that Gurjin’s seen too many times before -- usually right before he and Mira roped Gurjin into doing something stupid. “It just seems you had a lot to say about him the other night.”

“You want to talk about this now?” Gurjin demands, gesturing wildly at their friends up ahead. They’re too far away to hear this conversation -- except for Deet, who’s Grottan hearing is probably better than the rest of theirs put together, and it seems Gurjin’s spilled all his secrets to her anyway. In fact, she’s already slowed her pace, falling a few steps behind Brea and Hup, clearly listening in. Gurjin decides not to worry about that. He turns back to Rian, and tries a different tactic. “We could be attacked by Garthim at any moment, but you want to talk about my love life?”

Rian rolls his eyes, and gestures to the wide, rolling expanse all around them. They may be exposed, but at least they would see a Garthim coming from a mile away. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, still grinning, his voice quiet and mindful of listening ears. “If we see any Garthim, we can talk about that instead.”

“I can only hope,” Gurjin says, deadpan. Rian shoves at his shoulder, but is still watching him, and waiting for his answer, and Gurjin gives in. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Are you in love with him?” Rian asks, without a second’s hesitation. Gurjin pauses for just a second too long, because Rian’s grin only widens. “You are. Why haven’t you told him? You’ve never been shy about this sort of thing before.”

“This is different,” Gurjin says quietly, turning away from Rian to stare at Kylan, who’s busy showing Naia something in his map, and then pointing at the horizon. “I don’t know how to explain it, I just know he’s the one for me.” He sighs, and turns back to Rian, who looks absolutely delighted by this information. Gurjin scowls, and says, “You know, you’re one to talk. All you ever think about is how much you want to marry Deet--”

Rian nods in agreement. “That’s true.”

“--and live in a little cottage underground with her and six childlings,” Gurjin goes on, ignoring him. At Rian’s nonchalant shrug, he scowls and adds, “It’s not even fun to tease you about it, how is that fair?”

“Three,” Deet corrects, glancing back over her shoulder, and then dropping right back into her conversation with Hup.

“Okay, three,” Gurjin huffs, and then he stops, and pauses. He lowers his voice and asks Rian, “Was that--?”

“I don’t know,” Rian says slowly, his eyes going wide. He jogs ahead, leaving Gurjin behind as he calls out, “Hey, Deet? What do you mean, three?”

-+-

They’ve stopped for lunch, and a quick break, when it happens. Deet’s shoulders get tense, and her gaze swivels, staring at something in the distance, something Kylan can’t see. He’s not sure Deet sees it, either, but it’s clear she’s sensed something. 

“Kylan?” Deet says, her voice light, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. She grabs him by the wrist and squeezes, tight. “Will you get Rian for me?”

Within moments, Kylan, Brea, Naia, and Gurjin are gathered in a tight circle, standing in the shadow of a sheer cliff, as the terrain around them begins to rise, turning rocky and jagged. Deet, Hup, and Rian stand nearby -- Deet’s eyes are still fixed on the horizon, and her wings are extended, flickering gently, like she could take off at any minute. Rian squeezes her hand, then leaves her with Hup and approaches the rest of the party.

“Whatever it is, Deet thinks it’s about an hour north of here,” Rian tells them, his voice pitched low. “But it’s big, or there’s a lot of them, she isn’t sure.” He frowns, considering, and then suggests, “Hup and I can go with her, while the rest of you keep moving towards the Orrery. If we can’t catch up today, we’ll meet you there in the morning.”

“No,” Naia says, her voice flat. “We’re not doing that.”

“We shouldn’t split up,” Brea chimes in. “Either we all go, or no one goes.”

“Well, Deet’s going,” Gurjin says, glancing back over his shoulder and sighing. Just a little ways away, Hup is tugging at Deet’s sleeve and speaking quietly, but Deet is barely responding. “You didn’t see her the other day. Half the time it was like her mind was somewhere else. I couldn’t have stopped her if I tried.”

“We should all go,” Kylan says, speaking up. “We were already planning to camp for a second night, going an hour north won’t put us that far out of our way. We’ll still make it to the Orrery tomorrow.”

“Unless Deet sensed a pack of Garthim, and we’re walking right to our deaths,” Naia points out, and Kylan has no choice but to nod, resigned. “Somebody has to say it,” Naia argues, when Rian shoots her a look. “Is this going to be a problem, Rian?”

“I don’t know,” Rian admits. He’s still watching Deet, a worried frown etched on his face. “She said it’s gotten worse, since we left the Valley.”

“Is it going to keep getting worse?” Naia presses.

“I don’t know!” Rian rubs at his temples. “She asked for help this time, instead of just, you know--”

“--Jumping off a boat?” Brea suggests lightly. Rian grimaces, but nods.

“Sounds like this is already an improvement.” Gurjin says, shouldering his pack, and motioning towards the northern horizon. “What are we waiting for?”

-+-

They move quietly, keeping a fast pace as they change directions, and head north. It only takes about forty-five minutes for Deet to find what she’s looking for.

At first, Naia only sees the Darkening -- sick purple veins running through the very earth like roots, turning what was once a lush, green hillside into a wasteland. She swears she can hear it, a low, throbbing thrum of sickness, spreading through all the plants and little creatures, spreading through Thra itself -- and she feels it, too, a throbbing pain along her scar, and all the way up her arm. It’s like a heartbeat, keeping time with the pulsing, infected ruins before them. The others feel it, too -- Kylan itches at his face, and Rian rubs a hand over his heart, even as he takes a hesitant step towards Deet, one hand on his sword.

“Deet?” he calls, but she only puts a hand up, and he stops.

“You should stay back,” Deet says, not turning around, taking a step towards the hillside, and another, and another. “It isn’t safe for you.” Nearby, Hup draws his spoon and starts to advance, but Deet only says, “You too, Hup. Stay there.”

“Is it safe for you?” Brea asks, sounding hesitant, even as she flips her journal open, sharp eyes studying the grim scene before them.

“The Darkening can’t hurt me,” Deet replies, stepping lightly over one of the veins on careful, silent feet. “And neither can they.”

For a moment, Naia’s confused, and then she realizes -- what she thought were lumps of disturbed earth are actually bodies -- five landstriders, laid on their sides, with their legs splayed out. Their infections are so severe that Naia hadn’t even recognized them at first -- but now that she sees them, she can tell that four are dead already, completely overrun with the Darkening, and the fifth is barely breathing.

Wordlessly, the rest of them edge as close as they can without actually touching the veins of Darkening, waiting right on the edge where dying, blackened grass meets green. Deet kneels down beside the fifth landstrider, reaching out a tentative hand -- it growls and snaps and Rian draws his sword, but holds his ground.

“Shhh,” Deet says, running one gentle hand through the tangled and matted fur. The landstrider growls again, but it’s a low, weak sound, and it doesn’t have the energy to move towards her, even with the Darkening’s malice coursing through it. “Lie still. I’m here to help you.”

Time stops, after that, or else it moves slower, or sideways -- Naia can’t describe the feeling she gets, watching as Deet presses her palms to the landstrider’s side, her hands rising and falling with its labored breaths. Deet’s eyes flash and glow that familiar, sick purple, and she goes utterly still. All around her, the Darkening moves in inches, over agonizingly slow seconds that pass without meaning or measure -- the veins writhe, and then retract, as Deet takes in the Darkening not just from the surviving landstrider, but the remains of the four others, and from the very earth itself. 

Deet absorbs it all, every last tendril fades until the earth is clean, if still barren, and the landstriders lay peacefully. Deet herself takes on a faint glow, a hazy purple aura that surrounds her as the Darkening flickers and fights for control. There’s a humming, a buzzing, in Naia’s ears, in her mind, increasing in frequency until it’s a high-pitched wail, and then --

-- it stops. Deet blinks, her eyes going pure white, as she pulls her hands away from the landstrider, and presses them to the earth. She lets out a breath, and the hillside erupts as hundreds of flowers sprout and bloom, in every color imaginable. They burst all the way to the top of the hill, rushing past Naia and the others as they spring up, like a wave. The blossoms completely cover the four bodies lying on the hillside, and make a ring around the fifth, encircling its prone form, and Deet, still crouched beside it.

Time settles back into place, and Naia remembers to breathe again. All around her, the rest of her friends seem to blink back into awareness as the strange and wondrous moment passes. Rian is first to react, sheathing his sword and rushing to Deet’s side. Naia follows, and the rest are close behind.

“Deet?” Rian drops a hand on Deet’s left shoulder, and she blinks up at him. Her eyes are clear and her own, but she’s crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Are you okay?”

Deet nods, as Naia kneels down on her right side, getting a better look at the injured landstrider. It has been cleansed of the Darkening, but its breaths are still shallow -- it’s only a matter of minutes before the creature will return to Thra. Naia’s hands twitch, to help, to heal, but Deet reaches out, squeezes her hand, and shakes her head, once.

“It’s too late for him,” she says, her voice soft, but steady. She keeps ahold of Naia with her right hand, and with the left she pets the landstrider, even as his gasping breathing slows, and his eyes go dim. “I can’t save him. But at least he can go in peace. I can give him that much.”

“You did save him,” Naia decides. She hesitates only a moment before reaching out and stroking the coarse fur. She feels the thrum of her healing magic, but holds back. Some hurts are too much to heal, even for her. “No one deserves to die that way.” Deet nods, but she doesn’t meet Naia’s eyes, and Naia doesn’t let herself wonder what that means.

Some moments later, after the landstrider stops breathing and falls still, after Deet murmurs a few quiet words, the rest of their friends start to move away from the scene. Naia stands, but lingers, with flowers up to her knees and a body at her feet. She grips her left hand around the scar on her right arm, squeezing tight, just to see if she can still feel it. She doesn’t feel it, doesn’t feel anything, not until Gurjin steps up next to her, and gently pries her hand away, only to hold it tight.

“You won’t,” he says. His voice is strong, and sure, but when she looks up to meet his gaze, his eyes are terrified. “This won’t happen to you, Naia, I promise. I won’t let it.”

“I know,” Naia says. She squeezes Gurjin’s hand once, and then tugs him along with her, towards their friends, and the journey ahead.

-+-

The rest of the day’s travel is quiet, and subdued. Just like before, they set up camp right before nightfall, although this time, they do light a fire.

“We haven’t seen any Garthim since the river,” Naia points out, dumping an armload of firewood in the center of their camp. “And if those bats come back, I’d like to see what I’m shooting at.”

No one can find a reason to disagree -- honestly, Deet’s having enough trouble just finding her words. Her mind is clear once again, no longer overwhelmed by the pleas of Darkened creatures -- though they’re always there, on the edges, in the back of her mind, calling out. Thra is very, very sick, and that sickness only keeps spreading. She does her best to pack those thoughts away, but she can’t get the image of the landstriders out of her mind. She tells Kylan as much, as the two of them take the second watch of the night, long after the others have fallen asleep.

“I’m sorry it didn’t turn out how you wanted,” Kylan says, once Deet’s finished speaking, and fallen quiet once more. “I wish they could have lived. But what you did today was still amazing. There’s a little less darkness in the world now, because of you. That’s important.” He sounds so sure of his words, so confident that what he’s saying is true -- and coming from the ever-hesitant Kylan, it means more than Deet can say. Still, despite Kylan’s kindness and faith in her, Deet can’t help but wonder, and worry, about the diverging paths ahead of them. Is she guiding them down the right path, or steering them towards their doom? 

Deet turns to Kylan, to thank him, to reassure him -- except. Except when she looks at him, she doesn’t see Kylan as he is now, but instead as what he could have been -- what he still could be -- if they abandon their quest, and follow the path the Mystics foretold. 

She sees her very last friend, after Naia is lost to the Darkening, after Brea disappears without a trace, after Hup falls for the very last time, after Gurjin bleeds out in the warm, calm waters of his home. She sees someone who loves Jen as fiercely as Rian would have, if he’d lived long enough to meet his son. She sees him press his firca into tiny hands, saying, keep this safe for me, alright? before leaving for a mission he wouldn’t return from. She sees him as the SkekSis strap him into that horrible chair, sees him stare, unblinking, into the Crystal, steadfast until the very end. He never even makes a sound.

“Deet?” Kylan asks, and she blinks, back in the present. The firelight flickers, illuminating the faint purple scar on his face, and the camp is quiet. He looks concerned for her, one hand hovering nervously between them. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Deet assures him, nodding once, twice. The memories drift, like petals on the wind, and float away. She leans in and wraps her arms around Kylan, hugging him tight. “Thank you,” she says, and she thinks, for everything you would have done. “You’re a good friend.” 

“You’re welcome?” Kylan sounds a little confused, but when Deet pulls away his worry has faded, a warm smile in its place. “So are you. I’m glad I met you, Deet.”

Deet smiles wide at that, her heart happy and full. She leans her head on Kylan’s shoulder and stares at Gurjin, asleep on the other side of the camp. She drops her voice low, careful not to wake the others, and whispers, “I can see why you like him so much. He’s so kind, and loyal, and handsome. And he’s tall, and he can breathe underwater, that’s very interesting. Oh!” She sits up and grabs Kylan by the elbow, shaking him a little, “Oh, and if you were married, then Naia would be your sister! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I -- that’s --” Kylan sputters, and for a moment looks absolutely panicked, but then he only sighs, resigned. “Is it that obvious?”

“It really is,” Deet tells him. “I didn’t even need my visions to see it.”

“Right.” Kylan grimaces. “I suppose you’ve found me out.” His eyes dart over their friends, as if he’s double checking that they’re truly asleep, before he speaks again. “Those are...reasons to like him, yes, but it’s more than that. He --” Kylan sighs, and fidgets with the firca, hanging on its cord around his neck. “When he looks at me, I know that I matter to him. He makes me want to be more than I am. He makes me want to be brave.”

“Then be brave!” Deet insists, shaking him again. “Don’t just sit here and tell me these wonderful things, tell him how you feel!”

Kylan breathes in deep, his shoulders rising and falling as he sighs. “Maybe. Maybe after all of this is over.”

“Kylan.” Deet tightens her grip, and looks him right in the eyes. “Don’t wait, alright? Don’t wait. You never know what might happen.”

“You do,” Kylan says, fixing her with a piercing stare. Deet only hums, and Kylan sighs again. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

“I suppose that’s good enough,” Deet huffs out a breath, but smiles, resting her head on Kylan’s shoulder once more.

There’s a long pause. The logs crackle in the fire, and Kylan quietly admits, “I do like his gills.”

“I knew it.”

-+-

By mid-morning, the High Hill looms above them, the strange, metallic dome of the Orrery sitting right at the top. Brea’s seen maps and illustrations, in the Mystics’ Archive and back in her beloved library in Ha’Rar, but none of them, it seems, did the sight justice. It’s more beautiful and imposing and alien than she could have ever imagined.

“I’ve been thinking,” Gurjin says, one hand shielding his eyes as he squints up at the Orrery, glinting in the suns’ light. “Wasn’t it Mother Aughra that told you that we’re not supposed to heal the Crystal in the first place?”

Rian shifts from one foot, to the other, and then admits, “She did say that, yes.”

“Right.” Gurjin nods, still focused on the Orrery up above. He frowns. “So, what if she doesn’t want to hear what we have to say?”

Brea shuffles past them, and marches right up the hill, bound and determined to make her plan into a reality. “Then we’ll just have to make her listen.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-FOUR

-+-

Deet knows many things -- certain, simple truths that come to her without warning -- but she doesn’t know everything. She can’t predict the weather, she doesn’t know if a night watch will go by uninterrupted, and she didn’t know that they would travel all this way to the Orrery, only to have Mother Aughra dismiss them, almost at once.

“What do you mean, no?” Brea demands, the shock in her voice quickly shifting into frustration. “You haven’t given us a chance to explain, you can’t just say no!”

“No!” Aughra says, sounding annoyed that she’s had to repeat herself. She hasn’t so much as looked at Deet and her friends since they filed into the Orrery and asked for her help, choosing instead to shift through stacks of books and artifacts piled high on her workbench. “The Song of Thra has many parts, Clever Brea. Yours is not to rewrite prophecies.”

“Why not?” Aughra only huffs, and fiddles around with a set of odd brass scales. Brea’s tone changes again, from frustration, to anger, as she presses on, “And why call me clever if you won’t even hear what I have to say?”

Gurjin lets out a low whistle, which breaks off into a cough when Naia elbows him in his still tender ribs. Now, Aughra looks up, and levels her intense stare at Brea. Brea stares right back. Deet holds her breath, and the whole room is silent for ten seconds, twenty. 

“Well?” Aughra finally snaps, startling all seven of her guests. “Out with it, then! Aughra hasn’t got all day!”

Brea scrambles for her journal, laying it atop the least precarious pile in Aughra’s collection. The wise woman spares it a cursory glance, and goes right back to tinkering with her strange objects as Brea lays out the details of her plan -- but, she doesn’t interrupt, not even once, and Deet takes that as progress.

“My calculations are almost complete,” Brea finishes, closing her journal, and hugging it against her chest. She gestures to the humming, whirring contraption behind them, and says, “This can work, Mother Aughra, as long as I get it right. If I could just use your equipment--”

“Bah!” Aughra pulls a small packet from her pocket and shakes it. She sniffs it, grimaces, and tosses it over her shoulder, into a pile of what could only be called junk. “Can work, yes. Maybe it will. But probably won’t!”

Deet catches Rian’s glance from the corner of her eye. She stares straight ahead, not meeting his gaze, as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Aughra sighs, and flops gracelessly down into her chair. “Many paths lie before you, Gelfling. Most lead to darkness. One -- only one -- is certain to lead to the light.”

“The Mystics’ Prophecy,” Kylan murmurs. He’s edged closer to Aughra’s workbench, and runs a hand across the cover of a dusty book. 

“Found it, did you?” Aughra gives Kylan an appraising stare, but he only dips his head, nodding to Brea. Aughra follows his gaze, and then hums. “Then you already know the truth. The Great Conjunction will come, and only then can the Crystal be healed.”

“Are you telling us to give up?” Naia asks, incredulous. “That we should wait to die -- wait for all the Gelfling to die?” She shakes her head, and plants her feet. “I can’t accept that.”

Aughra huffs again, turning now to Naia, and searching her face for several long seconds. When she speaks, she sounds stern, but sad. “The future is immutable. All that’s left now is to play your parts.”

“You’re wrong,” Deet says, finally speaking up, her voice quiet, but sure. Everyone turns towards her, now, but she only has eyes for Aughra. “The Gelfling don’t all have to die. Brea’s plan can work. I’ve seen it.”

“Have you, now?” Aughra stands, and shuffles around her desk, moving closer to Deet. Her eye is open wide, studying her intently. Finally, she lets out a sound -- a scoff, or a laugh, or a sob -- Deet’s not sure which. “You have. Tell Aughra, what else have you seen, Gentle Deet? Have you seen what becomes of them, if this plan should fail? Have you seen what becomes of you?”

“Yes,” Deet says, holding her ground as Aughra steps closer, not breaking her gaze. Aughra takes a deep, heaving breath before--

“OUT!” she bellows, waving her arms, and practically charging towards Deet’s friends, ushering them away from her. “All of you, out! Not you--” she adds, with a glance at Deet, who only nods. 

“We’re not--” Brea stammers, even as the six of them are herded towards the door. “You can’t just--”

“It’s alright,” Deet tells them, her voice light. She turns to Rian, and gives him the most reassuring look she can muster. She knows he trusts her. She needs him to trust her. “Mother Aughra and I just need a moment to talk. Alone.” Rian hesitates, his heels still dug in, but then Gurjin lays a hand on his shoulder, and he relents.

Despite the protests -- Naia nearly has to drag Hup away -- Aughra manages to chase the others from the Orrery, giving Deet a moment all by herself. She stares up, as the tiny planets spin overhead. Is that what it really looks like, she wonders, out there among the stars?

“Gentle Deet.” Deet turns back, just as Aughra reappears, backlit in the entrance of the Orrery. Her face is wrinkled and scowling as always, but there’s something soft in her expression, something sad. “You’ve been keeping secrets.” It’s not a question, and if it was, Deet wouldn’t know how to answer it, so she stays silent. Aughra huffs and says, “Foolish Gelfling! Never listen to Aughra, and where does that end, hmm? All of Thra, lost.”

“Not if we win,” Deet says, balling her hands up into fists. Anger isn’t an emotion that she’s familiar with, and it reminds her too much of her time lost in the Darkening, but she doesn’t let that distract her. She needs Aughra to listen, to understand, to know the truth as she knows it. “I’ve seen the paths, I know what can happen. And more than that, I’ve seen what my friends can do.” Deet pictures their faces, letting that strengthen her resolve. “They saved me from the Darkening when the Mystics said I was already lost. They’re good, and kind -- when someone is hurt, or sad, they help them, even if it puts them at risk. And they’re willing to face the SkekSis, even though they’re scared, even though it’s dangerous, even though there’s a Prophecy that says it’s not our burden to bear.” Deet takes a deep, steadying breath. “I love them, and I trust them, and I know they can do this. Please, Mother Aughra, just let us try.”

“Let you?” Aughra scoffs, and shuffles over to stand beside Deet, squinting up as the stars and planets rotate overhead, an endless dance that Deet won’t pretend to understand. “Can’t stop you, can I?”

“No,” Deet admits. “I don’t think you can.” Aughra mutters under her breath, and Deet adds, “If it helps, urSu believes in us, too. Or at least, he believes in me.”

“urSu.” Aughra putters back over to her workbench. Deet watches her go, but stays put, as Aughra shoves an entire stack of papers off the table, scattering them to the floor before stepping right over them. “urSu. Is he soft on you because of the boy, or soft on the boy because of you?” She shoves a scroll into her pocket without even looking at it. “Bah! Doesn’t matter, either way.”

“Mother Aughra?” Deet watches as Aughra pockets a few more strange artifacts, and starts heading for the door. “Where are you going?”

“To the Mystics! Where else?” Aughra grumbles, trudging right down the hall and out of the Orrery, only turning to call back over her shoulder, “There’s a piece you’re still missing, if you want this foolish plan to work, but no matter! Aughra will see to that!”

-+-

Just a few minutes after physically chasing them from the Orrery, Mother Aughra herself stomps out into the sunshine. Brea opens her mouth to call after her, but she barrels right by, muttering under her breath and trudging down the hill without even acknowledging them. The six of them exchange confused glances, and then a moment later Deet peeks her head out of the hidden door.

“Good news!” she says, smiling brightly. One of the odd, whispering vines that hangs across the entrance inches towards her shoulder, and she carefully brushes it away. “She says we can stay!”

As they file back into the Orrery, Brea finally gets a chance to fully appreciate the interior. She’d been too distracted before, by Aughra’s swift rejection, but now, she can’t seem to look anywhere else. The machine in the center of the room is, without a doubt, the most extraordinary thing Brea has ever seen. She’s read books on astronomy, studied the stars and their courses, but that’s nothing compared to seeing all the parts and pieces of the universe in motion. 

For as long as she can remember, Brea has wanted to learn everything there is to know about her world. Looking up into the Orrery, watching the heavenly bodies spin on a miniature scale, Brea realizes she’s been thinking too small. She wants to know everything, about every world -- and this is the place she can do exactly that. She’s read the stories, and knows that Aughra uses her Orrery to send her mind out, to travel the cosmos -- maybe Brea can learn to do the same.

“This is what you needed, right?” Deet asks, and Brea shakes her head, snapping out of her daydreams of far-flung worlds, and back into the present. “To finish your plan?”

“Yes, Deet, this is perfect, thank you!” Brea hugs her, then holds her at arm's length as she thinks. “Of course, I’ll have to make some adjustments to the machinery, re-calibrate to account for the suns lining up.” She lets go of Deet’s shoulders, and pulls out her journal, flipping to her charts and calculations.

“Do you...know how to do that?” Gurjin asks carefully. He steps up on Deet’s other side, and then ducks as a planet swoops right over his head. 

Brea finds the page she was looking for, and scans through it for several long seconds before remembering that Gurjin just asked her a question, and that she should probably answer it. “Oh, you know,” Brea shrugs, not looking up from her journal. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Right.” Gurjin nods, then pokes Deet in the shoulder. “How’d you convince Mother Aughra to let us stay, anyway?”

“Well.” Deet bites at her lip, and looks a little guilty. “I’m not sure I convinced her of anything, really -- more like, she couldn’t convince me to give up.”

“And that worked?” Naia asks, looking impressed. Deet only shrugs, and Naia says, “Good enough for me.” 

“Deet?” Rian says, and there’s something in his tone that stills the gears turning in Brea’s head. They all turn to face him, and Brea sees his expression is troubled. “What did Mother Aughra mean, when she said this probably won’t work?” 

At her side, Deet goes very, very still. Her cheerful expression falters, just for a second, and then it returns. “Oh, well, just that it’s very dangerous, and there are a lot of ways it can go wrong. But!” she adds hurriedly, and she takes Brea’s hand, and squeezes it tight. “That isn’t going to happen! I’ve seen it, remember? Brea’s smart enough to figure this out, and I’m strong enough to heal the Crystal. It’s all going to work out perfectly.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Kylan asks, his voice quiet. His question earns him a nasty glare from Hup, ever ready to defend Deet’s honor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s back by Aughra’s workbench, flipping through one of her books. He glances up at the rest of them, and says, “This is our only chance to save the rest of the Gelfling. If we fail--”

“--It will be the end for us, and for our people,” Rian agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “But not the end of everything. There’s still the Gelfling from the Prophecy -- even if we fail, the Crystal can still be healed, and the Darkening will end.” For just a moment, Brea sees Rian the way she saw him once before, speaking to all Gelfling from deep within a blue flame, lighting the fires of rebellion in them all. “There will still be hope, for Thra, and whatever comes after us.”

There are nods and hums of agreement as Rian speaks. By chance, Brea catches a glimpse of Deet’s face -- the way it falls, at Rian’s words, the hollow look of devastation that flickers in her eyes, for just a split second.

Brea’s always loved puzzles -- and now, the final piece of the puzzle she didn’t know she’d been solving clicks into place. She thinks of Aughra, sacrificing her life, and the Archer’s, to save Rian from the Hunter -- she thinks of Deet, sitting silently for hours in that strange, sad room the Mystics had prepared for the Gelfling from their Prophecy -- she thinks of the disappointment in urSu’s eyes when he first saw Rian, when he had clearly hoped for someone else, someone who must have looked like him -- she thinks of Deet, wandering the winding walkways of the Valley, humming a lullaby under her breath, her distant eyes searching for someone no one else could see.

The moment passes, and Deet is smiling brightly once more, but Brea knows the terrible truth. Deet is lying to them -- or at least, she isn’t being entirely honest. If Brea’s plan fails, the Gelfling from the Prophecy -- Deet and Rian’s child --  will never be born. If they’re never born, the Crystal will never be healed, and, and --

Brea imagines the scene on the hill, the landstriders dead and dying, the earth dry and barren -- and then, she multiplies it, as she imagines a Darkening that spreads across every inch of Thra, unchecked, unchallenged. This isn’t about the fate of Brea and her friends, it isn’t even about the fate of the Gelfling -- it’s about the fate of everyone and everything. If they fail -- if she fails -- the Darkening will consume Thra, and all will be lost.

“Brea?” Rian is watching her, and waiting. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, I got distracted,” Brea confesses. Deet’s watching her, too, a curious look on her face. Has she guessed what Brea’s just realized? Should Brea confront her, or let her keep her secrets? “What were you saying?”

"We’ve all agreed, we have to try, no matter the risk,” Rian says, and the others all nod in solemn agreement. “But, it’s your plan, Brea, so it’s up to you. What do you say?”

Brea takes a deep breath, and makes up her mind. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, if we’re going to get this right,” she says, tapping the front of her journal. “So I say I better get started.”

-+-

Brea told them she would need at least a few days to finish her calculations, and finalize her plan for working around the Prophecy. She’d roped Kylan into her efforts, but the rest of them weren’t much use to her, and just did their best to stay out of the way. As far as Rian could tell, the process mostly involved Brea changing all the settings on Aughra’s enormous spinning contraption, and frantically scribbling down notes as it rotated, only to cross them all out and start over again. 

That had gone on for four days now, and this place, as wondrous and amazing as it was to look at, was starting to feel rather small. Aughra’s Podling attendant had disappeared after the second day, and as much as Rian loves his friends, he’s not sure he blames him. 

“Counting,” Naia says. Her shoulders are tense, her voice razor-sharp, and she’s glaring at her brother. “You can count, can’t you?”

“Of course I can count,” Gurjin scoffs. He’s sitting on the other side of the table, and has kept busy folding up bits of paper, and flicking them at Rian. “Counting isn’t math, Naia, come on.”

The twins and Rian are camped out, once again, at a low table in the main room. It’s covered in books that are largely being ignored, on account of Brea and Kylan are the only two among them that can actually read. There’s also a set of equations, transcribed from Brea’s journal, which had inspired the current argument. Gurjin had claimed that he’d never done math in his entire life and wasn’t about to start now, sending Naia into a rage the likes of which Rian has never seen before -- and he’s personally watched Naia kill monsters with her bare hands.

“It’s got numbers in it!” Naia hisses. When Gurjin only shrugs, she rounds on Rian and asks, “Why are you friends with him? I’m stuck with him. You choose to put up with this.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rian replies, squinting down at the open book in front of him. He’s got a handle on the basics, though he can honestly say he’s never read anything on purpose before -- and anyway, all the books here are, admittedly, more than he can handle. He tries tilting the book a bit, to see if that helps. It doesn’t. “You know, Gurjin, I bet Kylan would teach you math.”

“Very funny,” Gurjin says. His next paper missile bounces off Rian’s nose, and then lands in his lap. Rian rubs at his face and looks up to glare at Gurjin, only to see he’s turned away -- staring at Kylan, who’s up on a ladder, adjusting a dial on the now motionless Orrery, as Brea shouts directions from the ground. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Naia says, her voice flat. “I swear, if you would just talk to him instead of staring at his--”

Rian coughs, and elbows Naia, just as Deet peeks her head into the room.

“Oh, there you are!” Deet says brightly. Naia snaps her mouth shut, but elbows Rian right back, hard. Deet hurries over to join them, and Rian feels all of his irritations instantly vanish, just at the sight of her. “I was looking for you all! I was hoping one of you could help me with something?”

Rian opens his mouth to volunteer, but Naia’s already on her feet, practically knocking her chair over in her haste. “I’m in. Let’s go.”

“Oh, but,” Deet glances from Naia, to Rian, and back again. “I...didn’t even say what the favor was?”

“I don’t care what it is,” Naia assures her, linking their arms, and guiding Deet back the way she came. “Just as long as it gets me out of here.”

“Goodbye Naia!” Gurjin shouts. Naia flashes a rude hand gesture over her shoulder, and Gurjin bursts out laughing.

“Goodbye...Deet?” Rian calls, but the girls have already vanished around the corner. Gurjin tosses another wad of paper at his face

“Sorry, Rian,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. “It was only a matter of time before Deet came to her senses, you know. Clearly Naia’s the better choice.”

“Well, that’s alright.” Rian props up his book, hoping to at least use it as a shield. “Maybe Kylan will have me,” he adds mildly, and Gurjin throws an entire book at him.

-+-

Deet’s favor, as it turns out, is more of a field trip. Naia and Hup sit on the side of the High Hill, barely thirty feet away from the Orrery. Another ten feet down, Deet is kneeling beside a young sapling, battling an infection from the Darkening. It’s a bright, sunny day, with only a few wispy clouds drifting across the sky. Naia’s grateful for the fresh air, and for a break from Gurjin. She loves her brother, very dearly, but after four days of close quarters, unending boredom, and absolutely unnecessary pining, she’s ready to punch him in his stupid face.

“Why do you stay with us, Hup?” Naia asks -- because she’s curious, because there’s nothing else to do, out here on this beautiful day, except talk -- and because chances are high that she and all her friends will be dead in just a few weeks. Why not get to know the people who’ll be dying alongside her a little better? “You don’t have to be here, this isn’t your fight.”

“Is everyone’s fight,” Hup says, shaking his head. He’s got that ladle sitting in his lap, the one Gurjin stole from their kitchen, back home in the Sog. “SkekSis evil. If Hup not fight, Hup lets evil win.”

“A noble cause, then,” Naia says, nodding thoughtfully. “I thought maybe you were just here for Deet.”

“Hup fight for Deet, too,” he assures her. Together, they watch as a bright purple aura flickers around Deet, as she siphons the Darkening away. Hup continues. “Naia understands. Naia loves Gurjin. Hup loves Deet.”

“You see her like a sister?” Naia asks, surprised. She’d honestly thought Hup loved Deet the way Rian did -- but Hup hesitates, and shakes his head, so it seems she’s wrong on both counts.

“Gurjin not just brother,” Hup says. He goes slowly, piecing his explanation together bit by bit. Naia thinks if they’re all still alive, when this is over, they all ought to learn a little more Podling, for his sake. “Gurjin is important. Most important. Naia do anything to keep safe, ye?”

“Yes,” Naia says, without hesitation. Gurjin could drive her crazy, yes, but he was hers, and she couldn’t imagine life without her twin, the other half of her heart. The SkekSis had taken him from her once already, and she’d fought tooth and nail to get him back. She won’t let them have him again, not while she still draws breath. “He’s mine to protect, no matter what.”

“Hup feel same for Deet,” Hup explains, and Naia nods in understanding. “Hup protect Deet with life, if have to.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Naia watches Deet plant her hands in the soil, wildflowers sprouting up as she channels the Darkening into something pure, and resists the urge to clamp her fingers over her scar and squeeze. “I do like having you around.”

Hup leans over, and pats her on the knee. “Hup like Naia, too,” he says, as Deet climbs back up to her feet, picking a few white blossoms before heading up the hill towards them. “Fierce. Smart. Good friend.”

“Oh!” Deet says, as she approaches. She’s got a wildflower behind her ear, and two more in her hands. “Are we saying nice things about Naia? I want to go next!”

“You don’t have to do that,” Naia says quickly, but Deet already has a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Naia, I like how you always stand up for what you believe, no matter what anyone says.” Deet leans in, and carefully tucks a flower into Naia’s hair. “You put others first, and always take care of everyone -- but don’t forget to take care of yourself, too, alright?”

“Alright,” Naia repeats, thrown more than a little off balance by Deet’s open emotion, but touched by her kind words all the same. “Thank you, Deet.”

“You’re welcome!” Deet says cheerfully. She slips the third flower into the folds of Hup’s hat, and he beams up at her. “And Hup! You are the bravest paladin I’ve ever met, and my very best friend.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, and then drops down to sit in the grass between the two of them, giving Naia an encouraging look.

“Oh, right.” Naia lets out a breath. She’s never been sentimental -- not with anyone other than Gurjin, anyway, and even then, only in special circumstances -- but she is honest, so she supposes that will just have to do. “Hup, you’re loyal, and stubborn. I like that about you.” Hup nods his thanks, and Naia presses on. She fixes Deet with a serious stare, so she’ll know that Naia means what she says. “And Deet. You have so much love in your heart. I wish there were more people like you.”

“Deet sees good everywhere,” Hup chimes in, and Naia hums in agreement. “Makes world a better place.”

“Oh, wow,” Deet says. Her voice is small, and her eyes are wide and brimming with tears, but she’s smiling. The next second, she throws out her arms and tugs them both in for a hug, seemingly at a loss for words. Hup nestles in immediately, and after a few seconds of surprise, Naia relaxes, too, and just enjoys the moment.

-+-

“Kylan? Kylan! Are you even listening to me?”

Kylan blinks, tearing his gaze away from Gurjin, who’s busy goofing off with Rian on the other side of the room -- and back to Brea, who’s staring up at him from the base of the ladder, her expression stern.

“Right, right,” Kylan says, shaking his head, and trying to focus. “Was it counter-clockwise, or--”

“Clockwise,” Brea corrects, and Kylan nods, twisting the dial until it clicks, and then hurrying down the ladder. They both move out of the way, and Brea flips a lever. The Orrery starts up again, with all of Brea’s adjustments carefully put into place. The machine spins, and makes it halfway through a revolution before grinding to a halt. Brea buries her face in her hands, and lets out a frustrated groan. Working with Brea so closely these past few days, Kylan has noticed the princess’s anxiety has hit a record high -- likely because this is her plan, and so much of the weight is falling on her shoulders.

“It’s alright,” Kylan assures her, patting her on the arm. In the background, Gurjin laughs, and Kylan barely resists the urge to turn around and look. “We’ll just keep trying. Let’s check the equations again.”

“We’ve checked the equations a dozen times,” Brea says, miserably. With her foot, she nudges the little replica Castle that Kylan had helped her construct, based on plans and schematics she’d found in the Archive, and Rian and Gurjin’s knowledge from their time in the Guard. The plan was to pinpoint the perfect location for Brea’s mirrors -- unfortunately, that plan wasn’t working very well. “I have to get this right, Kylan.”

“You will.”

“If I don’t, people will die,” Brea continues. She pulls out her journal, scanning over her calculations once more. “A lot of people, Kylan.”

“Mhmm,” Kylan says, turning back to stare across the room. Gurjin’s standing five feet away from the table, now, and he’s pelting a laughing Rian with little folded stars. Kylan honestly can’t believe he’s fallen so hopelessly in love with him, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

Well, there is one thing he could do. He thinks of his conversation with Deet the other night. Don’t wait, she had told him. Be brave.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to die.” Brea closes her notebook once more, and starts fiddling with the lever, trying to get it unstuck. “There’s so much I want to do, so many things I want to learn.”

“Right,” Kylan says. Don’t wait. Here he is, planning a mission that maybe none of them will return from. Is this really something he wants to leave unsaid? Be brave. “I understand.”

“And even if we do heal the Crystal,” Brea’s saying, leaning all her weight into the lever now, “Mother Aughra’s probably going to kill me anyway, because I think I broke it--”

“Brea?” Kylan interrupts, and she stops, both hands still wrapped around the lever. “I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t wait for Brea to answer, walking to the other side of the room before his mind can talk his feet out of it. 

Gurjin’s back is to him, but Rian nods to him as soon as Kylan gets close, and he turns at the last second. “Hey, Kylan,” he says -- he keeps his tone casual, and adjusts his stance to lean, just a little, against the wall -- but his face lights up with a smile that he can’t quite hide, and Kylan’s heart swells.

“Gurjin?” he says. Don’t wait. “Can we talk?”

“Oh, yeah.” Gurjin's expression shifts again, into something a little more serious. “What’s the matter?”

Kylan opens his mouth, only to realize he’s forgotten what he meant to say, all his words turned to smoke and dissipated. Be brave, be brave, be brave, he thinks, as he takes Gurjin’s hands in his own, leans up into his space, and kisses him.

For a moment, the rest of the world falls away. Kylan doesn’t notice Rian falling out of his chair, or that Brea’s finally got the lever unstuck, the Orrery grinding back into motion. He doesn’t notice the little suns and planets swooping overhead, he just notices that Gurjin’s let go of his hands only to grab him at the waist, and pull him even closer, deepening the kiss. Kylan’s never kissed anyone before, he’s not even sure if he’s doing it right, but Gurjin doesn’t seem to mind, either way.

Time passes -- seconds or minutes or an eternity, Kylan doesn’t know how long it is before the two of them break away, before Gurjin looks him in the eyes, and says, a little breathless, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kylan says, nodding furiously, until Gurjin cups his cheek in one hand, running a thumb along his scar, and kissing him again.

“Obviously, I’m very happy for you both,” Brea calls from across the room. Gurjin laughs even as he pulls away. Kylan turns back to Brea sheepishly, only to see her leaning against the lever, as the Orrery rotates overhead. “But you’re supposed to be helping me, Kylan. People are dying.”

“Right.” Kylan winces, but Gurjin can’t stop grinning, and he’s not looking anywhere but Kylan’s face. “I should probably...go…”

“Do something about the dying people, yeah,” Gurjn agrees. He leans in and presses just one more kiss to Kylan’s lips, because he can. “That does sound important.”

It is very important, but Kylan can’t seem to make himself leave. “We can talk more later, right?” he asks hopefully.

“Absolutely,” Gurjin says, and Kylan nods, biting back his own grin. He catches a glimpse of Rian, popping back up from the other side of the table, and flashing Gurjin a thumbs up -- and then he turns, and hurries back to join Brea.

“Well,” she says, looking him up and down, and barely hiding a smile of her own. “Now I bet you really don’t want to die.”

“Not really, no,” Kylan admits, and Brea nods.

“That’s good to hear.” She pulls the lever again. The Orrery stops spinning, and she presses her journal into his hands. “Because I finally figured it out. Nobody’s dying, Kylan,” she says, scrambling up the ladder herself, and reaching up for the nearest star. “Not on my watch.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-FIVE

-+-

Rian is honestly impressed -- Gurjin paces in the hallway for almost ten entire minutes before he marches back into the Orrery and takes Kylan by the hand. He leads him into the little room off at the side of the building, closes the door behind them, and that’s the last Rian sees of them for quite a while. Brea only sighs, and gives Rian a pointed look -- which is how he ends up on top of the ladder, occasionally adjusting settings and knobs, but mostly just waiting around as Brea sits cross-legged on the ground, muttering over her notes. 

He’s still up there, idly watching the stars and planets spin, when Deet, Hup, and Naia finally return from their adventure. Deet hadn’t mentioned where they were going, but as they’ve all come back wearing flowers in their hair, Rian’s got a pretty good guess. Hup makes a beeline for Aughra’s workbench, and goes back to halfheartedly sifting through the wise woman’s towering piles of junk, but the girls both approach the Orrery. 

“Rian, Brea!” Deet calls out, practically skipping over to join them. She peers over Brea’s shoulder as she makes furious notes in her journal. “How’s it going?”

“It was going fine, until I lost my research assistant,” Brea grumbles, tucking her pencil behind her ear and reaching for one of the scrolls at her side.

“Hey.” Rian turns so quickly he nearly bangs his head on a model sun, and frowns at Brea. “What about your new research assistant?” Brea glances up, only to shoot him a withering glare. “Well alright, then. Good to know where I stand.”

Brea scoffs, returning to her notes, and Naia asks, “What happened to your old research assistant?” Rian sees her scanning the room, no doubt looking for her suspiciously absent best friend, and brother.

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Rian says, his voice light, as he rests his elbows on the top rung of the ladder. Naia swivels to face him, her eyes narrowed, and he grins. “You missed quite the show.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Naia glances from Rian, to the table where she’d left her brother, to the closed door off the side of the hallway, and finally, back to Rian. “No.”

“Yes.” Rian nods. At the base of the ladder, Deet gasps as she puts the pieces together, and looks absolutely thrilled. 

“Huh.” Naia crosses her arms and nods thoughtfully. “Well, it’s about time Gurjin grew some wings.”

“He really didn’t though,” Brea comments, rolling up the scroll, and returning to her journal. Naia’s eyes get impossibly wide, as Brea continues. “It was Kylan that kissed him.”

“Ohhh, how sweet!” Deet clasps her hands together, and Rian smiles down at her fondly -- but Naia’s still shaking her head in disbelief.

“Ask them yourself,” Rian suggests, motioning towards the door. Naia tosses one last suspicious glare over her shoulder even as she heads out into the hall. Rian takes a moment to mentally apologize to Gurjin, before looking back down at Deet. “I take it you found what you were looking for?”

“I did!” Deet touches the flower tucked behind her ear before smiling back up at him. “I could show you, if you wanted?”

“I’d like that,” Rian says, his grin widening. He’s half a second from scrambling back off the ladder and following Deet when Brea sighs.

“Can it wait?” she asks, exasperated, snapping her journal shut. “Having Rian as an assistant is still better than having no assistant at all.”

“Of course, Brea!” Deet says cheerfully, and she gives a little curtsy. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help!”

“Hold on now,” Rian says, trying to work out if he’s offended or not. He thinks he probably is. “You know, it’d be nice to feel at least a little appreciated around here.”

“I’d appreciate it if you would move this ladder,” Brea says, with a tight, forced smile, nodding towards the other side of the Orrery. Rian scowls, but climbs back down, and folds the ladder up with only a little grumbling. Brea’s already turned back to her notes, but Deet kisses him on the cheek before flouncing off to join Hup across the room, and that’s a good enough reward all on its own. 

-+-

“So,” Gurjin says, as realization dawns on him. “When you said you wanted to talk more, you really meant, you know. Talking.”

“Yes.” Kylan nods slowly. His eyes are wide, like he’s still in shock that this is really happening -- the two of them, alone, together, in the cramped little room on the side of the Orrery -- as if he hadn’t been the one to march right across the room and kiss Gurjin in the first place.

“Like, with words?” Gurjin prompts. Kylan had completely upended any thoughts Gurjin had about how they would eventually -- hopefully -- get to this point, but he doesn't mind this turn of events. “A conversation?”

Kylan’s got one hand resting at Gurjin’s side, and the other skates across his shoulder. He hums absently, as if he’s thinking to himself. “That would be a good idea, I think.”

“Right, right.” Gurjin nods, finding it very difficult to focus on anything other than the press of Kylan’s fingertips. “It’s just -- before, when you said you wanted to talk, what you actually wanted to do was kiss me.”

“I was going to talk,” Kylan insists. He glances away, a little sheepish, but he’s as relaxed as Gurjin’s ever seen him, not so tightly wound with anxiety. “I just, sort of...forgot what I was going to say,” he admits. Gurjin’s heart swells with affection -- they’re absolutely hopeless, the both of them, it’s a wonder they’ve made it this far -- so he cups Kylan’s chin, and tilts his face up to make eye contact as he continues, “Kissing you seemed like the next best idea.”

“One of your best ideas yet,” Gurjin agrees, and Kylan smiles up at him, genuine and just a little goofy. Gurjin would like nothing more than to kiss him again, and keep kissing him for maybe forever -- but if Kylan wants to talk, then that’s what they’ll do. Plenty of time for kissing afterwards. He lets his hand fall from Kylan’s face, to his shoulder. “What did you want to talk about?”

Kylan takes a half step back, and lets go of Gurjin, only to wring his hands. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then finally blurts out, “Are you sure? About this? About me?”

“Am I sure?” Gurjin asks, surprised. He wants to step in closer, afraid to let Kylan retreat, but he holds his ground and respects his space. “You kissed me, remember?”

“I know,” Kylan says, tugging at one of his braids, panic creeping back into his voice. “I’ve never done anything like that before, but Deet said I should be brave, so--”

“You talked to Deet about me?” Gurjin asks, curious, and Kylan nods, looking a little distracted. “Did she tell you what I said the other night? About you?”

“No.” Kylan steps back in close, and takes Gurjin’s hand when he reaches out, holding on tight. “What did you say?”

“Well, I don’t remember all of it, on account of I busted my head,” Gurjin admits. Kylan winces at the memory, but lets out a quiet laugh. “But I remember telling her that I’d never met anyone quite like you.” He rests his hand on Kylan’s waist, and runs it up his back, tugging him in a little closer. “That I should have kissed you, that night in the Valley. That now that I’ve met you, I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

“You mean that?” Kylan asks. His voice is a whisper, his eyes are wide. Gurjin finds he’s run right out of words, so he answers him with a kiss, instead -- doing his best to show Kylan what’s in his heart with the movement of his lips, with their heartbeats pounding in rhythm as they slot together, like they were made to be one. It’s a beautiful, perfect moment, until --

--The door swings open, and they break apart. Gurjin doesn’t even have to look at the intruder, pressing his forehead to Kylan’s as he groans, “Some privacy would be nice.”

“It’s a small house,” Naia says. Gurjin pulls away from Kylan, and turns to his sister, leaning in the open doorway. She’s smirking, and she says, “Hello, Kylan.”

“Hello, Naia,” Kylan offers a nervous little wave, and then seems to regret it, staring at his own hand before dropping it -- Gurjin would kiss him again, if his sister wasn’t standing right there staring at them, and he’d almost do it anyway. 

“Could have at least knocked,” Gurjin grumbles. Naia’s still standing there, and she’s still smirking, so he gestures vaguely at her. “Did you need something, or…”

“No, just making sure Rian wasn’t pulling my leg,” Naia says, pushing off the doorframe. “I’ll leave you to it.” She glances around at the Podling sized furniture, and then back up to them. “But I do think you’re going to need a bigger bed.”

“Get out, get out, get out !” Gurjin stalks across the room, plants two firm hands on Naia’s shoulders and practically shoves her into the hallway. He slams the door shut, but he can still hear her laughing on the other side, as her footsteps retreat back towards the rest of the Orrery. He has a feeling that this won’t be the last of Naia’s teasing, and mentally prepares himself for a long, grueling road. But, until then -- Gurjin turns around to see Kylan, standing exactly where he left him, and blushing bright red. 

“Right,” Gurjin says with a sigh, as he tries to compose himself. “Where were we?”

-+-

The afternoon stretches into evening, and another day at the Orrery drags to a close. Gurjin and Kylan still haven’t reappeared, but when Naia presses her ear to the door, all she hears is muffled conversation -- probably for the best, as they certainly have a lot to talk about. As much as she’ll enjoy teasing her brother -- and she will definitely enjoy it -- Naia’s happy for them both. It works out well for her, as well -- she doesn’t have to put up with Gurjin’s endless pining any longer, and she gets Kylan as a brother? That’s a win, on both counts.

Rian and Deet slip outside shortly after the last sun sets, leaving Naia, Hup, and Brea with the main room of the Orrery all to themselves. Hup’s made exactly one interesting discovery, combing through Aughra’s garbage -- a flask, full of a dark brown liquid, that sloshes when he shakes it. Hup unstoppers the bottle, sniffs it, and shrugs, before passing it to Naia. 

“Smells like alcohol.” Naia agrees, after investigating for herself, and passing it back to the Podling. “Good find, Hup.”

“Who knows how long that’s been there?” Brea points out, sounding scandalized. It had taken a lot of effort for Naia to entice -- antagonize -- Brea into putting up her work for the day and joining them. Even now, the princess is looking longingly over her shoulder at the Orrery, and eyeing Hup’s bottle with distrust. “What if it’s poisoned?”

“I’ll heal you,” Naia says flatly, with a nod towards Hup, who’s already taking a swig. “See, Hup’s not afraid. I’m sure it’s fine.” As soon as she says it, Hup coughs, sputters, and pounds on his chest. Naia winces, and Brea looks terrified.

“Good,” Hup says, once he’s stopped coughing, passing the flask to Naia “Good, is good.”

Naia gives Brea a pointed look, and takes a drink for herself. She coughs, too, as it burns all the way down her throat. Almost instantly, she feels a gentle warmth radiate through her -- everywhere but her arm, still cold, still pulsing with the Darkening’s infection, but Naia pushes that thought away. She bets that if she drinks enough of this bottle, she won’t be thinking about it at all.

Brea’s still watching her skeptically, and Naia sighs. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to, we won’t tease you,” she says, and Brea’s frown softens, just a bit. Naia nods at the Orrery, still spinning overhead. “But you need a break from that thing -- you’re making yourself crazy, and we need you at your best, if this is going to work.”

“You’re probably right,” Brea concedes, and she sighs. “But just for tonight! There’s so much to do in the morning.”

“Just for tonight. And you know, if you don’t want to stay with us--” Naia passes Hup the flask, and then she motions to the hallway, “--Maybe someone’s looking for a third.”

Hup chokes on his drink, and it takes Naia pounding on his back for him to catch his breath. Brea rolls her eyes, but doesn’t comment, and the three of them settle in for a long, quiet night.

-+-

When the suns set, Deet takes Rian by the hand, and leads him to the spot she visited earlier-- on the eastern side of the High Hill, where a sapling springs up from the rocky soil. Earlier this morning, this place was infected with the Darkening, but now, it’s healthy, and covered in white wildflowers, with blossoms the size of her palm. She did this -- this place was sick, and now it’s beautiful, because of her, because of what she can do -- but that’s not what she wants to think about, not tonight. Tonight, she wants to hold Rian’s hand, and look up at the stars, without worrying about timelines or diverging paths or possible futures.

A vision takes hold of her anyway. She blinks, and finds herself in another place, at another time. It’s a night like this one, with the moons and all the stars overhead, hanging in a cloudless sky. Deet knows, with perfect clarity, that this is a vision of the future she seeks. She knows that she is sitting in a meadow near the home she and Rian will build together, after the Crystal is healed. It’s a quiet place, a safe place, where their children will play, where their little family will gather on long summer nights, with nothing more pressing to do but count the stars. They’re all here together, in this moment, and Deet watches as they filter into focus one by one.

She sees Rian, first, right at her side. He carries scars from the war, but the weight of the world no longer hangs on his shoulders. He’s at peace here, his eyes shining with affection for Deet, and for their three beautiful childlings -- each one a perfect expression of the love they share. Deet knows this is more than he ever could have hoped for -- a quiet life, as a husband, as a father, with all the time in the world to spend with his family, to let them know how much he loves them. She knows he will do exactly that, every day, for the rest of his life. 

Next, she sees her son, eyes alight as he fills the meadow with his happy chatter, telling them all about the constellations. He’s not much more than eight, but he already knows the names of the stars, and the stories behind them, and he’s learning how they move through the cosmos. He shines so bright, her Jen. This is not the echo from her previous visions. That Jen truly was a ghost -- not just because he haunted her, but because he was only a shade of what he could have been. The Prophecy had reduced him to his destiny, and nothing more. But this Jen -- this Jen is vibrant, with untold possible futures ahead of him. He’s not an ember, but a spark. He will shape his life for himself, and the world will be better for it. 

Her girls click into place last of all. Her youngest is fast asleep in her arms, only a few unum old. Just as Jen so clearly favors Rian, the baby is a tiny replica of her mother. She was the missing piece, and with her arrival this spring their family is finally complete. Their middle child is dozing off in Rian’s lap, up far past her bedtime. She’ll be five this winter, and she is a perfect blend of her parents. She has Rian’s complexion, but Deet’s wide, dark eyes and long ears. Her hair is pale and frizzy, with streaks of blue, tied back in a loose braid as she leans against her father’s chest, quickly losing her battle with sleep.

Deet doesn’t know her daughters’ names -- much of their stories remain a mystery to her, probably because the path that leads to their existence is the most perilous of all. Seeing their faces only sharpens Deet’s will, and reassures her that she is right, to try and follow this path. The stakes are high, but she has faith in her friends, and in herself -- she has faith that they will bring this path to the light -- faith that she will meet her daughters someday, that Rian won’t be taken from them before he even meets his son, that Jen will grow up with his family, where he belongs.

The vision stretches on a little longer. Jen runs out of steam before he runs out of stories, and finally nods off in the tall, green grass. Rian leans in and presses a kiss to Deet’s lips, and another to the baby’s hair, pale and feather-soft, before scooping up Jen and his sister, careful not to wake them. Together, the five of them head towards home, and the rest of their wonderful lives.

When the vision eventually fades, Deet finds herself still under the same stars. She’s back on the High Hill, surrounded by wildflowers, with Rian at her side. He was older, in her vision, but he loves her just as fiercely now as he will then, as he always will.

“Deet?” he asks, and she turns to him. His expression is curious, and their hands are still linked. “What did you see?”

“Oh.” Deet pauses, unsure of how to answer him -- it’s one thing to let a small detail slip, but it’s quite another to paint an elaborate picture of the future. It gives her joy to see her children, to see her family, and she is grateful that she can use what she knows to guide her friends to safety -- but still. Once this is over, she hopes she can be rid of these visions, once and for all. Life is meant to be lived, not revealed, or foretold. She wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

Rian must sense her hesitation, because he’s quick to add, “You don’t have to tell me, that’s fine. It’s just, usually the things you see upset you, but -- you’re smiling.” He reaches out, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Was it something good?”

Deet puts her hand on Rian’s chest, and presses gently until he’s lying on his back. “It was better than good,” she tells him, and swings a leg over so she’s straddling his waist. Rian’s eyes widen, and he grins up at her as she closes the distance, leaning down to kiss him -- only to break apart several long seconds later, and smile against his lips. “It was perfect.”

-+-

On the fifth day, the seven of them gather in the Orrery after breakfast, the same as they’ve done all this week. The only difference today is Brea seems to have moved on from her calculations. Instead of tinkering with the Orrery and its mechanisms, Kylan finds her elbows deep in Aughra’s hoard -- a strange collection of oddities and actual garbage, tucked in every nook and cranny of this place.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” he asks, eager to help in any way he can -- he does feel badly about interrupting their work yesterday, and then just sort of...leaving. He’s not sure if Brea’s upset with him or not, but either way, he can’t say he regrets it. He and Gurjin had been up half the night, talking about everything that’s happened in their lives so far, about what they’d like to do when all of this is over. It was nice to spend time, just the two of them, just talking -- well, Kylan thinks, as Gurjin catches his eye from across the room, and grins. Mostly just talking. 

“Just looking for anything useful,” Brea says, as she picks up a little silver bell, and rings it, letting out a high clear note. “We’ll need all the help we can get if we’re getting to the Crystal in one piece.”

“Like your mirrors?” Rian guesses. He’s on the other side of Aughra’s workbench, examining yet another pile of assorted artifacts and junk. He tugs at a long metal handle, sticking out of the pile, and when it doesn’t seem to budge, leans down and starts shifting things around, working to free it.

“There was a mirror in the other room!” Deet chimes in helpfully, and they all glance up. She and Hup are sitting on the second level, watching the Orrery spin. “I think it belonged to Mother Aughra’s Podling friend, but I’m sure he won’t mind if we borrow it!”

“It has to be a special kind of mirror,” Brea says. She finally sets aside the bell, only to rifle around in her satchel. She pulls out a mirror, small enough to cup in her hands, and passes it to Kylan. “See how it curves in?” Kylan nods, running a thumb across the surface, and Brea adds, “Just be careful, you could technically start a fire with that.” Kylan freezes, and Naia snatches the mirror from him, examining it for herself.

“Are we burning down the castle?” Naia asks. She twists the mirror back and forth, catching the light. “Should have led with that, Brea, I’d have agreed to this plan a lot sooner.” She shines the light right in Gurjin’s face, and then laughs when he tries to bat it away out of instinct.

“I wasn’t planning on it, no,” Brea says, as Naia tosses the mirror back to her. “Not unless things go terribly wrong.”

“Hey, Deet?” Gurjin calls up, using one hand to shade his eyes from the bright morning light, filtering in through the odd, domed roof. “You can see the future. Do we get to burn down the Castle?”

Deet leans over the ledge, and peers back down at him. “That depends,” she says, kicking her feet idly. “Do you want us all to live?”

“That’d be nice, yeah,” Gurjin says, with a shrug. Behind him, Rian tugs at the strange handle again. This time, it comes free, and he staggers back, barely catching himself before he falls. Gurjin doesn’t seem to notice, still staring up at Deet, “I’m guessing that’s a no, then?” When Deet shakes her head, Gurjin drops his hand and says, “Eh, oh well. Worth a shot.”

“How many have you found?” Kylan asks, nodding to the mirror as Brea tucks it back in her satchel. “Do you have enough?”

“Just this one -- and it’s too small, anyway,” Brea explains. She stretches her hands, to show an approximate size. “The mirrors we need are much bigger, and we’ll need five of them.”

“Why five?” Naia asks, dropping down to sit on Kylan’s other side, and bumping his shoulder with hers. “There’s only three suns?”

“That’s not--” Brea starts, and stops, reaching for her journal. “That’s not really how it works, you have to -- oh, hold on.” She flips to the back of her journal, grabs a pencil from behind her ear, and starts sketching something -- Kylan can’t make out the details from here, and anyway, he’s distracted by his friends once more.

“Gurjin,” Rian calls, as Brea sketches furiously. “Come take a look at this.” Kylan turns just as Gurjin scrambles to his feet, and sees what Rian’s found -- half-buried, it had just looked like a long metal pole, but now Kylan can see three sharp prongs -- a trident, made of such a dark material that it’s nearly black.

“Woah,” Gurjin says, wide-eyed and reverent as he edges closer to get a better look at the weapon. Rian passes it over, and then ducks out of the way as Gurjin spins it, testing the weight and balance. Apparently satisfied, Gurjin continues his inspection -- he pricks his thumb with one of the prongs and winces, but just as quickly his face shifts into a grin. “I wonder what a Garthim would have to say about this?”

“You should ask, next time we see one,” Rian says, nodding his approval. “It suits you, I think.” 

“Thanks, Rian,” Gurjin says, flashing an earnest and grateful smile before taking a few more practice swings, and calling out, “What you think, Kylan? How does it look?”

“It looks very sharp,” Kylan answers, watching as Gurjin swings again, the trident whooshing through the air. “I think you should maybe be careful?”

“That’s right, Gurjin,” Naia says mildly. “Kylan wouldn’t want you to damage anything important.”

Kylan sputters, Rian laughs, and Brea rolls her eyes, still hard at work on her sketch. Gurjin just scowls, planting the trident back in the pile of junk, and leaning into the handle. He narrows his eyes at his sister and asks, “How long are you gonna be like this, do you think?”

Naia shrugs, unapologetic. “Until I get bored.”

“Alright, let’s just try to focus,” Brea says, turning her journal around, and laying out her sketch for everyone to see. Kylan, Gurjin, Rian, and Naia all crowd in, but Deet and Hup seem content to stay up on the ledge, lost in their own conversation. Brea points to each part of her sketch, explaining as she goes. “Three mirrors to focus the light from three suns, all angled at the fourth mirror,” she traces her finger across the page, following the paths as they converge, “Which captures it all, and aims it at the fifth mirror, to direct it right to the Crystal.”

“Huh,” Rian says, after a long moment of silence, studying the picture. “That makes...a lot more sense.”

“Right.” Brea narrows her eyes, studying each of her friends intently. “You did understand how the plan worked before you agreed to it, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” Gurjin admits, swinging the trident up, only to rest it across his shoulders. When Brea stares up at him, he shrugs. “Deet says it’ll work. I figured you had it under control.”

Brea opens her mouth, and Kylan quickly intervenes, before they can launch into another argument. “If we can’t find them here, where are we going to get the mirrors?”

“Your sister.” Deet’s voice floats down from the ledge above, and once again they all look up. She’s staring straight ahead, watching the Orrery as it spins around, and around, and around.

“Whose sister?” Gurjin looks from Deet, to Naia, in confusion -- but Naia only shakes her head, clearly just as lost as the rest of them.

“Mine,” Brea says, still staring up at Deet, a strange expression on her face. She drums her fingers on the cover of her journal, before setting it aside and reaching back into her bag, pulling out another book -- Kylan recognizes it as the one he made for her, and he recognizes the envelope she pulls from the back of the book as the one a Courier brought, just before they left the Sog. Brea holds the envelope tight, but does not open it, as she explains, “This letter says that if we go to Ha’Rar, my sister can help us.”

“She can help us with...mirrors?” Rian asks carefully. He’s staring up at Deet, who seems to have shaken out of her stupor, and is talking quietly with Hup, pointing at something up through the pane glass roof. 

“I don’t know.” Brea lets out a breath. “It just says that she can help.”

“Do we have any better ideas?” Naia asks, glancing around at the rest of them. “Or, any other ideas, at all?” When the others just shake their heads, she shrugs. “Then I don’t see any other options.”

“Neither do I.” Rian finally tears his gaze away from Deet, and looks to Brea. “How much more time do you need here, Brea?”

“I’ve got what I needed,” Brea says, replacing the envelope, and slipping the book back into her bag. “I think it’s time for us to go.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-SIX

-+-

In the end, they agree to spend one last day at the Orrery, searching through the last of Aughra’s bizarre collection, and plotting a course to Ha’Rar. It’ll be several days of travel -- all on foot, since they’ve lost their boat. Brea tries not to worry about that part, and trust in her friends to get them there safely, just as they’re trusting her to turn the measurements and calculations tucked away in her journal into a solution that will save them all.

Still, there’s one thought prickling in the back of her mind that Brea can’t sweep away so easily. And so she waits until dark, until her friends have all turned in for an early night, to make her move. Brea rises and creeps over on silent feet, towards the sleeping forms of Deet and Rian. She reaches out to shake Deet’s shoulder, only to see her friend wide awake, dark eyes open and staring at her.

Deet puts a finger to her lips and motions to Rian, asleep at her side, and then to the door. Brea nods in understanding and backs out of the room, with Deet at her heels.

Outside, the night is still and quiet. A storm is brewing to the north, dark clouds rolling in and blotting out the stars. It takes several long moments for Brea’s eyes to adjust, with only faint moonlight glinting off the Orrery to guide her.

“Brea?” Deet’s frowning, her eyes wide and searching Brea’s face. “Is something the matter?”

Brea doesn’t answer at first, just reaches into her pocket, and pulls out the envelope tucked inside. She keeps quiet as she unfolds Onica’s note, and reads through the words one more time, even though she could recite the message by heart. “What do you know about this letter, Deet?”

“The letter?” Deet sounds surprised. She glances down at the paper, but doesn’t move to take it. “Just what you told us. You said it’s from your sister?”

“Yes.” Brea takes a deep breath, and then lets it out, before she explains. “It’s from my sister, Tavra. The sister that I buried.” Her hands are shaking, and she carefully returns the letter to its envelope, afraid to crumple it. “This letter says that she’s alive, but...changed. I don’t understand what it means.” She clenches her hands into fists, and releases them, but it doesn’t stop the trembling. “It was Onica who sent this, and she’s helped me before -- if it wasn’t for her, I would never have found Lore, and I might not have met all of you. I want to believe what she’s saying, but --”

“Brea,” Deet cuts in, her voice gentle, her expression nervous. “What are you asking me?”

“Is it true?” Brea tries, and fails, to keep her voice from shaking. “You said my sister can help us, so I know you saw something.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Deet starts, and when Brea opens her mouth to argue, Deet reaches for her hand, and holds it tight. “I don’t go looking for the futures, they just come to me -- in pieces, never all at once. I know your sister can help, but that’s all. If I knew any more, I would tell you.”

“Would you?” Brea doesn’t bother to hide the accusation in her voice, and Deet visibly flinches. “I know you’re keeping secrets, Deet. About what happens if we fail. About the Gelfling from the Prophecy. What else are you hiding from us?”

A look of hurt flashes across Deet’s face, and Brea feels the sting of guilt, but it’s too late -- she’s already said it, and there’s no taking it back now. A long moment passes in silence, and when Deet speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper. “Please don’t tell Rian.”

“Which part?” Brea shakes her head in disbelief. “That the Prophecy is about his child? A child that will never be born if my plan fails?” Deet winces, and looks away, but Brea presses on. “That if we try this, we’re risking everyone and everything in the world?”

“Any of it!” Deet insists. She tightens her grip on Brea’s hand, her anxiety shifting into panic. “If Rian knows that he’s risking everyone -- that he’s risking his child -- I’m afraid he’ll call the whole thing off.”

“Maybe we should call it off,” Brea argues, but Deet just shakes her head. “If one thing goes wrong--”

“--It won’t, Brea, I promise it won’t.” Deet takes her other hand now, and holds her gaze. “You’re so clever, and--”

“Deet, stop.” Brea says, her voice hard, and Deet goes quiet. “If we give this all up right now -- if we go home, and accept our fates -- if we let the Mystics’ Prophecy take its course -- will the Crystal be healed? For certain?”

Deet’s shoulder slump, but she nods, once. Brea take a breath, lets it out, and continues. “And if we fail...is there any chance of that happening?” She remembers that last night in the Valley, the bleak vision Deet painted of the future. “You said there were two Gelfling, at the end? What about the other one?” 

Deet shakes her head, but doesn’t elaborate. Brea can see her shutting down -- not pulled away by her visions, but retreating into herself, and she realizes this conversation is ending, whether she likes it or not. She still has questions -- but one stands out above the rest.

“Deet,” she says slowly, running the math in her head. Twenty-one trine stand between this moment and the Great Conjunction. The Mystics had been careful not to write too much about the Gelfling from their Prophecy, so the details were sparse, but Brea would certainly hope the task wouldn’t be left to a childling. She gives Deet a pointed look, and hopes her friend catches on to her meaning. “If the Gelfling from the Prophecy is your child, then -- are you…?”

“Am I what?” Deet asks, confused -- and then a moment later, her eyes go wide as it clicks. “Oh! No, no, I’m not.” She brushes a hand across her stomach, but shakes her head furiously, and Brea relaxes. One less thing to worry about. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that Deet’s been keeping plenty of other secrets -- secrets that need to come to light.

“Deet.” Brea sees the sadness in her friend’s eyes, and keeps her voice gentle, but firm. “Our friends deserve to know the truth.”

“Of course they do,” Deet says. She reaches for Brea’s hands again, and Brea lets her take them, lacing their fingers together. “But they also deserve to live. You can make that happen Brea. We can make it happen together.” Brea sighs, but she can’t stop herself from running through the details of her plan, once again -- it really should work, it can work, and Brea knows it. Deet must see her thoughts reflected on her face, because she presses on, even more intently. “You’ve got it all figured out -- you just need a few more pieces, and then your plan will be perfect. You’re going to save everyone, Brea. I’ve seen it.” 

“I don’t know, Deet.” Brea hesitates, her stomach in knots as she weighs the options. No matter how badly she wants things to be easy, it seems there are no good choices. “It just feels wrong. You’re lying to them, and keeping your secret means I’m lying, too.”

“I’ll tell them.” Deet takes a deep, steadying breath, squaring her shoulders. “I promise -- just give me some time, alright? So I can figure out the right way to say it. Just a little more time.”

“A little more time,” Brea agrees, and Deet lets out a sigh of relief. After a moment’s deliberation, another idea sparks. “On one condition. I get to ask a question, and you have to tell me the truth.”

Deet hums, then nods in agreement. “If I know it, then yes. I’ll tell you -- but, you may not like the answer.” Deet gives her a serious look, and Brea nods in understanding. “What’s your question?”

Once again, she has so many -- Brea thinks she’ll never run out of questions, not as long as she lives. She focuses on the twenty trine between now and the Great Conjunction -- time enough for nearly the entire Gelfling race to be wiped out. Her question is selfish, and foolish, but the fear and uncertainty of this blank space burns her, and so she asks it before she can change her mind. “You told us what happens if we go to the Castle, and fail. But if we follow the Mystic’s Prophecy...how do I die?”

“Oh, Brea.” Deet squeezes her hands. She looks older and sadder than Brea’s ever seen her, the weight of all the futures, hanging on her shoulders. “You die the same way we all do.” She lets go of Brea’s hand, only to cup her cheek, her touch gentle. “Saving someone you love.”

With that, Deet steps away, heading back into the Orrery, leaving Brea alone on the hill with the stars, and even more questions.

-+-

There is, Kylan thinks, scanning the highlands that stretch to the horizon, quite a lot of walking between them and Ha’Rar. 

They’d made great time, on their first day of travel -- setting out from the Orrery at first light, and keeping a steady pace that was mercifully uninterrupted by dangers or surprises. Kylan had spent the day in the middle of the pack, with Deet practically glued to his hip. Normally upbeat and cheerful, Deet had seemed a little gloomy. Kylan guessed it was probably related to one of her visions, and his gentle questioning hadn’t gotten him any further than that. He’d changed tactics after a while, and tried to keep her occupied instead. She’d perked up briefly when he offered to tell her one of his favorite songs, of the great Gelfling hero Jarra-Jen -- but besides that, she spent the day quiet and subdued.

The second morning finds Kylan, Deet, and Gurjin at the top of a hill, while the others finish packing up camp. Kylan eyes the growing storm to the north warily -- it’s clearly moving south, and he’s not looking forward to slogging through the rain and mud for the rest of the day.

“Can’t you try again?” Gurjin’s sitting cross-legged behind Deet, fingers flashing back and forth as he works a few tiny, yet intricate braids into her frizzy hair. “Maybe you’re not loud enough.”

Kylan sighs, but cups his hands around his mouth. He lets out a long, loud call, just like he learned growing up in Sami Thicket. He scans the horizon, looking for any movements or signs of life -- if he could actually summon a couple of Landstriders, that would be nice -- if he summons some Garthim, on the other hand--

“Sorry,” Kylan says, dropping down to sit beside his friend, and his...he isn’t actually sure what to call this new stage of his and Gurjin’s relationship. He’s a Song-Teller by trade, but words fail him as he searches for a name big enough to describe the way Gurjin makes him feel. A question for another day, he supposes -- if they can pull this off, they’ll have all the time in the world. Instead, he shrugs and offers, “Landstriders aren’t usually found this far north. I’d have better luck in the Spriton Plains.”

“Right, but we saw a couple up here, didn’t we?” Gurjin asks. He ties off the end of Deet’s braid, and then gathers up another section of hair to start again. “On our way to the Orrery?” Kylan gives him a pointed look, and Gurjin nods in sudden understanding as he seems to remember the state of the Landstriders they’d found. “Oh , right. Wonder what brought them up here?”

“It was because of the Darkening,” Deet says. Her shoulders are tense and her voice is soft, and sad. Whatever fog clung to her yesterday is still weighing on her, and memories of her time in the Darkening certainly aren’t helping. “It makes you do things you don’t want to do. It turns you into something else.”

For just a second, Gurjin’s hands go still. He exchanges a glance with Kylan, before continuing his work. His touch is light, his voice kind, but firm, as he says, “That’s not gonna happen again, Deet.” He finishes the last braid, and rests a hand on Deet’s shoulder in support. “Not to you, not to Naia. Not to any of us.” Deet sighs, her shoulders slumping, but nods.

Kylan opens his mouth, ready to chime in with his own encouragement, when movement catches his eye on the horizon. His eyes lock onto the shape -- the shapes -- heading north, and fear grips him.

“Gurjin.” Kylan grabs Gurjin’s arm, just above the elbow, and squeezes tight. “Look.”

All three of them turn their heads and see it -- a cluster of nearly a dozen Garthim in two columns, marching north. They are miles and miles away -- Kylan doesn’t think he’d even have spotted them if they weren’t on high ground, looking down at the sloping landscape -- and no real threat to him or his party, at least for the time being. Still, Kylan can’t help but worry for any Gelfling who might find themselves in the troop’s way -- and the Gelfling that will suffer when these Garthim reach their destination.

“They must be headed to Ha’Rar,” Gurjin whispers, eyes tracking the Garthim and their movements. “What about you, Deet? Got any ideas about what we’re walking into up there?” 

A moment passes, but Deet doesn’t respond. Kylan tears his eyes away from the Garthim long enough to look Deet over, and realizes that her eyes have gone glassy and distant. A vision. A second later, she stands, her wings unfurling, ready to take flight.

“Deet?” Kylan calls out, alarmed, as Gurjin curses and jumps to his feet. For a moment, he looks conflicted, clenching his jaw, but then his expression settles, and he nods to himself.

“Sorry, Deet,” Gurjin mutters, stepping in and scooping her up, mindful of her wings, but holding fast as she struggles to break free. He tosses her over his shoulder, and marches down the hill towards the others, as Kylan scrambles to follow. “You’ll thank me for this later.”

-+-

It’s an eventful morning, to say the least. Gurjin had surprised them all by hurrying down the hill, with a thrashing Deet slung over his shoulder, and a frantic Kylan on his heels. It had taken just a few minutes for Deet to calm down, and for that distant look to fade from her eyes -- only to be replaced with guilt as she realized what happened, and recognized the nervous looks on her friends’ faces. 

There’s nothing Naia can do about the Darkening, or the thrall it still seems to have over Deet. As far as she can tell, Deet isn't suffering from the same effects as the rest of them. The scar across her palm, normally tucked away beneath a bandage, shines with a bright purple light, but there’s no sign of a spreading infection, no writhing tendrils. Naia supposes it makes sense that Deet’s abilities would prevent the Darkening from taking root in her, from eating its way through her essence, like it’s doing to the rest of them -- some of them faster than others. Naia forces those thoughts down, locking them away as they prepare for the next leg of their journey.

Today, Kylan and Brea take the lead, doing their best to navigate the party quickly and quietly back down through the highlands. Hup stays at the front with them, his spoon at the ready. Naia and Rian keep to the back of the pack, with hands on their weapons, on extra alert after Kylan’s report of Garthim. 

It was never discussed, but Deet is conveniently kept to the middle of the group, with Gurjin at her side. He spends the better part of the morning apologizing for being rough with her, but Deet simply waves him off. Naia fights back a fond smile at the exchange -- her brother, the gentle giant -- physically the strongest person she knows, yet always so careful not to misuse that strength. Deet’s forgiveness lifts a weight from Gurjin’s shoulders, but Rian does a poor job of hiding his worry after Deet’s episode, his eyes scanning her just as carefully as they scan the horizon. 

By lunchtime, the dark storm clouds from the north are rolling in, and the skies open up. Naia’s used to the rain, after growing up in the swamps, but this is something else entirely. It falls in sheets for the rest of the day, turning the terrain into a muddy mess, and soaking right through their cloaks. It is a miserable slog, but there’s nothing to do except keep moving north. The destination is the only thing keeping her going. Naia can’t say she’s looking forward to whatever they might find in Ha’Rar -- but there is a tiny voice in the back of her mind that’s itching for a fight, for a chance to take apart one of these beasts that’s ruined so many lives. 

That evening, they find themselves on the banks of the Black River once more -- though a little further north than when they last saw it, thanks to Kylan and Brea’s carefully drawn route. They haven’t seen the suns all day, but all agree that it’s time to call it a night. Thankfully, the rain has eased a little, and they find some shelter in the thin line of trees growing right along the river’s edge. Rian and Hup fan out to set up a perimeter, while the rest of them set up camp.

Deet’s taken it upon herself to start the fire, swearing by one of her ‘old Grottan tricks,’ when it happens again -- she goes very still, and peers through the darkness, staring due north. Naia drops her armload of water-logged kindling and turns to call for Rian, while Gurjin sighs and sets his shoulders.

“Honestly, Deet,” he says, sounding tired, and worried, even as he moves to stand. “I’m just gonna start carrying you around--”

“Shh,” Deet holds out a hand and Gurjin goes quiet. Naia realizes that Deet’s eyes are narrowed and focused, not distant and lost. Her ears twitch as she listens intently, her superior hearing picking up something that the rest of them can’t discern -- Naia can only hear the rain, and Rian’s footsteps as he hurries towards them, eyeing Deet with concern. “It’s not that. There’s someone up ahead, just north of here. It sounds like they’re fighting.”

“A Garthim?” Naia asks, peering through the darkness, and seeing nothing but the rain -- and then, in the distance, the flicker of firelight. Another campfire. “Do they need our help?”

“Maybe? I can’t tell.” Deet shakes her head, her ears falling back once more. “The rain’s muffling everything, but it only sounds like a few people.”

“It’s worth checking out,” Rian decides, nodding to Naia. “You up for an adventure?” Naia only rolls her eyes, pulling up her hood and drawing her dagger as she pushes past Rian, into the darkness beyond. The two of them move quickly, their approach muffled by the falling rain. She keeps her eyes trained on the bead of firelight growing in size as they get closer, and closer.

It only takes a few minutes to get close enough to size up the scene. Naia can see two Gelfling, too far away to make out any definite features. They’re both on their feet, on either side of a small campfire that’s built in a copse of trees, not unlike the ones they took shelter under. The next thing she sees is a small, dark shape fluttering overhead -- a Crystal Bat, just like they saw on the way to the Orrery. Deet was right, it isn’t a Garthim, but if the little beast gets away, they’ll have several Garthim-shaped problems on their hands soon enough. 

Naia draws her bola, ready to let it loose, just as one of the Gelfling at the fire tosses a bola of their own. It’s a perfect shot, and that sight alone would have been enough to impress her. She’s distracted the second after that, when another shape launches from the Gelfling’s shoulder -- small, dark, and sinuous, following the bola’s arc with practice and precision. The muski -- what else could it be, Naia recognizes the familiar sight instantly -- lands on the Crystal Bat just as it hits the ground, and tears at it with teeth and claws until the monster stops squirming. 

“Well,” Rian says, loud enough for the Gelfling at the campfire to hear. They both startle and turn towards him, as he tugs down his hood and raises his hands, a sign of peace. “Looks like you have this all under control.”

“Oh.” The first Gelfling speaks -- the voice is familiar, but Naia can only catch sight of wide, black eyes peeking out from under his hood. “You’re Rian. We saw you, in the fire.” He glances down at the campfire, flickering at his feet, and then hurries to add, “Not this fire, obviously, but--”

“--I know the one,” Rian says patiently, though Naia’s known him long enough now to hear the smile in his voice. “What are your names, if you don’t mind my asking? And what brings you out here? This isn’t a safe place.”

Neither Gelfling gets a chance to answer, as the muski on the ground finishes shredding the Crystal Bat, and launches itself -- not into its master’s arms, but into Naia’s. She barely has a chance to react before she has an armful of feathers, quills, and slippery eelskin, and the familiar sounds of happy chirps reach her ears.

It takes Naia two tries to make her voice work, staring down into a small face she’s missed more than she’d like to admit. “Neech?” she finally manages, earning another delighted chirp as the muski -- her muski -- ruffles his feathers, and butts his forehead against her chin. “How did you--?” Naia cuts off, a jolt of realization running down her spine as she snaps her head up, and stares down the second Gelfling. Even in the darkness, Naia would recognize that face anywhere -- she may be Gurjin’s twin, but their little sister looks more like him than Naia ever has. “What are you doing here?”

Eliona sighs, and tugs down her hood, before giving Naia an apologetic shrug. “Surprise?”

-+-

Rian’s been...concerned, to say the least -- about everything really, about the Garthim and the SkekSis and the Crystal, and the war -- but especially about Deet. She seemed so happy the other night, when it was just the two of them, in the wildflowers, under all the stars. It was a perfect moment -- but something had changed, since they left the Orrery. Deet had been withdrawn, and quiet, not at all her usual self, no matter what Rian said or did to try and draw her back out of her shell.

All of that finally falls away, when she sees Amri -- her eyes go wide and her face melts into an instant, happy smile. Rian vaguely recognizes him from their hurried evacuations, after they lost the Caves of Grot to the Darkening -- his hair is certainly memorable, nearly half of it shaved close to his scalp, the rest cascading down to his shoulder. Beyond that, Rian only knows what he’s heard from Deet. They’d shared many details of their homes and lives during those quiet unum in the Valley. Rian knows exactly two things about Amri -- he’d been Deet’s friend since they were childlings, and that he talks to rocks. Neither of these details were turning out to be especially relevant, at the moment.

“Start from the beginning,” Brea suggests, as the entire group reconvenes. Nine of them now, Rian thinks, with a sigh. That’s eight whole people to keep alive, through all of this -- a tall order, considering what they’re facing. He shakes his head, and focuses on the conversation at hand -- most of the party is gathered around Amri, while Gurjin and Naia are across camp with their little sister. Brea presses on. “You’re headed to Ha’Rar? Why?”

“A courier showed up in the Sog, just a few days back,” Amri explains, his black eyes flitting between Rian and the others before settling on Deet. “They were badly wounded, and came with word of what’s been happening up north -- Ha’Rar’s been under siege, for weeks now.” His eyes turn to Brea, now, sizing up her Vapran features with a wince. “At night, the Garthim raid the city, and when the suns are out, they form a line around it, closing in tighter and tighter every day.”

“Is there any way out?” Kylan asks, glancing from Amri, to Rian, and finally to Brea. Rian follows his gaze, only to see Brea’s lips set in a thin line, as she shakes her head. They all know the grim truth -- the only thing that lies north of Ha’Rar is the Silver Sea, and that offers little chance of escape, except by boat. “What about the Sifa?”

“They’ve been out of contact since they took to the sea,” Amri explains, and Kylan nods in understanding. “There’s rumors that a few boats escaped Ha’Rar, early in the siege, but there’s no way of knowing if they found the Sifan fleet.” Or if the fleet even still exists, Rian thinks, but does not say -- the SkekSis could have caught up with them by now. Rian has a hard time imagining that anywhere on Thra is truly safe from the SkekSis, not even the ocean itself. “The only other option for the Vapra has been to bunker down, and try to fight the Garthim off, but they’re losing. Maudra Laesid sent a small company north to aid in the fight. Volunteers, mostly Drenchen healers and warriors.”

“Where are they?” Kylan asks, peering out into the darkness, as if Amri’s got more friends hiding out in the woods. “I thought it’s just the two of you?”

Amri hesitates, and then carefully admits, “We weren’t exactly...part of that group.”

“And which group were you part of?” Brea asks, eyes narrowed. “Exactly?”

“Eliona volunteered, but her mother said no.” Amri says, and the rest of them nod in understanding. “She decided to go anyway.”

“Well, she’s Naia and Gurjin’s sister,” Rian says, casting a look at his friends across the camp. “So I can’t say that surprises me.” He’s doing his best not to overhear the very heated argument the siblings are having -- based on the way Deet and Amri keep wincing, that’s not an easy task for their Grottan companions.

“But, why are you here, Amri?” Deet asks. Hup’s right at her side, giving Amri a suspicious glare. Apparently even one of Deet’s oldest friends still has to earn Hup’s trust. “You’re not a fighter? Oh, unless you’ve been training!” Deet’s eyes widen at the thought, and she rushes to ask, “Did you learn to fight while you’ve been in the Sog, Amri?” 

Amri lets out a harsh laugh, and turns, digging around in his pack. “No, not at all. I’m here because Maudra Argot sent me. She wanted me to give this to you.” He turns to Deet now, and presses something small into her cupped hands, before explaining, “It’s a seed, from the Sanctuary Tree -- the last seed. She said you’d know what to do with it, when the time came.”

If Amri has anything else to say on the matter, it’s lost as Deet throws her arms around him, hugging him tight. Amri freezes for a moment, before awkwardly patting Deet on the back.

“Thank you, thank you,” Deet says, squeezing Amri one last time before letting him go, and cradling the little seed close to her heart. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it, but I’ll keep it safe until I figure it out!” Just as quickly, her smile flickers, and she asks, “But, does that mean you’ll go home now, Amri? Or back to the Sog, anyway?”

“Not yet, no.” Amri nods across the campsite at Eliona. “We ran into each other on our way out of the Sog, and figured we’d be better off together than apart. She promised to help me find you, and I promised to help her get to Ha’Rar. Not that I’m looking forward to going there.” He shudders -- whether it’s because of the Garthim raid, or he just dislikes the thought of Ha’Rar in general, Rian doesn’t know. “But, a promise is a promise.”

“I’m glad,” Deet says. She tucks the seed away in her satchel for safe keeping, and then grabs Amri’s hand, holding it tight. “We can all work together! It’ll still be a few days before we get there, so we can catch up, and Gurjin and Naia can spend time with their sister!”

“Oh, I mean,” Amri hikes a thumb over his shoulder, motioning at the Black River, just beyond their camp. “I guess you can walk, if you want. But, Eliona and I found a boat. That’s probably faster.”

“What do you mean,” Rian says, his eyes narrowing, “You found a boat?”

-+-

“I can’t believe this,” Gurjin says, burying his face in his hands. “I honestly can’t believe it. You just ran away?”

“I didn’t run away,” Eliona shoots back, and her tone carries that same warning bite that he’s heard a thousand times from Naia, but he’s too worked up to back down. “I came up here to help. If you think I should just sit around at home and wait for someone else to win this war--”

“--That is absolutely what I think you should do!” Gurjin hisses, trying to be mindful of any lurking dangers, and only partially succeeding. “You’re a childling, you should be at home.”

“I’m sixteen-- ”

“Exactly!” Gurjin turns away from Eliona, who’s narrowed her eyes in an icy rage, to Naia, who’s scratching Neech under his chin, the little muski purring contentedly from his perch on his shoulder. It’s an adorable sight, but Gurjin scowls and says, “You could at least back me up here.”

“What do you want me to say?” Naia demands, eyes flitting over Gurjin, and then Eliona, before settling back on Neech. “That she shouldn't have come? That won’t change the fact that she’s here now.” Gurjin automatically shrinks back, but Naia doesn’t stop. “Or do you want me to tell her that she should go back home, alone, trekking through woods infested with Garthim and who knows what else? At least she’s safe with us.”

Eliona opens her mouth -- probably to protest the thought that she needs to be protected, but Gurjin speaks first. “Right, but that’s a whole other problem.” Gurjin gestures to Naia, even as he turns back to Eliona. “Now Naia has to worry about keeping both of us alive, and she can’t even heal us if something goes wrong.”

“That’s not true,” Naia rushes to say, as both her siblings look to her, wearing matching looks of concern. “Don’t try to turn this around on me, Gurjin.”

“What does he mean, you can’t heal?” Eliona takes a step closer, reaching for Naia’s right arm, even as Naia instinctively tries to pull her sleeve lower. “I thought you said your friend could help you?”

“She did,” Naia says, falling still. When Eliona fingers brush the back of her hand, she doesn’t fight, letting Eliona tug up her sleeve and examine the damage. “But it’ll keep getting worse until we can heal the Crystal.” Eliona’s hands light up blue, but Naia only shakes her head and tugs her arm away. “That won’t work, not on this.”

“When Naia uses her magic, it makes her worse,” Gurjin chimes in, and Eliona hums. Naia tosses him a dirty glare, but he continues. “Not just like before, when she was healing mother -- it’s getting bad, fast.”

“It’s going to be fine.” Naia tugs down her sleeve a little too forcefully, and then glares at her siblings. “Just as soon as we heal the Crystal.”

“And you figured out how to do that?” Eliona asks, glancing between the two of them. Gurjin spares half a second to realize that he’s already lost control of the situation, before deciding not to fight it.

“Our friend Brea did,” he explains, nodding to the rest of their party, gathered across camp. “It’s some kind of math, I don’t really get it.”

“In that case, you definitely need me to stay,” Eliona says, nodding her head decisively. She reaches up, and strokes Neech right along his little ridged nose. “Unlike you, I didn’t absorb the Darkening, and my healing works just fine.” Her hands flicker with a blue light, just to show off, and Gurjin rolls his eyes. “And if you’re going to heal the Crystal of Truth, I want in. I’m not going to miss a chance to save the whole world, Gurjin.”

“Yeah, and what if we all die trying?” Gurjin argues, even though it’s pointless. His sisters are exactly like their mother in all the ways that count -- mainly, no one can stop them, once they’ve made their mind up. It frustrates him to no end, and he loves them all the more for it. “Then what?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Naia advises, her attention focused on Neech once more. Gurjin thinks this argument wouldn’t have been quite so one sided, if Eliona hadn’t thought to bring Naia’s beloved pet along -- it’s a level of strategy that Gurjin honestly finds frightening. “He’s only in a bad mood because he and Kylan haven’t gotten any alone time since we got back on the road.”

Eliona’s jaw drops, and her eyes light up. “What about you and Kylan?”

“That’s it,” Gurjin says, throwing up his arms and stalking across camp. “I’m going to bed.”

-+-

In the morning, Amri and Eliona lead them to a very familiar boat -- or raft, as Rian insists on calling it. There’s still the mystery of how it disappeared in the first place -- Eliona had spotted it half dragged onto the shore, shortly before she and Amri had made camp the previous night. Naia was still adamant that someone had stolen it, and that it couldn’t have possibly gotten loose and washed away on its own. Either way, their raft had finally returned to them, and with it, they’d be at the cliffs beneath Ha’Rar by nightfall.

The raft is relatively large, and the river is wide — but still, it’s a crowded, mostly quiet trip north. They glide along on swift currents, closer and closer to their destination. It hasn’t escaped Deet’s notice that her friends have been closing in ranks -- keeping her to the middle of the pack when they walk, and now keeping her in the center of the boat. She knows they’re just trying to look out for her, after her recent...close calls. She knows she doesn’t deserve their trust in the first place, not when she’s been lying to them all this time. Still, she doesn’t like feeling like a burden, and the thoughts weigh on her. She does her best to keep her mind off it -- and thankfully, Naia’s new traveling companion is quite the distraction indeed.

“He’s a muski,” Naia explains, as Neech settles into Deet’s lap, kneading his claws into her thigh and chirping happily. Their group has done their best to cluster into groups of two and three, and the two girls have a little space to themselves, and a little privacy, as the others are focused on their own conversations. “They represent our clan.”

“I love him,” Deet swears, heart full as she carefully strokes the ruffle of fur and quills around his neck. Neech rubs his head against her hand and purrs. “Is this as big as he’ll get?”

“Oh, no -- they never stop growing,” Naia says, and Deet looks up in shock. “Chapyora belongs to my mother, and she’s big enough to ride.” Naia pauses for a moment, and then adds, her voice a whisper, a glint in her eyes. “They say the largest muski is as wide as the Black River itself.”

“Wow.” Deet scratches at Neech’s chin as he preens. “We Grottans have our Nurlocs, have you ever seen one?” When Naia shakes her head, Deet explains, “They’re these huge worms, my family tends the herd! When this is over, maybe you can come visit?” she adds hopefully. “I’d love to show you all my home.”

“We’ll have seen the rest of Thra, by the time this adventure is over,” Naia remarks, a rare smile gracing her features. “I’d hate to leave one corner untouched.”

Deet grins, her heart lighter than it’s been in days at the thought of the happy lives that await them all, when this is said and done. There is so much life still to be lived -- and not just by the seven of them. 

For a split second, a vision sweeps over Deet. She’s not looking at her friend anymore, though the Gelfling before her certainly reminds her of Naia. They look mostly Drenchen, tall and proud, with gills flared up along their neck -- but with round, black Grottan eyes that pierce the darkness, and long ears that twitch as they listen to the sounds of the caves all around them. They’ll spend their life exploring these caverns, careful hands drawing maps of places few have ever seen. It would make for a solitary existence, but they’re not alone -- a second Gelfling steps out of the shadows and takes their hand in her own. This Gelfling’s Grottan heritage is even more obvious than her companion’s. Deet recognizes her from that perfect vision of her family, on that summer night under the stars. Her youngest daughter -- no longer a baby, but a young woman. She’s beautiful, and she’s happy to be here, exploring the world with her dearest friend. Her eyes are wide, and blue.

Deet blinks, only to find herself looking at Naia once more. Naia stares at her for a moment, scowls, and says, “If you just saw me getting eaten by a Nurloc--”

“I didn’t,” Deet laughs, cutting her off. She runs a hand along Neech’s slick, smooth skin. The little eel twines around her wrist, before using her as a launchpad, and gliding back on webbed wings, only to land on Naia’s shoulder. “It was good, I promise.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Naia says. “I’d rather just find out when I get there.”

“Me too,” Deet says, with a sigh, unable to keep the melancholy out of her voice. Naia gives her a look, and then taps her lightly on the knee. 

“Chin up, Deet,” Naia says, a subtle command to her voice that Deet can’t help but try to follow. “If your visions can get us through this mess in one piece, I’d like to think they’re worth it.”

“They are,” Deet says with a nod, feeling a little more resolute, and a little bit braver. “They will be.” 

-+-

The light of the last setting sun casts the cliffs of Ha’Rar in sharp relief. The river continues, cutting an arc around the towering cliffside, all the way down to the Silver Sea. But, if they want to reach the city, the only way to go is up.

“Do we wait for morning?” Kylan asks, as they drag the raft up onto the shore. Amri and Deet do their best to disguise it in the foliage -- Kylan’s not sure they’ll be back this way, but better safe than sorry, he supposes.

“No,” Rian says, staring up at the cliff face. They can’t see any Garthim from here, but there are plenty of terrible sounds in the distance. “Amri said the Garthim form a blockade during the day, remember? Our best bet is to sneak in now.”

“Now, as in, while the Garthim are attacking?” Gurjin asks, and Rian nods, still staring up. “Perfect, that’s what I thought you meant. Remind me why we thought coming here was a good idea?”

“It was the only idea,” Naia says. Neech is still draped around her shoulders, his little body on alert, ready to follow Naia’s command. “We’re here to find Brea’s sister -- and hopefully ruin a few Garthim’s days, while we’re at it.”

“Right, that's the plan when we get there,” Brea points out, folding her arms across her chest, a frown creasing her features. “What are we going to do right now?”

“Now,” Rian says, nodding up the cliffs as a dozen ghastly howls split the air, and Kylan shivers. “We climb.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-SEVEN

-+-

It’s a quiet, tense climb to the top. The narrow path twisting and twining its way up through the cliff-face was not carved by Gelfling hand, but by many feet, tracing these same walkways again and again, trine after trine after trine. The only modifications that Naia can see are lanterns, ever-burning and placed about every twenty paces. Without them, she would be entirely blind -- as the suns set, heavy clouds rolled in, hiding the moons and the stars from view. 

Amri walks just behind Naia and Eliona, and seems entirely in his element. His black eyes pierce the darkness, his long ears twitch as he picks up sounds that Naia could never hear. She had met him a handful of times, after his clan came south, though her duties as Maudra kept her too busy to make new friends. The shaded canopy of the Sog had kept things comfortably dim for their new Grottan neighbors -- but their journey today had been another story.  Amri had spent most of their raft trip north with his hood pulled low over his face, shielding his eyes from the harsh suns. Either he was more sensitive to the light than Deet, or she wasn’t telling them how much it bothered her. Naia makes a mental note to check in with her later -- when they’re not all about to walk right into a Garthim attack.

For now, they march steadily upward -- every time they cross the breadth of the cliffside, the path doubles back again, inching further and further up. The temperature drops the higher they climb -- a few snowflakes tumble gently from the dark sky, and soon there’s a layer of frost beneath her feet. Worse than that, the closer they get to the city, the louder the sounds get -- the guttural noises of the Garthim, the screams of their victims. Naia knows that they’re here to find Brea’s sister, so she can help them move on with their quest. She knows that has to be the priority, because they’re working towards a permanent end to the SkekSis, and hopefully the Garthim right along with them. But still, she hopes there’s at least something she can do for the people of Ha’Rar while she’s here.

Just behind her, Amri freezes in his tracks. Naia and Eliona both turn in time to see him jerk his head up, his eyes narrowed as he stares at the towering cliffs above them. At the back of the line, Gurjin stops as well, eyeing Amri with curiosity and concern, even as he reaches back and grips the handle of his trident. Naia draws her dagger, and up on her shoulder, Neech sits on alert, his eyes tracking her hands. 

A moment passes in silence, and then another. Amri’s still staring straight up, his ears twitching.

“Well?” Gurjin whispers, but Amri doesn’t react, intently focused. A few pebbles tumble down from the ridge above, and clatter across the stone path. Gurjin sighs. “It’s just some rocks, Amri. I know you like them, but we really have to--”

Another handful of pebbles fall, and Amri’s eyes go impossibly wide. Half a second later the hulking form of a Garthim crests the ridge above them, and screams.  

-+-

Gurjin is focused on the Garthim ten feet above his head when he hears it -- another howl, further up the path, and followed by frantic shouts. It sounds like Rian and the others have a problem of their own to deal with. He’ll worry about that in a minute — as long as this Garthim doesn’t kill him first. 

The Garthim rushes down the slope right towards them -- picking its way straight down the sheer rock face, just like the Spitters it was made of -- and then sliding the last few feet. The momentum nearly sends it careening right into Amri, but Naia reaches out and grabs him by the collar at the last second. She forces him behind her and Eliona, and out of harm’s way.

Gurjin stares up into eerie glowing eyes, and watches the movement of wickedly sharp claws. If this was one of the early Garthim designs they had fought on their way to the Valley -- or if he was a towering, sentient rock monster, like Lore -- Gurjin’s confident that he and his sisters could take this thing down handily. This isn’t one of those hasty, patch-work beasts, and all he’s got is a trident and some bad ideas, but still -- he’s not going to let that stop him. 

Throwing his trident is just going to end with him losing it over the side of the cliff, so Gurjin lashes out instead. His first strike glances off the Garthim’s thick natural -- or unnatural -- armor. With the second strike, he pierces a leg with the center prong, and twists until he hears a snap. The Garthim howls again -- Gurjin’s not sure they can feel pain, but he’s certainly made it mad. Good. 

“Legs!” he remembers to call out, before wrenching the trident free, and preparing to strike again. Eliona and Amri wouldn’t have fought one before, so they’ll just have to learn on the job. “Try to take the legs out, so we can ground it!”

On the other side of the Garthim, Eliona nods, and draws her spear, while Naia grips her dagger tight, and adjusts her stance. Amri is a half step behind the girls, and frantically rooting around in his pockets. Further up the path, Gurjin can hear confused shouts, but he’s too distracted to make sense of it. The girls attack, and both make contact -- Eliona’s spear pierces a leg high up, near where it connects with the body, while Naia hacks at the center joint in a leg with her dagger. The Garthim’s howling is only getting louder, getting worse, and Gurjin can’t help but wonder if it’s summoning more, if the whole weight of this occupying force will soon be upon them. 

Finally, Amri finds what he’s looking for, crowing happily as he tosses a little packet up once, and catches it -- before rearing back and lobbing it right at the Garthim’s face. A red powder puffs up like a cloud, and the Garthim claws at its eyes, howling. Gurjin nods a little to himself -- not half bad, he thinks -- until the Garthim lashes out blindly, and catches Amri in the jaw with the blunt end of his claw. Amri goes down, hard, and Gurjin and Naia both press in as the Garthim, still blinded, still wailing, wavers and wobbles closer to the edge. 

“Drive it back!” Naia shouts, and Gurjin doesn’t need telling twice. Wielding his trident like a prod, he edges the Garthim further and further away from them, and closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. The Garthim almost seems to panic, when it meets open air, and nearly loses its balance. Just to seal the deal, Naia darts forward, and hacks at one of its hind legs. The Garthim recoils, and that extra half step is enough to put it over the edge. The twins and Eliona watch as the Garthim is swallowed up by the darkness, its last howl lost on the wind. 

-+-

“Try not to die,” Naia says, helping Amri to his feet, after the Garthim falls away. She gives him a once over, and is satisfied that he’s only bruised. “Deet seems to like you, and I don’t like seeing her upset.”

“What about you?” Amri asks, and Naia cracks a grin at his quick response, followed by his immediate look of regret at the boldness of his words. 

“Haven’t decided yet.” Naia looks him over once more, searching for something different this time. She thinks she likes what she sees. “Survive the night, and I’ll let you know.”

There are more footsteps before Amri can say anything else, and Naia turns back just as Kylan skids to a halt beside her. He’s drawn his shortsword, but Naia’s not sure he actually used it.

“Are you all alright?” Kylan asks, a little breathless, as he scans Naia and Amri, and Eliona just behind them, her spear still in hand.

“We’re fine.” Naia watches as Kylan’s eyes fall on Gurjin, finally stepping back from the cliff’s edge, and moving towards them. Kylan relaxes, and Naia continues. “The Garthim took a little tumble, I don’t think we’ll be seeing it again anytime soon.”

“Ours as well,” Kylan says, motioning to the rest of their party, a little further ahead on the path. Deet, Rian, and Hup are peering down into the darkness, but Brea’s gaze is turned up, towards the city above. “We didn’t have to do much -- it seemed to misjudge the jump, went right over on its own.”

“Stupid,” Naia mutters, shaking her head, and reaching up to scratch under Neech’s chin. “I can’t believe these things are killing us.”

“It’s the big and powerful claws, I think,” Gurjin chimes in, finally rejoining them. “And the unstoppable blood-lust, and the way they can crash right through walls.” He tugs Kylan in close, and looks him over. “You alright?” he asks, his voice low. When Kylan nods, Gurjin kisses him -- earning a surprised squeak from Kylan, and a whistle from Eliona.

Naia rolls her eyes, but holds back a smile, and manages to look annoyed. “We’re all standing right here.”

Gurjin and Kylan break apart -- Kylan’s blushing, but Gurjin only shrugs. “I don’t care. We’ll probably all be dead by the morning, might as well make tonight count.” Kylan’s face falls, and Amri blanches, his skin going even paler, and Gurjin hurries to add, “I mean, we’ll be fine, obviously. That wasn’t even that bad.”

Further down the path, a chorus of howls ring out. Naia looks back the way they came, and sees shapes moving and shifting in the darkness below. She rounds on Gurjin, who winces.

“Should we maybe--?” Amri starts, and then cuts off Eliona takes him by the elbow, and starts rushing him forward. “Okay, so we are running. Great plan.”

Naia glances up -- they’re getting close to the city, but she’s not sure they’ll make it before the Garthim on their tail close in on them. Then again, there’s only one way to find out.

-+-

Snow is falling in earnest by the time they reach Ha’Rar, a steady blanket of white lining rooftops and crunching beneath her feet. Brea shivers -- not from the cold, but from the sight of her home, and what has become of it. Several buildings are burning, others are already little more than husks, or piles of debris. Streets once full of bustling life are now stalked by the deadly Garthim, their hulking forms casting shadows in the flickering torchlight as they search for their prey. In the distance, she can hear muffled fighting, and screams. 

For now, there are no Garthim in the immediate area, but that won’t last long. Behind them, more are closing in — she and her friends have managed to stay ahead of the pack, but they’ll be catching up soon enough, and unleashing even more terror upon the city. 

Deet reaches for her wrist, and squeezes -- the pressure grounds her, and Brea takes a steadying breath, focusing on the task at hand. “Find your sister,” Deet tells her, and Brea nods, resolute. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Right.” Rian tightens his grip on his sword, eyes darting around the scene before them, ready to move the second a Garthim spots them. “We’ll see if we can’t cause a distraction -- give you time to find her, and keep their attention off the civilians.” He glances around at the group, and then adds, “Try to stay close, but if we get separated--”

“--Get to the docks,” Brea decides, earning nods from her friends. “The Seafarer’s Lantern, that’s where the letter said to meet.” She imagines all nine of them, trying to fight their way through this city, and shakes her head before adding, “And if you can’t get that far, make for the Library, and take shelter until the morning. It’s a central location, and the tallest building in the city. You won’t be able to miss it.”

“Or,” Kylan says, pressing in a little closer to Brea’s side as he glances nervously about the street, “Maybe we could all just--”

If Brea had to guess, those last two words would have been stick together, but she’ll never know -- there’s movement, on one of the roofs, and then a horrible growl splits the air. She sees a Garthim, clambering down from the roof just north of them, and another, emerging from the shell of a partially collapsed building on the western side of the street. Both have large, wicker baskets strapped to their backs -- Brea catches sight of a foot, sticking out of one, and she can hear pleading voices and muffled cries coming from inside, as the Garthim close in on her and her friends.

“Go, Brea!” Deet shouts, as the first Garthim jumps down from the roof, and lands right in the middle of their group. Brea doesn’t think, she just grabs Kylan’s hand, and they run, ducking under a swooping claw, and many skittering legs, as they head for the center of the city.

-+-

The Garthim lands practically on top of him, sending up a cloud of debris and snow. Rian sees Brea and Kylan, rushing north, into the heart of the city, and he sees Naia, ushering Deet and Hup towards an alley to the west, off of the main thoroughfare. Hup and Naia both have weapons drawn, but Deet’s eyes are going wide and blank -- a look that Rian recognizes as a sign of her visions. Before he can even think about moving towards her, the Garthim’s claw crashes down in front of him, cracking against the pavement, and barely missing him.

She’s with Naia and Hup, he reminds himself, as he grits his teeth, and stares up at the beast looming over him, ready to strike. He doesn’t see Amri or Eliona, but Gurjin rushes to his side just as a third Garthim appears, pressing in from the east.

“There’s more coming in from behind,” Gurjin reminds him, his trident drawn, his voice tense. “We’re surrounded.”

“That’s fine,” Rian says, eyeing the basket strapped to the Garthim’s back, the ropes tying it in place. He can hear voices, and see movement, inside the basket. Someone’s alive in there, and he’s going to get them out. Rian looks away from the Garthim and its victims, and towards a nearby pile of rubble -- tall enough that if he climbed it, he could reach a mostly-intact roof. “I have a plan.”

“I hate when you say that,” Gurjin calls after him, as Rian dashes towards the rubble. He clambers up to the top, bits of broken wood shifting under his feet as he climbs. Soon enough, he’s at the top, and the edge of the roof is just out of his reach. Rian spares a second to shoot Gurjin a wild grin, and then, he leaps.

-+-

Two Garthim quickly turn into three, and then turn into six as the pack from the cliff catches up to them. 

Naia manages to shepherd Deet and Hup off of the main street, ducking into an alleyway between two buildings -- one mostly intact, the other hollowed out and destroyed -- but not without catching the attention of a Garthim. 

The beast picks its way through the rubble of the building, claws snapping and clicking as it advances. Just like the Garthim that jumped down from the roof, there’s a basket fixed to its back -- while most of the Garthim seem to be here to destroy, this one is clearly tasked with bringing Gelfling back to the castle. The thought makes her sick, it makes her angry -- but there’s not much she can do. Naia’s armed with a dagger, a bola, and an eel, and the Podling beside her is wielding a spoon. Engaging now is only going to end with the three of them in that basket. She needs a plan. 

“Deet?” Hup’s worried voice catches Naia’s attention. She turns to see that Deet has sunk to her knees, a distant look in her eyes, and her heart jumps into her throat.

“Now is not the time.” Naia’s eyes dart from her friends, to the approaching Garthim, and then she makes up her mind. She sheathes her dagger, and draws her bola instead, swinging it with practiced ease. With her free hand, she cups Neech’s face, and twists her head to press a kiss to his snout. “Be careful,” she whispers, and then she turns towards the Garthim, and lets her bola fly.

-+-

There’s strength in numbers, but staying together proves nearly impossible, once the Garthim descend -- their warbling howls echoing down narrow alleyways, their many feet clicking against the cobblestones. Gurjin tries to keep track of Naia, but loses her in the fray as she moves west with Deet and Hup. He sees Neech, once -- the muski’s graceful form darting around a Garthim’s face, neatly avoiding the sweep of its claws -- before losing sight of him, too. Amri and Eliona are nowhere to be seen, and Brea and Kylan are long gone, hopefully on their way to finding Brea’s sister so they can get out of this mess. 

The only person that Gurjin’s got a visual on is Rian, who had the brilliant idea to jump on a Garthim’s back. Gurjin’s not sure what he’s done to deserve the constant heart attack that comes with being Rian’s best friend -- but here he is, once again, doing his best to support a terrible, terrible plan.

“I hope you know,” Gurjin calls, as a Garthim advances on him from the east, and another approaches from the south -- the Garthim just to his north is a little preoccupied, flailing wildly as it tries to shake Rian from it’s back. Three more Garthim are picking through the rubble on the western half of the street, and thankfully don't pay him any mind. “If we get killed, Naia will never let us live it down.”

“Noted,” Rian shouts back, and Gurjin spares him a glance -- Rian’s managed to wedge himself between the back of the Garthim’s head, and the basket strapped to its back. From that position, the Garthim’s claws can’t reach him, and he’s bought himself a minute to work. He’s using his sword to try and saw through the ropes -- it’s not elegant, but it is working -- one rope snaps, and then another, and the basket starts to slide.

Gurjin turns back to the monster in front of him just as a claw comes bearing down. He sidesteps, ducking out of the way -- but not before it clips him, slicing straight through his armor and cutting into the meat of his shoulder. Gurjin lets out a string of curses, and a shout of pain, as the Garthim wrenches its claw free. He hears Rian call his name, alarmed, but he forces himself to tune it out, and instead looks for an opportunity.

There, he thinks, as the Garthim raises its claw to strike again, and he catches a glimpse of the space where the beast’s arm meets its body -- unarmored, vulnerable. Gurjin doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate, he just lunges upwards, buries his trident in unprotected flesh, and holds on tight.

-+-

Rian’s been in battle before, but nothing like this -- not even the fight in Stone-in-the-Wood, fighting the SkekSis themselves, was this harrowing. A half dozen Garthim are gathered here at the city limits -- their footsteps echo on the streets, and their howls ring out in the night air, sending a shiver down his spine. Rian tries not to think about that, and instead focuses on the last rope, binding the basket to the Garthim’s back, and the wide, desperate eyes peering at him from within.

“Brace yourselves,” Rian warns the Gelfling trapped inside, as he slices through the last of the bindings. The basket slides away, and Rian slides after it, dropping down from the Garthim’s back -- he tucks into a roll once he hits the ground, and pops right back up to his feet, sword still in hand. He has maybe a few seconds -- if he’s lucky -- before the Garthim press in on him again, and he has to make them count.

The basket splintered on impact, but did not shatter. He can see shapes, as the Gelfling inside struggle to free themselves. Rian finds the breakage, and pries it far enough apart for the prisoners to escape. Three Gelfling climb out -- two adults and a childling, all Vapran, all battered and terrified.

“Find cover, quickly!” Rian shouts, and the Gelfling don’t hesitate, nodding their thanks even as one scoops up the childling, and all three run north, further into the city and away from the immediate chaos.

This time, Rian does feel the swipe of the Garthim’s claw as the beast comes up from behind. The blow cuts him deep, on his left side, and the shock of it nearly steals his breath away. He tightens his grip on his sword, and spins on his heel -- if this is it, he’s going down fighting.

No sooner has Rian turned, no sooner is he staring up at the Garthim’s horrible, menacing form, no sooner has he raised his weapon, when it happens -- something, or someone, crashes into him from the right.

“No last stand today, Rian,” Gurjin says, tucking him against his side, and hurrying them both into the hollow doorframe of a ruined home, as the Garthim’s claws crash into the ground behind them. “It’s time to go.”

-+-

This was a losing battle from the start, Deet thinks -- though if she’s being honest, she’s not sure which battle she really means. Is she thinking of this night -- of Ha’Rar, overrun with Garthim as the city burns? Is she thinking of her own home in the Caves of Grot, lost to the Darkening, or of Stone-in-the-Wood and Sami Thicket, lying empty and abandoned even now? Or maybe she’s thinking of the battles they have yet to lose -- the Wellspring drying up, the Sifan fleet sinking to the bottom of the Silver Sea, or the Drenchen making one last stand in a war they were never going to win -- a war that’s inevitable, if they follow the Mystics’ Prophecy. A war that’s apparently already begun.

“On your feet, we have to move.” Naia’s voice cuts through the fog as she pulls Deet up, and pulls her along behind her. Deet does her best not to stumble, does her best to focus even though every Garthim’s howl, every clash of steel, reminds her of a hundred moments just like this, in the past, or still to come. Naia’s grip tightens, and her voice is hard, but not unkind. “Whatever’s going on in there, Deet, I need you to fight it, okay?”

“Okay,” Deet manages. Her voice sounds more steady than she feels, but Hup is a comforting presence at her side, and Naia’s looking out for her, with Neech perched on her shoulder. Knowing her friends are here helps her to feel a little stronger. “Okay, yes. I’m ready.”

Naia presses on without another word, guiding them further into the city, keeping to the shadows as she leads them away from the worst of the fighting. As soon as Deet starts moving, her surroundings start to warp, to change and shift, as her grip on the present...slips. Deet tries, she’s trying to stay in the moment, but a dozen more are dancing through her mind as the visions crowd in all around her.

Cobblestone streets flicker and fade away, until her feet are splashing through water, up to her ankles. The biting wind is replaced by a muggy humidity, though the sounds of fighting remain. Garthim howl, voices cry out, but this battle is winding down -- tonight, the last Gelfling stronghold will fall, and her friend will fall with it.

She sees Gurjin, just a few trine older than she knows him to be. There’s a scar, carved through the left side of his face, and his eye is clouded over, silver and unseeing. He’s winded, breathing heavy, with blood all down his front, steadily dripping into the water at his feet.

He’s wounded, he’s dying, but his voice is strong as he calls out, “This isn’t you, Rian!” One hand is on his chest, the only thing holding together the wound that’s killing him slowly. In the other, he grips Naia’s dagger -- the one he gave her when he left to be a Castle guard, the one she pressed into his hands right before she--

“Deet!” 

A snowflake tumbles and lands on Deet’s shoulder. Strange, she thinks. She didn’t know it snowed this far south.

The scene shifts again, and Gurjin’s locked in battle -- not with a Garthim, but with Rian -- or at least, what remains of him. Rian died two weeks ago, captured during a mission Deet begged him not to go on. Her visions showed her every brutal second of it -- she saw the way his eyes went milky white as the SkekSis stole everything that made him Rian, she saw the light glinting off the Scientist’s tools as they made what was left into a monster. She sees him now, as he rips Gurjin apart -- that’s his face, but those aren’t his eyes, that’s his body, but those aren’t his hands. He plunges one, terrible and bladed, straight into Gurjin’s chest, his snarling face just inches from his best friend’s. It’s the opening Gurjin’s been waiting for.

“I’m sorry,” Gurjin says, as he presses Naia’s blade into the hollow of Rian’s throat, and closes his eyes.

“Come on, Deet. Wake up!”

Gurjin and Rian are on their backs, in the shallow waters of the swamp. Rian’s been dead for two weeks, for two minutes, and Gurjin will join him soon enough. Deet’s standing over them, here but not here, remembering a moment that will happen to someone else, three trine from now -- the day her son is born, the day they lose the war.

“She named him Jen,” Gurjin says to Rian, to no one. In the distance, the Garthim are closing in on the last few warriors as the battle draws to an end. “I wish you could have seen him. He looks just like you.” He’s crying, but not for himself, as he takes a breath -- one of his last. “They’re safe, Rian. I kept them safe.”

Rian doesn’t answer. Neech glides down and comes to rest on the ruin of Gurjin’s chest. It takes all his energy to raise his hand, and ruffle the little muski’s fur. The vision changes just once more -- Deet sees three suns, shining over a healed world, and a familiar shape gliding through the still waters of the swamp, as wide as the Black River itself.

“Deet!”

She blinks, and this time, she’s back in Ha’Rar, in the snow, in the present. The visions fade away, and she’s staring up at Naia’s face, as close to panicked as Deet’s ever seen her. Hup is at her side, his spoon drawn, his gaze focused on something behind them. Deet realizes that she’s sitting on the cold ground, and that the three of them are crouched behind an overturned cart. There are a few flickering torches, but Deet doesn’t need them for her eyes to pierce the darkness. She recognizes the market that she and Hup visited on their first trip to Ha’Rar, though it’s been demolished. Behind her, she can hear the Garthim moving in, their many feet clicking as they press closer and closer.

“Are you back?” Naia asks, her eyes still searching Deet’s intently. Deet can’t find her voice, but she manages to nod, and Naia relaxes a fraction. “Good. I hope you saw something that will get us out of this -- we’re pinned down.”

Deet nods again, her mind still trying to catch up to this exact moment -- and then she has an idea. She dives for her satchel, and digs around until she finds what she’s looking for. She presses a bomb into Naia’s hand.

“Well,” Naia says, a grin splitting her features as she glances up at the nearest torch. “Rian did say he wanted a distraction.”

-+-

“Brea?” Kylan asks, keeping a tight grip on her hand as she guides him through the streets of Ha’Rar, moving with confidence and speed. The city may be in shambles, but that doesn’t seem to slow her pace. “Why the docks? Why aren’t we meeting Seladon at the palace?”

He keeps his voice low, wary of the Garthim still lurking nearby. From time to time, he catches sight of one -- crawling across a roof, or tearing through rubble and debris -- sometime it’s just a shadow, backlit by flames as half the city burns. They left most most of the fighting behind -- they left their friends behind, too, but Kylan just has to trust that they’re taking care of themselves, and each other, just like they all promised they would. 

For just a second, Brea slows her pace, and glances over her shoulder back at Kylan. A series of conflicted emotions flicker on her face, and it’s enough to get Kylan wondering what was really in that letter. “Do you trust me, Kylan?”

He does, of course he does -- but he doesn’t get the chance to tell her, because they round a corner, and are immediately distracted by a terrible sight. One side of the street is fully ablaze -- four or five buildings all in a row are burning, with flames climbing higher and higher. The air is thick with heavy, acrid smoke, ash and embers mixed with the falling snow. At least a dozen Gelfling are in the street -- fleeing from the burning buildings, where they must have been sheltering, and darting for the open doors of what can only be Brea’s library. She was right -- it would be impossible to miss. Tall and looming, and sturdily built -- one of the only structures in Ha’Rar that seems relatively unscathed.

As the first few Gelfling make it to the middle of the street, a pair of Garthim descend on the crowd. Brea skids to a halt, and then tugs Kylan into an alleyway, trying to keep out of sight as the scene unfolds. Kylan feels his stomach drop as one of the Garthim cuts down a fleeing Gelfling, and the other scoops up two more, one in each set of claws. The rest of the Gelfling scream as they run for cover, but he’s not sure how many are going to make it. 

“We have to -- can’t we help them?” Kylan asks, desperately. He rests a hand on the hilt of his shortsword, but even the thought feels foolish -- Naia, Gurjin, and Rian can barely hold their own against the Garthim, now that the SkekSis have had time to perfect their design -- so what hope could he possibly have? Still-- “We have to do something!”

“We are doing something,” Brea says, her voice firm, though her expression is troubled. “We’re here to get what we need to stop the SkekSis. It’s how we keep everyone safe, and end this for good.”

“I know,” Kylan says, unable to keep his own misery out of his voice, as another Gelfling stumbles and falls, left at the mercy of the Garthim. “I just can’t bear watch to watch this.”

“We’re not fighters,” Brea adds, still watching the scene, though there’s a familiar look in her eyes, like she’s solving a puzzle, the gears in her mind rapidly turning. She hesitates, and then says,“If Rian was here, he’d just rush right in.”

“He would,” Kylan agrees, his anxiety spiking. He wants to help, but he’s not sure the traditional Rian approach is going to do anyone any good at the moment. “But, he’s not here.”

“Right.” Brea turns back to Kylan. She looks him up and down, and her eyes fall on the shortsword at his belt. “Do you know how to use that thing?”

“Barely,” Kylan confesses, even as Brea unfurls her wings, and draws her own blade. “Brea, what are you doing?”

“Cover me,” Brea says, as her wings buzz to life, and she hovers a foot off the ground.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Kylan hisses, as Brea adjusts the grip on her sword, and flies straight towards the panicked crowd of Gelfling, and the Garthim giving chase. There’s nothing else for it, so Kylan draws his own weapon, mutters a hasty prayer and a curse, and rushes after her.

-+-

“Stay,” Naia commands. Neech is still perched on her shoulder, still at the ready, but she’s trained him well enough -- to chase a bola, when it’s thrown, or to stand down, when he’s told. It’s the second thing she’s worried about at the moment -- the last thing she needs is for Neech to go chasing after a bomb. 

“Getting closer,” Hup mutters, standing on tiptoes to peek over the edge of the overturned cart. Naia practically had to drag Deet through the city to get them this far. She’d hoped to at least reach the library Brea had mentioned -- but they’d gotten off track, in her attempt to steer clear of the Garthim, and ended up in the remains of a marketplace. Now, they’re pinned down, with five Garthim pressing in from the north, east, and south. “Throw now, Naia!”

“Just give me a minute,” Naia shoots back, twisting to scope out the scene for herself. None of these Garthim are wearing those baskets, or carrying any victims. It appears that only those few up by the gates were bringing in prisoners, while the rest are just here to bring the city down. Honestly, it’s what Naia was hoping to see. Without any more hesitation, she lights the fuse with a nearby lantern, and chucks the bomb out into the fray. At her shoulder, Neech tenses, but stays put, his little claws digging in to her armor. The bomb bounces once against the cobblestone, and then rolls, coming to a stop right underneath the nearest Garthim. Nothing happens for one second, two seconds, three--

“Get down!” Deet shouts, and tugs Naia and Hup behind the cart just as an explosion rocks the square. Naia’s ears are ringing, in the aftermath, but she can still hear the awful whining sound the Garthim makes, before it cuts off abruptly. She jumps back up to a crouch and peers over the cart, in time to see the beast land heavily on its side. A few of its legs twitch haphazardly, though the bottom half is nearly obliterated. Its movements slow, and then stop, the awful light fading from its eyes. Hup cheers, and Naia can’t help but grin. Finally, she can take these things out.

“How many more of those did you bring, Deet?” Naia asks, watching as more Garthim advance on the market, most likely drawn by the sound of the explosion. That’s fine by her -- if the Garthim are here, in this market, they’re not near Eliona or Gurjin, or any of her friends. Plus, she’s got a feeling she can take out more than one with just one bomb, if she’s smart about it.

“Fourteen,” Deet reports, pressing another into Naia’s hand, and one into Hup’s. “Do you think that’s enough?”

“I think it’s plenty,” Naia replies, as she lights the fuse, and winds up to throw again.

-+-

Gurjin and Rian move through one house, and another, and then a third, before they finally stop to catch their breath. The fight at the edge of the city had gone very badly, very fast -- Gurjin had stalled until he was certain that the rest of the party had gotten clear -- Brea, Kylan, Naia, Hup, and Deet all had moved further into the city, and he hoped Eliona and Amri had as well, though he couldn’t say for sure. Once that was settled, and once Rian was done playing hero, he’d gathered up his best friend and put as much distance between themselves and the Garthim as possible.

They wind up in a small, simple house, on the edge of town -- not much more than a cottage, but with sturdy stone walls, that Gurjin hopes will hold up if the Garthim find them. Actually, he just hopes that the Garthim don’t find them, at least until he’s a chance to patch himself up, and Rian, too, if he needs it -- and until they’ve had a chance to make a plan, terrible or otherwise.

The house is all one room, cramped but cozy. Gurjin doesn’t let himself wonder what happened to the people who lived here. Instead, he presses his ear to the door, and listens. He hears the distant, guttural noises of the Garthim, and the cries of captured and wounded citizens -- but for the time being, nothing close by. Satisfied, he pushes off the doorframe, and moves to follow Rian to the opposite side of the room.

Rian is already sitting with his back to the wall, and Gurjin slides down beside him with a grimace. He prods at the wound in his shoulder -- too deep to be considered superficial, but not deep enough to ask Naia to heal it, not with the Darkening coursing through her. He’ll ask Eliona, when he finds her, or just get Naia to stitch it. Until then, he’ll just have to bandage it, and hope that it holds.

“Are you alright, Rian?” Gurjin asks, after a moment of quiet, a moment of the two of them, just breathing, in the near darkness of the house. The former occupants had clearly left in a hurry, and a few torches are still burning, casting the room in a gentle glow.

“No,” Rian admits, wincing, one hand pressed against his left side, even as he reaches for Gurjin. “It got me pretty good, I think. Let me see your shoulder.”

Gurjin blinks, taken aback by Rian’s blunt honesty. He dodges Rian’s clumsy attempts to examine his wound, and reaches for Rian instead. “My -- we’re not worrying about my shoulder right now.” Even in the darkness, Gurjin can see blood, and catches a glimpse of torn and ragged flesh through a tear in Rian’s armor. “Rian, what did you do?”

“Oh, come on,” Rian protests, letting go of his side as Gurjin works at the laces of his armor, peeling away leather and cloth to get a better look at the wound. It’s deep, and bleeding steadily, and Gurjin has no way of knowing if it hit anything vital. “Why are you--” Rian breaks off with a pained sound as Gurjin presses a hand against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, and then sucks in a gasping breath, as he struggles to maintain composure. “Why are you mad? You said to tell you if I was hurt, and I did.”

“That’s wonderful, and I’m very proud of you,” Gurjin drawls, more than a little of his unfettered panic blending in with his sarcasm. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re bleeding all over the place, and I’m not a healer.”

Rian hums, and then fixes him with a serious look. “I trust you,” he says, his expression open, his voice sincere. He shrugs, and then seems to regret it as he moves to brace his wounded side -- Gurjin has to quickly bat his hand away, before he can do more damage to himself. Rian’s voice is getting fainter now, as he starts to drift -- not from blood loss, Gurjin doesn’t think the injury is that bad, at least not yet -- most likely, shock is setting in. Rian is still talking, though his eyes are unfocused. “You always look out for me.”

“You always need looking after,” Gurjin replies, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. His own shoulder throbs, especially as he leans his weight into Rian’s wound, applying pressure. Rian makes another noncommittal noise, and Gurjin presses a little harder, hoping for a response. “This isn’t like last time, Rian -- Deet’s not possessed anymore, which means one of us will have to explain this to her. You really didn’t think this through, did you?"

“When have I ever?” Rian answers, letting out a hollow laugh, even as his eyes flutter closed. “No point in starting now.”

-+-

Brea doesn’t mean to let the situation get out of hand. All she plans to do is buzz around the Garthim’s heads, and hopefully distract them long enough for the last few Gelfling to make it to the safety of the library, and barricade themselves inside. It’s a strategy that’s worked for her before, and with the haze of smoke and the increasing flurries of snow, she’s hoping the beast’s vision will be obscured. She’s run the numbers, and the odds are on her side.

Three things happen, almost all at once, and in an instant, her carefully laid plan is laid to waste.

First, Seladon’s voice calls out, high and clear, “Quickly, everyone get inside!” Brea’s eyes lock onto her sister -- dressed in fine leather armor, her crown forgotten, a sword held confidently as she puts herself between the Garthim and her people, guarding the door to the library as the crowd rushes inside. Seladon sees her, too -- her eyes go wide, surprise dawning on her features, as she mouths Brea’s name.

Second, an explosion rings out, a block away -- not even the haze of battle, the fear and adrenaline can shake Brea’s mind for maps, and she pinpoints the location. The sound comes from the market -- and if she had to guess, from one of the bombs she and Deet built, that morning in Stone-in-the-Wood.

Third, Brea’s sudden appearance and the even more sudden explosion seem to distract Seladon, just for a moment -- just long enough that one of the Garthim advances, and strikes out with its deadly sharp claws.

Brea’s still in the air, still in motion -- she has time for one thought, and one thought only. In that moment, she thinks of Tavra. No matter what Onica’s letter promises, it doesn’t change the fact that Tavra died in her arms, that her body went cold and still, that Brea and Seladon had to bury her. Brea’s not losing another sister. She won’t allow it.

It takes almost no effort to change trajectory, to put herself between the hooked, gleaming claws of the Garthim, and Seladon. One moment she’s in the air, the next, the Garthim makes contact -- she feels a flash of pain, like a line of fire across her throat as she’s cut, and then a crushing blow, as the force of the impact sends her careening into the ground. By some small miracle she doesn’t dash her wings to pieces, but she does skid across the cobblestones, landing right at Seladon’s feet.

It gets a lot harder to keep track of things, after that. She hears Seladon, screaming her name. She feels the earth itself shake as two more explosions rattle the city. She hears a chorus of ghastly howls ring out, she sees the Garthim that’s advancing on her stutter-step, and then turn away, answering the call of its companions, and heading towards the source of the explosion. 

Brea hurts, everything hurts, and it’s hard to draw a breath. She tries to reach up, to touch her ruined throat, but her hands aren’t doing what she says. Every part of her is cold, except the rush of warmth trickling down her chest, soaking into her clothes, pooling on the ground around her.

She blinks, and her position has shifted. She’s lying propped in someone’s lap -- in Seladon’s lap, she can hear her voice, murmuring in her ear, though she can’t make sense of the words. There are hands, pressed to her throat, and Brea stares up in Kylan’s face -- he’s gone pale, his eyes blown wide with panic. “Hang on, Brea,” he says, glancing up at something beyond her line of sight. She can’t turn her head to follow his gaze, she doesn’t have the strength.

“We have to get her inside.” That’s Seladon -- sounding terrified, yet commanding, in control of a situation that’s spun so wildly out of control. “Help me get her up.” Kylan nods, and pulls his hands away -- even that slight motion sends a wave of pain through Brea’s whole body, and her vision whites out again, until--

“--find Naia.” She thinks that might be Kylan’s voice, and she thinks those might be his footsteps, rushing back out into the night, rushing back out of --

--the library. Her library. Brea can hardly feel anything anymore, except for the hot hot heat of her own blood, except for the pain -- but even that’s starting to fade. The sounds are fading, too -- Seladon’s talking to her again, but her voice is muffled and distant. Brea tries to twist, wanting nothing more than to see her sister’s face, but even that is beyond her strength right now. All she can do is lie still, and stare up at shelf after shelf of books, spiraling up, up, up, as far as she can see.

Brea realizes, with a muted sort of clarity, that she is dying. She’s dying here, in a place that she’s always loved, a place where she spent long days lost in these books, in these pages, in these stories. There was always more to read, more to learn, and she loved every moment she spent here. But still, it wasn’t enough, it was never enough. She wanted more time, she wasn’t done.

At least she’s not alone. She can feel Seladon, holding her tight, carding gentle fingers through her hair. She has a hand pressed against the wound in Brea’s throat, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Her voice is quiet, and steady, even as she shakes with barely contained sobs. Brea can’t help the rush of regret as she realizes that Seladon will have to bury another sister.

It’s getting harder to breathe, it’s getting harder to think. It’s getting cold. Brea closes her eyes, and --

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-EIGHT

-+-

Kylan runs.

He stumbles back out of the library, and into the hazy, smoke-filled street. The fire is climbing, consuming more buildings on the western half of town, the acrid smoke burns in his lungs. He doesn’t know where to go, and he doesn’t have time to figure it out. Brea’s blood is on his hands, wet and tacky, and her gasping, rasping breaths are still ringing in his ears. He has to find Naia, or Eliona, or anyone who can help, who can heal -- hadn’t Amri said something about a group of Drenchen volunteers? Kylan can’t remember, can’t think about anything but the feeling of Brea’s pulse, thrumming weakly beneath his hands as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding.

An explosion rings out from the west. He thinks of Deet, and her satchel full of bombs -- it’s the only lead he’s got, and he latches onto it desperately. Kylan takes off at a sprint, towards the fire, towards the retreating backs of the Garthim, and hopefully, towards his friends.

-+-

.

Every Garthim that piles into this marketplace, Deet reminds herself, is one less Garthim that’s hurting her friends, or the people of Ha’Rar. It’s the only thought that keeps her calm as more and more of the monsters press in, practically surrounding them. Luckily, none of the Garthim have been able to get too close -- between Deet, Hup, Naia, and the bombs, they’ve been able to keep them at bay, and they’ve been taking some hefty chunks out of the enemy forces. Unfortunately, they’re taking a chunk out of the city, as well. To be fair, the surrounding buildings were already on fire, so what’s a little more property damage, at the end of the day? And anyway, the most important thing is that the area is clear of any innocent bystanders -- these Garthim aren’t wearing those baskets, and anyone with any sense is long gone by now. Except--

“Wait!” Deet says, catching Hup’s wrist before he lights another bomb, as a figure darts into the marketplace. They’re clearly Gelfling, stumbling as they try to keep to the shadows, and out of the range of the Garthim. As they get closer and closer, Deet’s keen darkvision makes out a familiar face, and her breath catches. “Kylan!”

After taking note of Kylan’s position, Hup lights the fuse, and launches his bomb to the opposite side of the market. When it explodes, it takes the legs out from under the two nearest Garthim, and causes enough of a distraction for Kylan to cross the distance between his hiding place and their cart. As soon as he’s close enough, Naia grabs him and tugs him down behind cover.

“Are you hurt?” she demands, even as she starts searching for wounds. It looks like he's hit his head -- Naia examines a rough scrape down the side of his face, the eerie purple light from his Darkening scar still glowing through blood and torn skin. Still, it’s a minor wound, and it doesn’t explain the sheer amount of blood staining his hands and his sleeves, and splashed across his clothes. He’s coughing, fighting to catch his breath in the hazy, smoky air, but he manages to bat Naia’s hands away, and shakes his head.

“You have to go,” he says. His voice is hoarse but certain, and he seems determined to speak. “Brea’s dying, she needs you.”

Naia doesn’t hesitate, she just grabs her dagger, and shifts to a crouch. Neech clambers back up to his perch at her shoulder, his eyes tracking their surroundings as Naia prepares to leave. “Where?”

“The library,” Kylan says. “We’ll meet you there, go.” No sooner has he finished speaking, than Naia moves. She claps Kylan on the shoulder, and darts off back into the shadows, back the way Kylan came. 

“Were the others with you?” Deet asks, and Kylan only shakes his head, going quiet and sinking a little into himself now that his task is complete. For once, Deet finds herself wishing for a vision, if only so she could see Rian right now, and know that he’s safe. Nothing comes -- it’s just her, living through this moment, and trying to get to the next, just like everyone else.

“Three left,” Hup says tersely. He presses a bomb into Deet’s hands, and another into Kylan’s, and keeps one for himself. Kylan just stares down at his blankly. Deet’s not sure if it’s the head wound, or the shock of what’s happened to Brea, but it doesn’t matter -- it’s going to take a team effort to get out of this mess.

“Kylan,” Deet says, trying to make her tone sharp, because she thinks that what Naia would do to get through to him. Sure enough, it works -- Kylan blinks up at her, though his expression is still haunted. Deet takes his hands, folds them around the bomb, and looks him right in the eyes. “Brea’s going to be alright,” she tells him, keeping her voice steady and firm. “This isn’t how it happens.” Kylan nods, his eyes still wide, and then he winces when Deet prods at the deepest wound on his face, a gouge along his cheekbone. “Did you get hit?”

“I tripped,” he admits miserably, and then he turns and coughs into his elbow. Deet reaches for his bomb while he catches his breath and lights the fuse for him, before lighting her own and passing the torch on to Hup.

“Now what?” Kylan asks, still sounding rough, his eyes still hollow, even as the fuse burns.

“Throw it!” Deet urges, aiming at the Garthim clustered on the northern end of the market, and nudging Kylan to do the same. “On three. One, two--”

-+-

Rian doesn’t, technically, pass out. Instead, he drifts, sliding from one moment to the next without much awareness of the passage of time. He fades right in the middle of Gurjin lecturing him, only to flicker back into awareness -- maybe a minute later, two at most.

Gurjin’s still got a hand pressed to the wound in Rian’s side, without a care in the world, it seems, for his own injury. The deep cut in his shoulder is still bleeding sluggishly, and his left arm hangs awkwardly at his side. Rian looks from Gurjin’s hand, fingers splayed as he presses against Rian’s wound, and up to his face -- his eyes are closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. If Rian didn’t know any better--

“Gurjin?” Rian asks, and his best friend startles, blinking his eyes open, only to narrow them at Rian when he realizes he’s been caught. “Were you trying to--?”

“What?” Gurjin shoots back, sounding defensive. He takes Rian’s left hand, and guides him to put pressure against his own wound. “Trying to stop you from bleeding to death? Yeah, I was. Hold that tight,” he orders, pushing himself to stand, holding his left arm to his chest. “There has to be something here we can use for bandages.”

Rian shifts, trying to get a little more comfortable, and then gives it up for a lost cause -- he’s not going to feel any better, not as long as there’s a hole in his side. He watches as Gurjin rifles around in baskets, and searches a trunk at the end of the single bed. “I didn’t think you had any magic.” 

“I don’t,” Gurjin mutters, pulling a sheet out of the trunk, and sitting on the edge of the bed as he starts to tear it into strips. “Obviously.”

“Right.” Rian adjusts his grip on his wound, unsettled by the feeling of his own blood, cooling against his skin. His side hurts, but he’s clear-headed enough to realize it’s not as bad as it could have been -- especially if he gets it tended to it now, instead of after hiking for miles and miles and miles, pretending it will just go away on its own. Now, if only he can get Gurjin to let him take a look at that shoulder. “I mean, I didn’t think you thought you had any magic.” 

Gurjin huffs out a sigh. “Don’t worry about it, Rian. It’s nothing.”

Rian opens his mouth to argue, because it’s not nothing -- something is bothering his best friend, and for once, Rian is fairly certain it’s not his fault. He very much intends to worry about it, and is about to tell Gurjin so -- until they hear footsteps outside, and frantic knocking at the door.

-+-

Naia finds the library, standing out like a beacon as the city falls around it. She finds Brea, looking more dead than alive, soaked in blood, cradled in her sister’s arms. And then, she finds herself with a choice to make.

There’s a tiny voice in the back of Naia’s mind, and it warns her that the price of healing Brea may very well be her own life. Maybe it won’t kill her outright, but it will cost her time -- time that’s been running out a little faster every time Naia uses her powers, her own essence burning away bit by bit, replaced by the hollow, pulsing ache of the Darkening.

The library is nearly silent, save for the distant noises of the chaos outside, and the whispers of the other Gelfling taking shelter here with them. Seladon is staring at her, staring through her -- there’s a look in her eyes that cuts Naia to the core. She doesn’t want to imagine herself in that place, can’t bear to think of losing one of her siblings -- and yet Seladon’s faced that loss once before. Would Seladon know that pain, a voice whispers, like a chill down Naia’s spine, if you hadn’t left Tavra behind?

Brea makes a sound -- a tiny, pained noise, barely more than an exhale. It breaks right through Naia’s whirlwind of thoughts and spurs her into action. She takes that voice in her mind, takes the fear, and the guilt, and locks it away tight as she drops to her knees at Brea’s side. It doesn’t matter the cost -- Brea is her friend, and even if she wasn’t, she’s hurt, and Naia has the power to help her. It’s not much of a choice at all.

“Naia?” Seladon’s eyes go wide as Naia rolls up her sleeves, revealing the angry, writhing tendrils of the Darkening beneath her skin. For a moment, suspicion flashes across Seladon’s features, only to be chased away by a hollow desperation. “Can you save her?”

“I’ll do my best” Naia says, keeping her voice and her breathing measured as she presses both of her hands into Brea’s torn throat. “Talk to her, try to keep her awake,” she instructs, and Seladon nods, adjusting her grip on her sister’s limp form, tugging her in a little closer and whispering into her ear. Brea doesn’t react, her eyes wide and going blank, but she’s still breathing -- at least for now.

Naia knows it’s going to take everything she has to pull Brea back from the edge before Thra can call her home. She ignores the pulse of pain in her arm as blue light surrounds her hands, and floods Brea’s wound -- she ignores the sounds of chaos outside, she ignores the voices of the Gelfling huddled further inside the library. She shuts all of that out, leans into her magic, and lets it take control.

-+-

Before the dust even clears from the final explosions, Deet grabs Kylan with one hand, and Hup with the other, and tugs them both to their feet. Kylan finds himself stumbling into the lead, to guide his friends back to the supposed safety of the library. Hopefully, the Garthim don’t follow them there, hopefully the others are on their way, hopefully the walls hold, hopefully Naia made it to Brea before--

--the three of them round a corner, and come face to face with a Garthim -- snarling, screeching, already splattered with another Gelfling’s blood. Kylan’s mind goes blank as the beast screams. In one fluid motion, it rears back on its legs, and swings both of its claws up, up, ready to strike them down. He doesn’t even have time to wonder if this is it. 

The first blow swings wide, and the Garthim’s claw cracks against the pavement, sending up a cloud of ash and dust and snowflakes. The second blow is aimed straight at Deet, and it doesn’t miss. Kylan shouts her name, and moves towards her -- or at least, he tries to. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out, he tries to take a step, but his feet are locked in place. For a moment, the whole grinds to a halt.

The Garthim’s claw comes down, just as Deet reaches up, her left arm outstretched. It should be a killing blow, a devastating strike that would cut Deet down in an instant. Instead, the second the Garthim makes contact, the blunt of its claw against her splayed fingertips, it just...stops. They’re frozen, the two of them, just like a picture in Brea’s journal -- the Garthim, with its claw suspended in midair, and Deet with her hand raised above her head. Her eyes are closed. 

Later, when his friends ask him what he saw, Kylan won’t quite be able to explain it. Not because he hit his head, or because he’s still reeling from what happened to Brea -- there simply aren’t words for what happens next, or at least, not any that he knows.

There is a light, he’s sure of that -- brilliant purple, near blinding. He’d shield his eyes but he still can’t move, so he stares right into it instead, hopelessly transfixed. In the Garthim’s place he sees faces -- no, not faces, memories. It’s not a dreamfast, it’s not even coherent thoughts. This is something else, cacophonous and unyielding, yet somehow silent -- silenced, just like the lives and voices of the Gelfling who have already lost their lives to the SkekSis, to their monsters, to their Darkening, to their corrupted Crystal -- and all those who have yet to lose their lives. He sees his parents, their reflections warped and distorted, he sees strangers, he sees his friends, the people he loves. He sees Deet, and a childling, their features just out of focus. He sees his own face staring back at him, his eyes milky white and empty, he sees his own body, just a husk now, tossed carelessly into the fires in the very heart of Thra. He opens his mouth to scream, but--

The vision stops, or else the rest of the world starts again. Kylan’s ears are ringing, and there’s something warm on his face -- his nose is bleeding, he realizes, when he goes to wipe it away. There’s a sharp throb of pain behind his eyes, and he takes a lurching step forward, only to catch himself at the last second.

The city is still burning. Deet is still standing in front of him, her hand held high. The Garthim still stands before her. Just a moment ago, it was howling, moving, fighting -- maybe not alive, but something very much like it. Now, it’s a husk, too -- the body still stands, frozen in that last act of motion, of violence, but the color has all been leeched away. If Kylan didn’t know better, he’d think it was a model, a replica built to scale, a curious, terrifying piece of art.

“Deet?” Hup calls, breaking the silence, and breaking Kylan out of his stunned state. Hup is moving forwards now, and Kylan barely reaches out in time to pull him back, because Deet --

-- Deet is framed by a bright purple aura, the exact same color and intensity as...whatever it was that Kylan just saw. He’s asked Deet to explain how her powers works. He knows that in order to cleanse the Darkening, she must allow it into her essence, before releasing it as something new, something pure. He’s seen her at work a few times now, and it’s never looked anything like this. This looks like there is a storm, a maelstrom, centered right on Deet. Her whole body is alight and crackling with the Darkening’s sick energy. She looks just like she did on that frantic trip to the Valley, when she was lost in its thrall. She looks like she did that night she was dying, in urSu’s chambers. She looks even worse.

She turns slowly, so slowly, craning just her neck until she’s peering over her shoulder at him. Kylan can only see one of her eyes, shining a solid purple. Deet’s fingers twitch towards him, and he sees a spark of magical energy surge between her fingers.

“Deet?” Kylan calls again, unsure how he even manages to keep his voice steady. Hup has stopped struggling, perhaps realizing that rushing Deet is not the answer right now. Kylan thinks she could snap her fingers and the both of them would be obliterated. How long would it take her to wake up and see what she’s done? Will she ever wake from this again, or is she gone?

A second passes, and then another. In an instant, Deet’s head snaps forward. She reaches up with both hands now, and presses them against the blunt side of the Garthim’s claw. 

The Garthim’s static, ashen form twitches once, twice, and then, it erupts. Roots spill out where the legs once stood, burrowing straight through the cobblestone and into the frozen earth below --  branches burst from the shoulders, cracking through the carapace and climbing higher and higher, as tall as the surrounding buildings. The Garthim itself turns to dust, turns to ash, and crumbles away, as bright green leaves and tiny flowers bloom -- purple, at first, but then they fade to white as the halo of light around Deet goes dim, and dissipates.

“Oh, wow,” Deet says, craning her neck to stare up at the tree, shifting gently in the wintry breeze. “That’s new.”

-+-

“This is what Naia has to deal with?” Eliona asks, glaring at Gurjin over her shoulder even as she prods at the edges of Rian’s wound. Rian swears and tries to shift away from her ministrations, but Laesid taught her daughters well -- just like Naia, Eliona is efficient, and relentless. “You two were only alone for a few minutes, and you’re both cut to ribbons.”

Across the room, Amri hums in agreement as he rifles around in his satchel. Apparently, he and Eliona had escaped the chaos at the city’s entrance by backtracking around, and approaching Ha’Rar from the outskirts. Amri’s superior Grottan hearing had picked up Gurjin and Rian’s voices, arguing in their temporary shelter -- thankfully, it didn’t seem that the Garthim could hear as well as Amri, or else they had already moved on from this area. For now, at least, they are safe.

“Okay, I don’t think you’re giving us enough credit,” Gurjin argues, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed, one hand pressing a wadded up strip of bedsheet to his wounded shoulder. Eliona had tried to fuss over him as he shed his armor, but Gurjin had promptly shaken her off, and insisted that Rian’s wound was worse. “We gave as good as we got. I hit one with my trident -- you must have missed that part.”

“Did you kill it?” Eliona asks, not looking up from her work. When Gurjin hesitates, she only shakes her head and huffs out a laugh, before focusing on Rian once more. Rian had also tried to fend Eliona off, and send her back to Gurjin, but no one had listened to him. Based on his scowl, he’s still unhappy about it. “Better luck next time, I suppose.”

“Next time?” Amri asks, finally fishing something out of his bag -- a small, unlabeled jar. “Are we going back out there tonight? Shouldn’t we wait until morning?”

“We need to make for the library,” Gurjin says, glancing from Amri, back to Eliona and Rian. “Or that lantern Brea mentioned, if the others made it that far.” Honestly, with the way things were looking outside, he’s not expecting any of them to make it all the way across the city in one night -- their best bet is to regroup, and press on to the docks in the morning. 

But Eliona is only shaking her head, even as her hands light up -- a lighter blue than Naia’s, but it crawls down her fingertips just the same, the gentle glow lighting up Rian’s wound, and reflecting in both of their faces. “We’re not going anywhere tonight,” Eliona says, shifting to sit a little more comfortably, not breaking contact with Rian. “Not until he’s stable, at least.”

“I am perfectly stable.” Rian’s scowl deepens, and he looks offended, even as he winces, his face pale from blood loss.

Eliona flicks her gaze back up and gives him a level stare. “You don’t want me to respond to that.”

Rian scoffs, and looks up at Gurjin. “Are all of your sisters this mean?”

“Yes.” Gurjin shrugs, and then curses as the movement jars his wounded shoulder. Eliona glances back at him and frowns, but doesn’t say a word. Amri steps a little closer, and twists the lid on the jar. The second he breaks the seal, a horrible stench fills the room, and Gurjin gags. “Ugh, Amri, what in Thra’s name--”

“It’s one of my concoctions,” Amri offers, and how he says the word ‘concoctions’ with a straight face, Gurjin can not understand. Amri edges a little closer, which makes the smell even stronger, and Gurjin instantly recoils. Across the room, Rian’s face is twisted up in disgust, but Eliona has already slipped into a trance-like state, fully absorbed in her work. Amri waves the jar. “It’ll help your shoulder, until Eliona can take a look at you.”

“I think I’ll live,” Gurjin says, scooting further down the bed and eyeing Amri and his concoction with distrust -- until he catches Rian, glaring at him from across the room, and he relents. “Fine. Fine.” He carefully pulls the makeshift bandage away, and is relieved to find the bleeding has mostly stopped. Amri sits on his knees on the bed beside him, and scoops up some of the foul-smelling salve with two of his fingers, biting his lip in concentration as he applies the treatment. Gurjin finds that it stings for a few seconds, before the whole area goes comfortably cool. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it does dull, and Gurjin hums in surprise and relief. “What’s in that stuff?”

“Maggots,” Amri tells him, spreading another layer across Gurjin’s shoulder. “And slime. A few other ingredients. Mostly just maggots.”

“Did you hear that, Rian?” Gurjin asks, turning back to his friend, and narrowing his eyes at him. “Maggots. It’s made of maggots.”

“Just, shut up and let him help you,” Rian says, letting his head drop against the wall with a thunk. His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing evens out, as his wound and the steady tug of Eliona’s magic pulls him under. Gurjin waits until he’s certain Rian is asleep before he lets out a breath, and starts to worry about what to do next.

-+-

“Deet!” The second Deet looks away from the Garthim-turned-tree, Hup crashes into her. He hugs her tight, only to break away a moment later and look up at her carefully, keeping a tight grip on her hands. “Deet alright?”

“I’m fine!” Deet assures her friends, looking them over for herself. Hup looks unharmed, just smudged with soot and ash -- but Kylan is bleeding from his nose and his ears, and he’s swaying dangerously. Her stomach drops. “Kylan! What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Kylan admits, sounding a little faint. Deet steps in close and grabs him by the elbow, hoping to steady him, and finds that he’s trembling. “What was that?”

“I’m not quite sure.” Deet glances back up at the tree, and tries to run through the last few minutes. The Garthim was about to strike. She reached up and touched it. She had a vision -- of Kylan, scenes of his life flickering past, from the beginning to his possible end. Nothing she hadn’t seen before, but never all at once like that. And then, she’d opened her eyes, and the Garthim was a tree, and she was here, and now. “Whatever it was, it stopped the Garthim.”

“There was a light,” Kylan says. He rubs at his ears, and then seems surprised when his hands come away bloody. “Did you see it?”

“No light,” Hup says, frowning at Kylan, and then holding up two fingers. “How many?”

“What kind of light?” Deet presses, before Kylan gets the chance to answer Hup. “What did it look like?”

“It was purple?” Kylan’s frowning, his brow furrowed as he thinks. “I saw things inside of it. I saw...myself. I think--” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and lets it out, before his eyes finally focus and lock on Deet’s. “I think...I think I saw how I die.”

Hup lets out a low whistle and his eyes go wide. Deet’s stomach is twisted up in knots as the vision flashes before her again, Kylan’s role in the Prophecy laid out as she looks in her friend’s eyes -- Kylan, who will hold her hand and keep her sane the night Jen is born, who will stay faithfully by her side for two more trine -- who will give his life to steal back the Crystal Shard after it’s lost, undoing Rian’s last mistake, and ensuring Jen can one day fulfill his destiny. She sees every moment that led Kylan here, and the moments that will lead to his death, five trine from now. And then, it fades, and Kylan stands before her, still in the present, still a dizzy, bloody mess.

“Kylan,” Deet says, and she takes his hand, and holds it tight. She doesn’t care that he’s getting blood all over her, she doesn’t care that the city is burning, she doesn’t care that another Garthim could appear at any moment -- she needs to say this, and she needs him to hear it. “That won’t happen, do you understand me? There’s still time to fix this, to stop all of that from ever happening. I just need you all to trust me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Kylan clears his throat, and then speaks again, a little stronger this time. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good.” Deet gives him another once over, and shakes her head -- almost instantly, a jolt of pain lances from the back of her skull, to right between her eyes. She ignores it, and focuses on Kylan. “Can you walk?” Kylan hesitates, and then nods. He rubs at his face with the back of his sleeve, and makes a small sound of distress at all the blood. Deet only hums sympathetically, and links arms with Kylan, guiding him away from the fires, and away from the tree. Hup takes the lead, eyes alert, and his spoon at the ready, as they make their way towards safety.

-+-

Kylan is feeling much steadier on his feet by the time they make it back to the Library. Once inside, the three of them spring into action, helping a few of the other survivors -- some Vapran citizens, some Spriton refugees -- block the doors to hopefully keep the Garthim out. Books go tumbling and papers scatter as they topple the shelves, but that’s a problem for another day. If Brea is alive in the morning, she can yell at them about the state of her library. Kylan flexes his fingers, and tries not to think about the blood covering his hands -- some of it his own, but most of Brea’s. 

He sees her from the corner of his eye, exactly where he left her, slumped in Seladon’s lap. Now, Naia is bent over her, healing blue flames filling the wound in Brea’s throat. The tightness in Kylan’s chest unclenches, just a bit -- Naia’s magic wouldn’t work if Brea was already gone -- only to cinch right back a second later, as he sees the tendrils of the Darkening, standing out in stark relief against Naia’s skin.

The doors rattle and shake as a Garthim throws itself at their hastily built barricade, but they hold firm -- for now. Kylan knows it won’t hold forever. Sooner or later, that wall will come down. That’s fine, he decides, just as long as it lasts the night.

The minutes drag on, tense and terrifying, until finally, the shaking stops. The Garthim on the other side of the door lets out one last howl, and then seems to retreat. Whether it’s just coming back with reinforcements, Kylan does not now, but he has a feeling he’ll find out either way.

“Our friends are still out there,” Deet says, breaking the silence. She has her arms folded tight across her chest, and her voice is plaintive, afraid. “I didn’t -- I haven’t seen them, I don’t know...I don’t know…”

“Deet?” Kylan asks, concerned, as Deet seems to lose her balance. She uncurls her arms, only to press the heels of her palms against her eyes, and let out a low, wounded hiss. “Are you alright--?”

“I’m fine,” Deet says, though her speech is slurring, and she staggers when she tries to take a step. Kylan’s heart lurches, and he lunges forward, reaching Deet just as her eyes roll up in the back of her head, and her legs give out from under her. She’s limp in his arms, and he can’t stop her from falling, so he just sinks to the ground with her, and wonders what’s going to go wrong next.

-+-

“Hey, Amri?” Gurjin asks, breaking the silence that’s fallen over the cottage. It’s been a few hours since they took refuge here, and it will be a few hours still before the suns rise, and the Garthim retreat. Even if it was safe to move, Rian and Eliona are both fast asleep, curled up at opposite ends of the single bed in the corner of the room. “You’re not like, in love with Deet or anything, are you?”

“What?” Amri sputters, nearly dropping the small glass vial in his hand -- not the one with his maggot salve, but one of half-dozen others he’d pulled out of his satchel and spread out on the table. Each bottle is a different size, and contains different colored tincture, potion, or cream. All are unlabeled, and each one smells terrible when Amri cracks the lids open. “Uhm, no. I am not in love with Deet. She’s my friend.”

“Alright, just thought I’d ask,” Gurjin says with a shrug. He’s leaning back in his chair, with his feet propped on the table. He and Amri had discussed taking watches throughout the night, but it seemed neither of them were getting any sleep while the others were missing, somewhere in a city under siege. “She and Rian seem pretty serious, is all. So, if you were hoping to make some grand declaration when you found her again, you may have missed your chance.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Amri asks coolly. Gurjin coughs, and plants his feet back on the ground, as Amri adds, “Just thought I’d ask.”

“You know what, we don’t have to talk,” Gurjin suggests, once he’s caught his breath again, and the flush has faded from his cheeks. Amri nods, and goes back to his vials, and the rest of the watch passes in silence.

-+-

“I really am fine,” Deet insists, though Kylan seems...skeptical, at best, and downright suspicious at worst. Apparently, she’d passed out shortly after they’d gotten here, and been unconscious for nearly two hours -- if she had to guess, it was probably related to the incident with the Garthim. She really is feeling fine now, but still -- it had taken a lot of persuasion before Hup would even let her get out of her makeshift bed, in a cozy little corner of the library, and she still just has to convince Kylan. “Come on, Kylan, I know she needs my help.”

“Alright,” Kylan finally relents, nodding to an alcove on the other side of the building. Deet’s glad to see that he’s looking a little better, too -- he’s cleaned the blood from his face, at least. Even his brief glimpse of Deet’s vision had obviously taken a toll on him -- something about her experiences must make her able to withstand them, while the others cannot. Deet has never really considered that as a possibility before. Kylan continues speaking, and Deet focuses back in, “But if you start feeling dizzy again--”

“--I’ll tell you, I promise,” Deet insists, taking Kylan’s hand and squeezing it tight. “Now, take me to Naia.”

-+-

“Naia?” A voice calls, and Naia looks up, only to see Seladon approaching. Naia offers her a nod, and the young All-Maudra settles down to sit beside her. Seladon has scrubbed her sister’s blood from her hands, though it’s still staining her clothes, all down the front, an imprint of where Brea lay dying in her arms. Still, clothes can be washed and mended, and all that matters now is that Brea is alive, breathing evenly on a pallet in the far corner of the room, her wound sealed tight. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” Naia says, resisting the urge to worry at her sleeve. As expected, healing Brea had taken a heavy toll on her -- but she’d had no choice, there was no one else to help. As it turned out, the last of the Drenchen volunteers had fallen in battle two nights ago, and Eliona is nowhere to be found -- hopefully safe, Naia thinks, and refuses to let her mind wander any farther. 

As for herself, the Darkening had swelled and surged, carving away at her essence. Time had passed in a slow, sluggish haze, until Deet finally made it to her side, and siphoned away as much of the poison as she could. When that was done, Naia could think again, and her body no longer hummed with pain, but there is still damage -- the tendrils have spread all the way up to her shoulder now, and are starting to crawl across her chest. She can flex her fingers, make a fist, scratch Neech under his chin, and wield a dagger with just as much dexterity as before -- but her entire arm is numb, and cold.

Naia snaps out of her thoughts, and turns back to Seladon. “How are the others?”

“As to be expected.” Seladon lets out a sigh, and surveys the room -- Naia follows her gaze and does the same. About a dozen other people are taking shelter in the library with them -- it’s nearly an even mix of Vapran and Spriton, though it’s not only Gelfling -- Naia sees Hup in a corner, talking with a pair of Podlings who had traveled north with the Spritons, after Sami Thicket burned. Deet is at Brea’s side, weaving flowers into her hair as she sleeps -- the flowers that bloomed when she pulled the Darkening from Naia, as best she could. 

Most of the other Gelfling are grouped in twos and threes, except for the harried Librarian, who mutters to himself as he picks up books and tries to reshelve them -- and five small childlings, all of them Spriton orphans, seeking refuge in Ha’Rar. Somehow, Kylan’s been roped into entertaining them. Naia can’t help but smile as she watches the scene unfold, Kylan’s voice calm and soothing as he reads to childlings. A few are still awake, though it’s nearly dawn, including the smallest one -- a boy, not yet a trine, barely old enough to hold up his own head. He’s sitting in Kylan’s lap, his chubby fingers reaching for the pages. It’s a peaceful picture, despite the chaos of this night, and still --

“You won’t survive another night of this,” Naia says, her voice pitched low, so as not to upset the others. “You have to get out of this city.”

“You’re right,” Seladon concedes. There’s a set to her shoulders, a resignation, though she still holds her head high, and proud. “But there’s nowhere to go. If we run at night, the Garthim cut us down, and during the day we can’t break their line.” Seladon sighs, and for a moment her proud visage crumbles, and Naia sees the same Gelfling she glimpsed a few hours ago, curled around her sister as she died. “I don’t know what to do, Naia. These are my people. I’m supposed to protect them, and I’ve failed.”

“You’re fighting for them,” Naia says, shaking her head. “You haven’t failed, not until you give up.” She fixes her with a serious look, packing away the Darkening’s icy chill, and the guilty voice in her mind that sounds so much like Tavra’s, and stowing them in the deepest corner of her mind. “Are you going to give up, Seladon?”

“No,” Seladon says, drawing herself up a little higher. “No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Naia nods to herself, and looks back over the people gathered here in the library, at what feels like the end of the world. A thought occurs to her, and she asks, “What was in your letter? The one you sent Brea?"

Seladon turns to her now, and frowns. “What letter?”

Before Naia can even process Seladon’s response, footsteps thunder from above. Naia and Seladon both jump to their feet, and Kylan stops his reading, as one of the guards leans down over the railing of the spiraling walkway overhead.

“All-Maudra,” he gasps, struggling to catch his breath. “You need to see this.”

-+-

At the first sunrise, Rian, Gurjin, Amri, and Eliona file out of the house, and into the quiet, ruined streets of Ha’Rar. Just as they’d been told, the Garthim have retreated -- Rian can see them, skittering along the perimeter of the town, blocking them in from the east, from the south, and from the west. None of the beasts approach, content to hold the line. 

The four of them are silent, as the morning suns reveal the extent of the damage. Rian only saw Ha’Rar once before, back when all this was just at the beginning. The city he remembers has become a wasteland, a devastation. The Garthim have torn Ha’Rar down to its bones, killed its people in the street, and dragged countless others to an even more harrowing fate. This will keep happening, again and again, unless they can put a stop to the SkekSis, and their cruelty.

Other survivors are in the street, too, abuzz with chatter and excitement. They gather what supplies they can carry and head north. A rumor is spreading through the town, whispered among the people who flock to the streets -- the Sifan fleet arrived with the dawn, and is waiting in the bay, ready to ferry them all to safety. It’s the salvation they desperately needed, a small spark of hope when it seemed all was lost. 

“Well, that’s convenient,” Gurjin says, rubbing at his shoulder, bandaged tightly and slathered with more of Amri’s foul-smelling ointment. Rian’s stiff and sore as well, but Eliona did good work -- he’s by no means in fighting shape, but it won’t be an uphill battle getting back there like last time. “Weren’t we headed to the docks anyway?”

“The Seafarer’s Lantern,” Rian agrees. He glances at each of the others, and receives three nods in return. He has to hope that the rest of his friends are headed there, too, that they’re safe. He won’t know peace until he sees Deet again. “What are we waiting for?”

-+-

“Seladon?” Deet says, her voice light and airy, echoing in the nearly empty library. Kylan and Hup are seeing the last of the survivors out, while Naia figures out the best way to move Brea -- their wounded friend still hadn’t woken, and might not for some time yet, as close to the brink as she’d been. 

“Yes?” Seladon asks, sitting right at Deet’s side, but not glancing up from Brea’s face, careful hands combing through her sister’s hair. The rest of the Vapra are headed to the docks, but Seladon, it seems, is staying put.

“You need to go.” Deet’s voice is gentle, but Naia jerks her head up in shock, and Seladon’s hand pauses for a moment. “Your people need you.”

“Her sister needs her,” Naia cuts in, glancing between the two girls. “You’re not seriously asking her to leave Brea behind like this.” Deet presses her lips together, but doesn’t respond, so Naia digs deeper. “Would you leave Bobb’n?”

“Would you leave Gurjin?” Deet replies, just as quickly, and colder than Naia’s ever heard her, and Naia instinctively recoils. “Would you leave Eliona, or Pemma, if it kept them safe?” There’s something unrecognizable in Deet’s eyes, so far removed from the gentle girl she’s come to know.  “Wouldn’t you do anything, if it meant you could save the people you love?”

“I can’t --” Seladon speaks before Naia can answer, shaking her head, her hand still resting on Brea’s shoulder, her touch feather-light. “I can’t leave her, not like this.”

Deet sighs, and leans in close. She cups a hand around Seladon’s ear, and whispers something -- Naia can’t make it out, no matter how hard she tries. Whatever Deet says, Seladon goes absolutely stock still, for one second, two seconds, three, and then, she asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Deet says, like a promise. She takes Seladon’s hand and squeezes it. “Now go, Seladon. We’ll take care of Brea.”

Seladon just stares at Deet for another long moment, before leaning down, and pressing a kiss to Brea’s cheek, and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Without another word, Seladon rises, and walks out of the library. She pauses just once, her grief plain on her features as she steals one last look at Brea, and then she steps out into the morning light, and is gone.

“What,” Naia asks, fighting to keep her voice steady, to keep her reeling thoughts in line, “Did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth,” Deet sighs. She rises, and smooths her skirt. “I told her what she needed to hear.” Deet’s words echo back Naia's mind. Wouldn’t you do anything? she had asked. Naia would, of course she would, but still -- she can’t help but wonder what, exactly, Deet has just done.

There are hurried footsteps, and Kylan’s voice cuts through the moment. He skids to a halt, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Why is Seladon leaving without us?”

“Seladon’s heading to boats,” Deet explains. She scoops up a book from a nearby shelf, and seems to examine the lettering on the spine. “She’s sailing away with the Sifa. She’ll be alright.”

“Right,” Kylan says slowly. His eyes are wide as he exchanges a confused glance with Naia, who only shakes her head, at a loss. “Does that mean we’re not going to the boats?”

“No, we need to find Brea’s sister,” Deet says, and the last traces of her icy demeanor are gone, leaving only her bubbly, cheerful self behind. She presses the book into Kylan’s hands, and tells him, “You’ll want that later.”

“Brea’s sister?” Kylan repeats, even as he accepts the book, tucking it in his bag without even glancing at the cover. “Didn't she just--”

“She’s not talking about Seladon.” Brea’s voice is raspy, and startles all of them. Naia recovers first, and kneels down at her friend’s side. Brea is pale, and clearly weak, but her eyes are clear and her breathing is strong. Naia runs practiced hands along the healing wound, and then lets them flutter down to Brea’s shoulder in relief. 

“Don’t do that again,” Naia says, squeezing Brea’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to be the sensible one, remember?”

Brea smiles up at her, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. She takes a breath to steady herself, looks Naia right in the eyes, and says, “We need to find Tavra.”

-+-

“I’m not sure about this,” Kylan says, his knuckles going white as he clutches the railing, and peers over the edge. The five of them -- Brea, Kylan, Naia, Deet, and Hup -- have made it to the balcony at the top of the library. Brea had leaned on Naia heavily for the ascent, and even now, she’s slumped against the wall for support, catching her breath. Everything hurts, her throat most of all -- but she has her life, even though she’d heard the haunting notes of Thra’s song. Just before it could call her home, Naia and her magic yanked her back to the land of the living. Brea isn’t sure how to repay someone for something like that, but she’ll figure it out. She always does.

From here, they can see all of Ha’Rar laid out before them -- or at least, what’s left of it. It hurts her heart to look at it for too long. Instead, Brea focuses on the Sifan ships, little patches of color dotting the bay. The survivors from Ha’Rar are flocking towards the boats, and safety of the Silver Sea -- and they’re fleeing from the Garthim, still in a line surrounding the city from three sides. Thankfully, the path to the docks is clear, and the Gelfling are not assaulted or interrupted. 

“Why aren’t they attacking?” Naia asks, nodding towards the beasts as they hold their positions, and seem to show no interest in the escaping Gelfling. “They’re just letting them get away?”

“They only follow orders,” Deet explains. Her hair is loose and whipping in the morning breeze, and her dark eyes are wide. She points at something, a few dark shapes on the horizon -- far off, but getting closer by the second. “The last thing their masters said was to hold the line -- but they’ll have new orders soon.”

“Crystal Bats?” Brea asks, wincing at the roughness of her own voice. Naia said she was lucky to speak again at all -- if the wound had been much deeper, it would have stolen her voice, and that wasn’t something Naia could fix. “We need to move. Now.”

“But, do we have to jump?” Kylan asks, still eyeing the distance warily. Brea imagines it looks a lot scarier to someone without wings. 

“I can carry you, Kylan, don’t worry!” Deet assures him. “We’ll just glide right down, quick and easy! By the time we land we’ll meet up with the others, and we can all find Tavra together!” 

“You saw that?” Naia asks skeptically. Something has changed in the night -- Naia is watching Deet carefully, and Brea doesn’t know what she’s looking for. When she’s got her wits back together, she’ll put her mind to use and find out what. For now, she’s focusing on one minute at a time. “In your visions?”

“No,” Deet shrugs, but her smile is as bright as ever. She seems normal, despite Naia’s clear reservations. “I just have hope!”

“Right.” Naia sighs, and then nods to the rest of them. Her wings are extended, for the first time in Brea’s memory -- they’re beautiful, black with shimmering blue and violet. It’s clear from the shape that Naia can’t sustain flight the way Brea or Deet can, but she’ll glide just fine. Naia continues, “I’ll take Brea and Hup -- I’ve carried Gurjin before, you’re not as dense as he is.” Hup looks about as skeptical as Kylan, but he at least pulls a brave face, and checks to make sure his spoon is strapped on tight.

“I can fly,” Brea cuts in. She’s made this jump plenty of times before, and she can do it now -- the sooner the better. Every moment she waits to find out the truth about Tavra hurts worse than her aching throat. The thought distracts her from the hollow pain of missing her chance to speak with Seladon -- all she has is a few hazy memories of her sister’s voice in her ear, calling her back from the brink, and her gentle hands carding through her hair. When this is over, Brea decides, she’s holding on to her sister, and never letting go.

“You’re in no condition--”

Brea just narrows her eyes, taking Naia's words as a challenge. She pushes herself off the wall to stand, and immediately wavers. Hup is closest -- he grabs her hand and guides her to rest it on his shoulder, offering his support. Brea offers him a grateful smile, and turns back to Naia, undaunted. “I can do it. Let me try.”

“It’s Rian!” Deet shouts, cutting off their conversation. She’s leaning her full weight against the railing now, and pointing at something in the distance. “And Gurjin, and Amri and Eliona too!” She grins back at them over her shoulder, wild and happy, as Naia rushes to join her at the railing. “See? I told you it’d be alright! We’ll all be together soon!” She looks at Kylan, and smiles. “Are you ready?”

“No?” Kylan says, and a second after that, Deet wraps her arms around his chest from behind, pulls him close, and leaps.

-+-

They’re at the edge of town when Gurjin hears the familiar buzz of Gelfling wings. He looks up just in time to see Naia and the others swoop overhead, touching down in a snowbank just a little ways down the road. Despite everything, despite this awful, hellish night, all five of their missing party members are here and accounted for. They're safe, if a little worse for wear-- he can’t help but notice that Brea crashes more she lands, and barely manages to keep her footing, relying on Hup to help her stagger back to her feet.

For a moment, there is silence, the nine of them just staring at each other -- no one moves, no one speaks, just grateful to be reunited and at least mostly whole. Finally, Naia narrows her eyes, and glances from Deet, to Rian, to Gurjin, to Kylan, and says flatly, “If you all start kissing each other, I’m going home.”

With that, the spell is broken -- Gurjin laughs and slings an arm around Naia’s shoulder, only to tug her in close and plant a kiss on her temple, as he says “I missed you, too, Naia.” The smile Naia grants him is genuine, and so is the punch she lands on his shoulder -- luckily not the one the Garthim hacked into, he’s not ready to get yelled at for that one just yet. As soon as she’s done hitting him, Naia breaks away, only to wrap Eliona in a crushing hug, relief evident in every inch of her frame to see her family safe -- the same relief Gurjin feels in his heart, to be with Naia again. 

Gurjin scans the rest of his friends and revels in their happy reunions. Deet and Rian are kissing, and honestly Gurjin intends to do the same as soon as he gets to Kylan. 

As soon as he’s thought the name, Kylan appears at his side -- beaten and battered and exhausted, but alive. Gurjin imagines that he doesn’t look much better. Kylan doesn’t move in for a kiss, instead pressing his face against Gurjin’s chest and wrapping his arms around him tight. Gurjin immediately returns the embrace, and rests his cheek against Kylan’s hair. They don’t speak -- they don’t need to. For the moment, just getting to hold him is enough.

Far too soon, Kylan pulls away, and moves back to Brea’s side to support her, giving Gurjin and his sisters a moment of privacy as Naia speaks again. “The boats haven’t left yet,” she says, stepping back and holding Eliona at arms length. “But you and Amri need to hurry.”

“No,” Eliona turns from Naia, to Gurjin, looking for him to back her up. “I’m coming with you.” When Naia only shakes her head, Eliona’s face folds in hurt, and anger. “You can’t just send me away -- I’m not a childling. I can help.”

“I know you can.” Naia reaches up and cups her face, and then lets her hands fall to Eliona’s shoulders. “A lot of people on those boats were hurt last night. You can heal, Eliona. You can help them. And if we don’t come back--” Naia breaks off, and takes a breath. Gurjin feels the same ache in his chest that he sees on Eliona’s face, but Naia ignores them both and continues. “If I don’t come back, you’ll take my place, and follow in Mother’s footsteps.” She leans in close, presses her forehead against Eliona’s, and tells her, “You’d make an excellent Maudra someday.”

“Not as good as you,” Eliona says, her voice wavering, but holding strong, as Naia pulls away.

“Probably not,” Naia agrees, and Eliona snuffles out a tearful laugh. Gurjin can’t look at her without seeing his baby sister, but he can’t deny that he and Rian might not have made it through the night without her. She’s growing up. He hates it, and he’s so proud.

“Alright, c’mere,” Gurjin says, tugging Eliona into a tight hug, before he can do something really embarrassing, like cry in front of her. “Keep out of trouble, and keep an eye on Amri.” Gurjin gives the Grottan boy a good-natured salute, and Amri nods in return.

Eliona breaks away, only to reach over and scratch under Neech’s chin, the little muski chittering from his perch on Naia’s shoulder. She grins at Naia playfully and says, “Do you think Neech should stay with you?”

“Neech is absolutely staying with me,” Naia tells her, clapping her sister on the shoulder, and flashing a grin. “I don’t know why you even asked.”

-+-

Deet hugs Amri goodbye, and then he and Eliona depart, bound for the ships and the harbor beyond. She knows they’ll be safe, and they’ll do good work for the Resistance. She knows that they will see them both again, someday soon.

For now, the rest of them follow the curving path back down the cliffs, to an inlet only accessible from the northern end of the city. They can’t see the bottom -- a thick layer of fog rises from the sea, obscuring their vision. At the top, they find a strange rock, carved in the shape of a sea creature. It has jewels for eyes, and a glowing light in its mouth.

“The Seafarer’s Lantern,” Brea explains, her voice not much more than a whisper. She’d only made it a few steps under her own power before Gurjin had scooped her up, barely hiding a wince of his own as he tucked her close to his chest. Still, he carries her without complaint for their entire descent, his face drawn and worried as Brea slumps against him, quiet and listless. 

None of them are faring much better -- Deet notices that Rian is favoring his left side, and when the path isn’t too steep she ducks under his arm and helps him along. Naia is clearly wrung-out by her recent battle with the Darkening, and Kylan still isn’t entirely steady on his feet. Out of all of them, it seems only Hup has walked out of Ha’Rar completely intact, and he takes it upon himself to scout ahead for any possible dangers along their trek.

It takes the better part of an hour to climb down, and they’re all fighting for breath as they stumble out onto the sandy shore of a narrow strip of beach. So far, the thick fog has hidden their destination, but now, they can see it -- a narrow boat docked just off shore, with three sails, dyed crimson, and purple, and blue.

“You made it!” calls a voice, and Deet traces the sound to a Gelfling standing on the deck, arms crossed as she leans against the railing, watching them approach. It’s a young woman, Sifan, with flyaway red curls and a spider on her shoulder. She looks them all over, one by one, and nods. “Come aboard. We have much to discuss.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

INTERLUDE

-+-

When Onica dreams, she dreams of the Sog.

Not the Sog as it is now -- though she’s never seen the southern swamps for herself, only in her far-dreaming -- but the Sog as it will be, three trine from now. In the middle of the warm, still waters, an ancient tree lies dying, and the people she has nourished for generations are preparing for battle. It will be their very last.

Inside the Great Smerth, Onica sees a young Drenchen man. He is tall and broad, with an old scar slashed through his face. His left eye is clouded and blind. A deeper wound hangs heavy on his shoulders -- one look at him, and Onica knows that he lost something else a long time ago, something infinitely more precious. Half his heart is gone, and he will never be whole again -- but he isn’t alone.

The other man looks mostly Spriton. Dark braids frame his face, and he carries a scar as well. He wasn’t wounded by blade or by force, but by something much more sinister. His scar glows with a sick purple light, thin lines like a fracture -- like a spider-web -- covering more than half of his face. The mark spans from his temple, all the way down to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt.

The two of them are arguing, frantic. Onica isn’t here, not physically, but she leans in closer to listen in as the Spriton says, “Gurjin, I can’t -- I can’t just leave you here.”

“You have to,” the Drenchen -- Gurjin -- is packing a bag, haphazardly tossing rations and supplies inside. “Deet’s just had a baby, Kylan, we can’t send her out there alone. Someone has to go with her. You have to go with her.” He cinches the pack closed, and presses it into Kylan’s hands. “And I have to go after Rian.”

“No.” Kylan shakes his head, not accepting what he’s hearing. “You heard what the scouts are saying. Whatever that -- that thing is, it’s not him. Not anymore.” Kylan’s voice wavers, but doesn’t break. “You can’t save him, Gurjin.”

“Yes, I can,” Gurjin says, his proud shoulders slumping. “I can send him back to Thra, and hope he finds some peace.” He scrubs away tears with the back of his hand, and then stands up straight. “Someone has to end this.”

“There are other fighters, it doesn’t have to be you,” Kylan insists, sounding desperate. “You don’t have to stay here.” When Gurjin only shakes his head, Kylan’s breath catches. “Why?”

“Because this is my home.” Gurjin turns now, and stares out into the swamps, for almost the last time. “I’m done running, Kylan. If I’m going to die, I want it to be here. I want it to mean something.” He looks back to Kylan, and his expression is grim, determined. “We’re not waiting for sundown, we’re taking the fight to them. If we concentrate the attack, and draw their forces, it should give you an opening. Take Deet, and the baby -- head north, and don’t look back.”

“Come with us,” Kylan pleads. Gurjin’s shoulders are set, and his mind, it seems, is made up, but Kylan isn’t done. He clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms, and says, “Naia wouldn’t want this.”

“Naia is dead,” Gurjin says, half a shout, half an awful, anguished sob, as he folds in on himself, shrunken and hollow in his misery. “They’re gone, Kylan. They’re all gone.”

“But you're not alone,” Kylan says. He steps into Gurjin’s space now, and takes his hands, holding them tight. “You still have a family, Gurjin. You have me, and Deet, and now Jen.” Gurjin takes a shuddering breath, and Kylan presses on, hopeful that he's getting through. “Did you get to see him?”

“This morning, yeah. Deet let me hold him,” Gurjin says, with a watery smile. “Just a tiny Rian. He’s beautiful,” he adds, his voice full of emotion. He looks at Kylan, his shoulders set, his expression serious once more. “You’ll tell him about all of us, won’t you?”

“Gurjin,” Kylan whispers. “Please.”

“You have to promise, Kylan,” Gurjin says. He reaches out, cups Kylan’s face in both of his hands, and kisses him, for the very last time -- a final expression of devotion, of love, of regret. He pulls away a moment later, only to press his forehead against Kylan’s, his eyes closed tight. “Promise you’ll tell him our stories. Promise you’ll help Deet keep him safe.”

Kylan’s shoulders are shaking with barely contained sobs, his voice desperate. “We were wrong, Gurjin. We should have risked it. It didn’t have to end like this.”

“It’s not an end,” Gurjin says, stepping back, and dropping his hands to rest on Kylan’s shoulders, squeezing them tight. “For us, maybe, but not for him. As long as Jen lives, all of this will be worth it.” Kylan goes very, very still, and his eyes go wide, as Gurjin explains, “It’s him, Kylan. He’s the one.”

“Deet told you?” Kylan asks, his voice small, and Gurjin nods. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Gurjin presses a kiss to Kylan’s forehead, gentle, and soft, and sad. “I love you, Kylan. I always have. And when I return to Thra, I’ll love you still.”

“I love you, too,” Kylan says, his voice unsteady through his tears. “I’ll keep them safe. I promise.”

“I know you will,” Gurjin lets go of Kylan’s shoulders, and turns towards the window, the expression on his face changing in an instant, his hand going to the trident on his back. “You have to go, now.”

“Is that--?” Kylan asks, horror dawning on his features as he looks out the window, and Onica follows his gaze. 

The dream always ends the same way. In the distance, a wall of Garthim surround the swamp, holding the line until sunset. Beyond them, more shapes are advancing. The wind carries their howls, harsh and horrible as they echo through the swamps, heralding the fall of the last Gelfling stronghold, and the end of the Resistance. Gurjin reaches for Kylan’s hand and holds it tight, and Onica wakes up.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

TWENTY-NINE

-+-

Naia will never forget the night she slipped into the Castle of the Crystal, and rescued her brother from the SkekSis. Gurjin was delirious, when she pulled him from that cell, but he was alive, and that was more than enough. It took her and Kylan both to keep him upright and moving as they fled, and they were dragging him by the end -- out of the laboratory, back through the catacombs, and into the cool night air. They’d stopped -- collapsed -- where the lowlands met the Dark Woods, and taken a moment to catch their breath.

“There was a monster,” Gurjin murmured, as Naia did her best to take stock of his injuries, despite her trembling hands, her thundering heartbeat. “It cut me, I couldn’t -- I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see. My eye --” He trailed off, pressing a hand over the left side of his face, dragging it down to the hollow of his throat, and making a wounded, confused noise. 

“Gurjin.” Naia’s voice was sharp, because she didn’t have time to be soft, not until they were far away from this place, and from the SkekSis -- the monsters who would have carved her brother up, and taken his life for their own. She moved Gurjin’s hand aside, to check his face and throat for the wound he’d described, and found nothing. “Can you see now?”

“Yeah,” he said, as Naia pressed her fingers to his pulse point, and counted the beats -- a little too fast for her liking, but strong. She felt his throat working as he spoke again. “You saved me, Naia.” His voice was hollow, his eyes haunted. “You saved me, and then you died.”

“We have to get him out of here,” Naia said, fear prickling at the back of her neck as she turned to look at Kylan. The Spriton was standing right at the treeline, staring out at the Castle they had just escaped from. Even the outline was oppressive, an imposing shape standing against the mountains in the distance. “I’m not sure how much of this I can heal, but I know I can’t do it here. We’re not safe.”

“What about Tavra?” Kylan asked. The light from the moons cast his features in relief, the lines and angles of his face made sharper by fear and anxiety. “Is she still inside?”

“I don’t know,” Naia admitted. She looked up at the castle and thought of the Vapran princess, set on her mission, just as Naia was. Tavra had insisted that they go on to Ha’Rar without her, but a terrible fate awaited her if she didn’t escape -- the fate that Mira had suffered, the fate Gurjin would have suffered, if they’d gotten here much later. Naia looked down at her brother, half-mad with pain and fever, speaking nonsense, barely aware of his surroundings -- and considering what she’d seen in Rian’s dreamfast, possibly hurt in ways she couldn’t hope to heal. She weighed her options, considered the outcomes, and made a choice.

“Tavra’s smart, she’ll find a way out,” Naia said, as she moved to pull Gurjin to his feet. “We have to go.”

-+-

After their escape from Ha’Rar -- the details of which are hazy at best, in the aftermath of her near-death experience -- Brea finds herself in a nest of cushions, in the cabin of Onica’s boat, rocking gently in the waves of the Silver Sea. Drying herbs and flowers hang from the ceiling, along with fine silken curtains and little strings of beads and lights. 

After welcoming them aboard, Onica had sworn to make good on the promise from Brea’s letter, and help them with their mission -- but not until they’d put some distance between themselves and the horde of Garthim that had conquered Ha’Rar. And anyway, they could all use a moment to rest and regroup, after the events of the night before. Brea’s friends scattered to get settled for the journey, and to give her privacy, and Onica was sailing them out to sea. Her cabin is empty now, save for Brea, and the spider perched on her knee.

It’s not just any spider -- this is one of the Arathim Threaders, and it’s speaking with her sister’s voice. I know it sounds impossible, Onica’s letter had said, the words Brea had long since committed to memory repeating in her mind once more, but I promise you: Tavra is alive, though changed. You would not recognize her, but know that she loves you just the same.

Brea and Seladon buried their sister in a shallow grave in the Dark Woods, somewhere between the Castle and Stone-in-the-Wood. She’s not sure she could find the place again, no matter how hard she tried. She’s never truly given herself a chance to truly mourn Tavra’s loss, or her mother’s -- the Resistance, travelling to the Valley, devising a plan to beat the Mystic’s Prophecy -- one thing after another has kept her busy, and given her excuses to push those feelings to the back of her mind. 

It’s not so easy, now that she’s faced her own death, and felt what they must have felt, in their final moments. Brea heard the siren song of Thra’s melody, calling her home -- and yet, here she is, alive against the odds. And here is Tavra, alive though it should be impossible. Brea spent hours pondering Onica’s letter, stuck on the word changed. She hadn’t known what to expect -- had been afraid to expect much of anything, really, to get her hopes up at all. She certainly hadn’t expected this.

“I’m sure you have questions,” says the spider -- says her sister. The voice may be tinny and distant, but it is unmistakably Tavra’s. Not even death can break the bonds of sisterhood. It was the last thing Tavra had said to them, before she died, and it seems she was right. “I can’t promise I have all the answers, but I’ll do my best.”

As always, Brea has more questions than she has breath for -- especially now, considering her injury. Naia assured her that she would recover fully, but warned it would take time, especially for her normal voice to return. For now, she rasps out the one word that sums up every question she has. “How ?”

Tavra sighs, or at least, her little body rises and falls, held aloft on spindly legs. There’s an odd sort of beauty to her form -- she looks more like a flower, with its petals unfurling, than anything creepy or crawly. She asks, “Do you remember why the Arathim and I were still connected, after the other Gelfling were released?”

“You said your minds had become one,” Brea says, the pieces clicking into place. How strange it is to think that the same creature that controlled her sister and stole her free will, is the reason her spirit remains, long after her body returned to Thra. “That’s why you’re still alive?” 

“After I…” Tavra trails off as quickly as she starts, and turns away. Brea thinks of that night in the woods with Seladon, and Tavra’s body quickly growing cold, and waits for her sister to gather her thoughts. “Afterwards, I drifted, for a while. I don’t think my mind could process what was happening, at first. It must have been a shock for the Arathim as well, but they kept us going. They followed you to Stone-in-the-Wood.” Brea glances up in shock, but Tavra continues before she can interrupt. “They recognized Onica from my memories, and stayed close to her. They could have returned to the Ascendancy, but they brought me to the person I love instead. I’ll never be able to repay them for that.”

Brea hears the confession beneath Tavra’s words, and files it away for the moment. She presses on a little cautiously, realizing that she and her sister might not truly be alone. “Are they still...in there...with you?” 

“Yes, but they’ve been quiet, since the Ascendancy fell.” Tavra’s shifts, her feet tapping against Brea’s knee as she moves. “The Arathim were all one, and when they died -- Brea, it was awful. So many voices, crying out, and then going silent.” Tavra hesitates, and when she speaks again her voice is hushed, and sorrowful. “I think I kept my...other half...tethered to this body when the Ascendancy died, just like they did for me. And I think -- I think we’re all that’s left.”

“The Arathim are all gone?” Brea asks. There hadn’t been any sign of them since the first Garthim appeared, but the confirmation still rests heavy on her shoulders. Another species eradicated by the SkekSis -- just like the Gelfling will be, if she and her friends should fail. “Do you know how it happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Tavra admits. “A poison, maybe, or some kind of trap? All I know is it happened all at once, and it hurt.” Brea tries, and fails, not to imagine Tavra, trapped in an unfamiliar form after her own violent death, wracked with the pain of an entire people. She shakes her head to chase the thoughts away as Tavra continues. “And now they’re using our corpses for those monsters. Their Garthim.” She almost spits the last word, her spider’s body tense with rage.

Brea shivers, and touches a hand to her throat. “I’m familiar with them,” she says, going for dry humor, though her voice shakes. Instinctively, Tavra moves forward, to offer comfort, and then holds herself back. Brea realizes that Tavra is afraid of her reaction, or her rejection. “Tavra--”

“I’m so sorry you were hurt, Brea.” She’s read so many books, but Brea's not sure if spiders can cry, though her sister’s voice wavers with unshed tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to keep you safe. I’m sorry I left you.” I’m sorry I died, goes unspoken, but not unheard. Brea can’t deny that seeing Tavra like this hurts her, that there’s a hollow ache in her chest as she considers how much her sister has lost, how much has been stolen from her. She can’t deny that it’s hard to look directly at her in this shape, that there’s a voice in her head that’s shouting wrong, this is all wrong. But no matter how she feels, she knows Tavra is hurting in ways she can’t even imagine. 

Brea lays her hand on her thigh, palm up, open and inviting, her fingertips just inches from Tavra’s tiny form. Tavra hesitates, looking up at Brea -- for a moment, Brea imagines Tavra as she was, when all three sisters were together, and whole. Maybe things can’t go back to the way they were, but they have a chance to go forward. Onica’s letter was right -- Tavra is changed, in a way Brea never would have expected -- but she’s here, and that’s what matters. 

“Brea, I don’t --” Tavra’s feet twitch towards her hand, only to fall still again. “I don’t even know what I am anymore.”

Brea sighs, and wiggles her fingers. Finally, Tavra steps onto her waiting palm, her many footsteps so light Brea can barely feel them. Brea cups her hands to keep Tavra safe, and brings her up to eye level.

“I know what you are. You’re my sister,” Brea says. Her voice is hoarse but still full of emotion that she doesn’t try to hide -- she needs Tavra to understand how she feels. “You’re my sister, and I love you. I don’t care if you’re a Gelfling, or a spider, or -- or a landstrider, it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Hmm, a landstrider would have been nice,” Tavra says, and Brea can hear that familiar wry smile in her voice. “Would make getting around a lot faster, anyway. Look at these little things.” She raises a leg and waves it, and Brea laughs. A moment later Tavra’s voice is serious again, as she swears,  “I love you, too, Brea. I won’t leave you again, not if it’s in my power to stay."

Brea wants nothing more than to hug her sister -- but there’s no point dwelling on what she can’t have, there’s only the future, and the path before them. “I’m sorry for what the SkekSis did to you,” she says solemnly. “My friends and I have a plan to stop them. We won’t let them hurt anyone else ever again.”

“I’ve heard -- Onica’s seen parts of your journey in her dreams,” Tavra says, and Brea nods in understanding, remembering her first meeting with Onica. “She hasn’t told me much, but I know she can help.”

Brea nods, and considers her next words carefully. She has a chance to press for information, which could help her get a jump-start on the next phase of her plans. She also has her sister, essentially back from the dead. She fixes Tavra with a serious look and says, “You could have told me about her.”

“I know,” Tavra says, warmth and relief bleeding through her voice. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you know now.”

“All those times you talked about running away with the Sifa,” Brea murmurs, leaning back a little into the cushions, but keeping Tavra level and secure in her hands. Now that the shock of the situation is wearing off, the weariness of her recovery is tugging her steadily towards sleep. “I thought you just had wanderlust. I didn’t realize you had a lover.”

“Oh, stop,” Tavra says, and Brea can imagine her rolling her eyes. She sinks a little deeper into the pillows, getting comfortable, and Tavra says, “Onica said it’ll take most the day to get where we’re going. You should sleep.”

“Hmm.” Brea’s already halfway there. “Tavra?”

“Yes?” Brea feels gentle, tiny footsteps as Tavra climbs out of her palm, only to make her way up her arm, stopping in the crook of her elbow.

Brea opens her eyes to stare at her. She doesn’t remember closing them. “Maybe we can find a way to get your body back. I mean.” Brea breaks off, and regrets her choice of words. “Not the same one, probably. But a Gelfling body, or something like it?” Even half-asleep, the cogs in her mind are already turning, eager to solve this new puzzle.

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Tavra admits, her voice gentle, but grateful, as she climbs a little higher, until her voice is right in Brea’s ear. “But if anyone could find a way, I think it would be you.”

It’s both a vote of confidence, and permission to fail. Brea scowls and says, “I am reworking an entire ancient prophecy, so I’m sure I could figure something out. After my friends and I save the world, of course.” Her eyelids are heavy, blinking closed as sleep tugs her back under.

“Of course,” Tavra concedes. She curls up as well, her little body an unfamiliar but welcome weight on Brea’s shoulder. 

-+-

Naia rests her folded arms on the railing of the boat, staring out to sea as Onica’s steady hand guides them into deeper waters. Part of her aches to spread her wings, and dive below the waves. The boat is moving along at speed, but she thinks she could keep pace, at least for a little while -- though she isn’t sure how she’d feel with saltwater in her gills. Neech seems a little more apprehensive, watching their surroundings from his perch on Naia's shoulders, his claws dug in tight.

Even after spending nearly her whole life in the swamps, Naia can honestly say she’s never seen this much water -- the waves cresting and crashing against the hull as the wind carries them away, stretching out to the horizon, or even further. She supposes the world must go on past the edges of Kylan’s maps, though she has no idea what might lie beyond. That’s a question for another day -- after they’ve healed the Crystal and set the world to rights -- and honestly, for another Gelfling. Naia thinks she’ll be quite done with quests and adventures, by the time this is over.

There’s still plenty of adventuring to get through before she can go home to her clan, and her people, and her duty as her mother’s heir. For now, her place is here, on board a Sifan ship, once again fleeing from the SkekSis and their monsters. She's as far away from the waters of her home as she’s ever been. It’s only mid-morning, and they have the rest of the day to regroup as they travel to safer waters. The boys had all clambered down to the hold, to get settled in for the journey, but Naia had joined Deet and Onica up on deck. She doesn’t let herself think for too long about the impossible reunion currently taking place in Onica’s cabin, or whether or not she is complicit in Tavra’s strange, sad fate.

“How did you know we were coming?” Deet asks, tugging at the ropes as Onica points, and holding them taut. Not even three unum out of her caves -- not even an hour on the water -- and yet Deet seems to be picking up sailing like a natural. After the night they all had, Naia’s too tired to decide if that should make her suspicious or not. And anyway, Deet is her friend -- she wants to trust her, even if recent...events...have given her cause to doubt. 

“I saw you in my dreams,” Onica explains. Her hair is pinned back, but a few loose curls are whipped about in the wind as she and Deet control the sails, veering in a wide arc away from the coast. “I’ve seen many of your travels. You and your friends have been on quite the adventure.”

“You’re a Far-Dreamer?” Naia asks. It’s not much of a leap, based on the collection of herbs and incense hanging from the walls and ceiling of Onica’s cabin, or the fact that she’d known their names before they’d even introduced themselves. She casts a subtle glance at Deet, and sees her wearing a rare neutral expression, before clarifying, “You have visions of the future?”

“And you, Naia, are an accomplished healer,” Onica returns, her tone mild. She ties off the rigging, seeming satisfied with their course, and joins Naia at the railing. “We all have our gifts.” She turns back towards Deet, and seems to consider her. “Don’t we, Deet?”

“I suppose so,” Deet agrees, though she’s still watching Onica carefully. The three girls fall silent, watching the cliffs of Ha’Rar fade in the distance. Is it skepticism, Naia wonders? Why should it be, coming from a girl who’s been living and breathing by her own visions? Or is Deet afraid -- and if so, what does she have to fear from another prophet? Deet continues, her voice light, but her words measured, “What else have you seen in your dreams?”

“Too much to rest easy at night,” Onica says. She lays a hand on Deet’s shoulder, a sign of comfort, of solidarity, and offers a sad, knowing smile. “But not enough to stop what’s to come, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Deet says, her dark eyes going wide. Onica squeezes her shoulder, and then slips away, disappearing into her cabin without another word. When she’s gone, Deet casts a sideways glance at Naia, and admits, “I don’t think that made me feel any better.”

“Now you know how we feel, trying to get a straight answer out of you,” Naia says, nudging Deet with her elbow. Deet wrinkles up her nose at Naia’s teasing, but laughs, and throws an arm around Naia’s shoulder, pulling her in for an easy hug. The intensity Naia had glimpsed this morning is definitely gone, though Deet’s question still haunts her. Wouldn’t you do anything? Hadn’t she? Wasn’t Tavra proof of that? But then again, hadn’t Tavra told them to leave? Didn’t that mean it wasn’t Naia’s burden to bear?

“You should talk to her,” Deet says, turning their comfortable, companionable silence into a frigid tension in an instant.

Naia pulls away, her shoulders set, her heart closing off once again -- though it doesn’t quiet that guilty voice in the back of her mind, replaying her last conversation with Tavra, deep in the catacombs of the Castle. “Stay out of my head, Deet.”

Deet is quiet for a long moment, her hands gripping the railing of the ship as they cut through the waves, salt and sea misting up around them. “Just think about it, alright? It would make you feel better.” Naia keeps her eyes trained on the horizon, but she can feel Deet watching her for a moment longer. Finally, Deet sighs, and drums her hands against the railing, before following Onica inside, and leaving Naia alone.

Naia waits until the others are gone before she lets her shoulders slump, and rests against the railing once more. She takes a deep, deep breath, and lets it out. The sooner this is all done and over with, the better. She’s had enough of quests, and of prophets.

-+-

The hatch in the floor of Onica’s quarters leads down to the hold, and two more cabins. They’re identical, and tiny -- barely large enough for a single bunk, with a chest at the end of the bed and a chair in the corner of the room. Kylan’s just happy it has walls and a door at this point, as he ushers Gurjin inside for their first moment of actual privacy since that day in the Orrery.

Gurjin, it seems, is on the same page -- as soon as the door clicks shut he closes the distance between them. One hand comes to rest on Kylan’s waist, the other skates up his arm, across his shoulder, and eventually cups his cheek. There’s a small, round window, close to the low ceiling, letting in enough of the morning light for Kylan to make out the intensity of Gurjin’s features as he searches Kylan’s face.

“Are you hurt?” Gurjin asks, breaking eye contact only to look Kylan up and down, clearly scanning for injuries he may have missed.

“No,” Kylan says, shaking his head, even as Gurjin’s thumb ghosts along his jawline. The skin there was scraped raw after Kylan’s unfortunate face-plant into the cobblestone street, as he frantically looked for Naia -- but the damage was minor, and the abrasions are already scabbing over. Still, the Darkening’s awful tendrils shine brightly as ever, a faint purple glow that Kylan can always catch from the corner or his eye. “That’s nothing, Gurjin, I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Gurjin says, though he doesn’t pull his hand back, and he doesn’t look away. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Kylan breathes, and Gurjin doesn’t keep him waiting any longer. This kiss is different from the few they’ve shared before -- the others were curious, the two of them exploring the newfound connection between them. There’s a desperation to this kiss, fueled by the fear and uncertainty they’d felt in the long, slow hours of the night before. Gurjin drops his hand from Kylan’s waist, only to tangle their fingers together, and a dreamfast washes over them, both too wrapped in their own emotions to control it. 

In an instant, Kylan sees the battle he and Brea left behind, from Gurjin’s point of view -- he sees the Garthim closing in from all directions, he sees Rian on top of one of the beasts, working to free its Gelfling prisoners, he sees Gurjin draw his trident, he sees the Garthim’s claw come crashing down towards Gurjin, feels the flash of remembered pain--

Kylan breaks the dreamfast, and the kiss, shaking his head to clear his mind. “You’re hurt,” he hisses, reaching for Gurjin’s shoulder. He’d noticed Gurjin’s wince when he scooped up Brea, shortly after their reunion, but had dismissed it, chalking it up to weariness after the battle. He won’t make that mistake again. 

“It’s just my shoulder,” Gurjin complains, even as Kylan presses both hands to his chest, and walks him a few steps backwards. The backs of Gurjin’s legs hit the edge of the bunk, and he drops down to sit. “I don’t need my shoulder to kiss you, Kylan.” 

“No, but you do need it to fight the Garthim, so they don’t kill you,” Kylan points out, climbing up onto the bunk and kneeling beside Gurjin, already tugging at the laces on his armor. “You can’t kiss me if you’re dead.”

Gurjin doesn’t try to argue with that logic, but he does do his best to distract Kylan as he works. It takes both of them to get Gurjin out of his heavy leather armor, revealing his torn and bloodstained undershirt, and the lumpy shape of bandages beneath the fabric. Gurjin sheds his shirt very slowly and deliberately, with a grin that Kylan thinks is meant to be seductive. Any intended effect is ruined when Gurjin realizes he can’t raise his wounded arm above his head, huffing and wincing as he struggles with the fabric. His shirt gets stuck when it’s only halfway off, and Kylan has to swoop in and rescue him, pressing a swift kiss to Gurjin's cheek before getting back to work. 

Still, in these tight quarters, with barely any space between them, it takes a deliberate effort on Kylan’s part to focus on the half-healed wound, rather than the feeling of smooth skin and corded muscles beneath his fingertips, or the gills lying sealed against Gurjin’s neck, and along the tops of his shoulders. Gurjin clears his throat, and Kylan focuses just in time to watch his lips quirk into a sly grin -- Kylan knows he’s caught, and looks intently back at the wound he’s supposed to be tending to. He tries not to blush, clears his throat, and quickly changes the subject.

“Did Eliona take a look at this?” The wound is closed, and there’s no sign of infection, though the skin around is blooming with bruises and looks tender and painful. Really, he’s completely out of his depth here --  it ought to be Naia checking Gurjin over, but healing Brea took so much out of her -- Kylan is hesitant to call on her for something that’s not life threatening. For now, he’ll just have to do what he can.

“She closed it up as best she could this morning, but she was tapped after healing Rian,” Gurjin explains, shrugging his uninjured shoulder. He reaches for his pack with his right hand, and produces a small, unlabeled jar. “But I got this maggot juice from Amri? Seems like it’s working, anyway.”

“That explains the smell,” Kylan mutters, smoothing the bandage back down over the wound, and sitting back on his heels. “I think it looks alright, but you should still take it easy.”

Gurjin frowns, and hums a little to himself before asking. “So...does that mean no kissing, or...?”

“I didn’t say that,” Kylan replies, with a little grin of his own, that grows wider as Gurjin tugs him in close.

-+-

Kylan practically drags Gurjin into the first cabin, leaving Rian and Hup with the second. Once they’re inside, Hup claims the single pillow, curls up in the chair in the corner of the room, and starts snoring almost immediately. Rian takes the bunk and the thin blanket, grabs his bedroll for a makeshift pillow, and settles in to wait for Deet. 

It’s nearly an hour before the door creaks open, and she slips inside. Just the sight of her calms a storm he hadn’t realized was raging in his chest, the hollow pain of being away from her, even for a little while. Rian’s no Song Teller, he doesn’t have the words to do justice to her beauty, to her kind and gentle soul, to her ability to see the good in everything -- a power that outshines any magic she possesses. He loves her, and he wants to spend the rest of his life loving her. Something bigger than either of them brought them together, some cosmic force that he doesn’t understand, but won’t take for granted. 

Deet tiptoes the few steps across the cabin -- only to catch Rian watching her, and freeze in her tracks. For a moment, she looks surprised, and then a small smile steals across her features. “You two didn’t have to wait up for me,” she says, her voice a whisper, her dark eyes wide.

“Hup didn’t,” Rian nods at the podling, still curled up in the chair, still softly snoring. Deet follows his gaze, and seems to consider her friend.

“Right,” she says, a little slowly, and then shakes her head, before taking two more steps, and sitting on the bed beside Rian. She leaves some space between them, rather than pressing in close -- for a moment, her sudden distance worries Rian, but then he sees her tilt her head, her eyes fixed on his wounded side. She sighs, her shoulders sinking, and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright, Deet,” he reassures her, reaching for her hand and holding it tight. “Eliona fixed me right up, I’m practically good as new.” He glances her over as best he can, but she seems unharmed. Still, he has to ask, “What about you? You weren’t hurt?”

“Not a scratch on me,” Deet says. She sounds distracted, and she’s still staring at Rian, biting her lip as she asks, “Are you still in pain?” Rian hesitates for only a moment -- he doesn’t want to worry her, but he wants to lie to her even less -- and so he nods, once. Deet nods, too, and says, “Back in the Valley, it took a long time for you to get better.”

“This isn’t like that,” Rian promises, looking her right in the eyes, willing her to trust him. “Last time I was stupid, and I let things get out of control. I got help quickly this time -- I’ll be sore for a few days, yes, but after that I really will be fine. I promise.”

“Well, at least that’s something.” Deet sighs, and tips sideways, leaning into his uninjured side. Rian winds his arm around her, and pulls her in a little closer, as she adds. “I just don’t like that you were hurt.”

“I don’t like getting hurt,” he insists. Deet turns to look at him, still frowning, and Rian reaches out with his free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. It’s still damp from the sea spray, and the scent of the ocean breeze clings to her. “Believe me, there are other things I’d much rather be doing.”

Deet rolls her eyes, and then shoots a pointed look at Hup, still curled up in the chair, now with the pillow pressed firmly over his head. “I missed you too, Rian -- but maybe that can wait until we’re alone?”

“Not those things,” Rian hurries to add, but then he catches a grin playing at the corner of Deet’s lips, and realizes she’s only teasing him. She leans in to steal a kiss, pressing their lips together for just a few seconds, and then pulling away slowly. Rian blinks, and says, “Or, maybe Hup wants to bunk with the others?”

Deet just laughs. “I think what we really need is some rest,” she decides, and moves to lie down, tugging Rian with her. She lays her head on his chest, and he keeps an arm wrapped around her, holding her tight. The bed is barely big enough for the two of them, but Rian thinks they’re still not close enough. “That was a very long night.”

“I’m just glad it’s over,” Rian says, letting some of his tension out with his breath. Still, as awful as the night had been, it could have been much worse -- all of his friends made it through, safe and mostly whole. Plenty of other Gelfling hadn’t been so lucky.

“You know,” Deet says thoughtfully, her hair tickling Rian’s chin, “It really wasn’t all bad. We found Brea’s sister, and we helped a lot of people get to safety. Naia and Hup and I blew up so many Garthim with those bombs, and Kylan met--'' 

Deet stops very suddenly, as if she’s said too much, her whole body going tense. Rian sits quietly, and waits for her to collect herself. He knows better than to press her, knows how reluctant she is to discuss her visions -- and more than that, he trusts her to tell them what they need to know for their quest, and is happy to let her keep the rest close to her chest. 

After a moment, Deet presses a little closer to his side as she slowly starts to relax. Her breathing evens out as her eyes flutter closed, and she drifts off to sleep. “It wasn’t all bad.”

-+-

There are three swift knocks on the door, and then Naia’s muffled voice calls, “Are you naked?”

Gurjin pulls away from Kylan, and glances between the two of them -- both fully clothed, if a little flushed and out of breath. He scowls and calls back, “If I say yes, will you go away?”

“No,” Naia answers, letting herself into the room, one hand clamped over her eyes. “Don’t mind me, I guess I’ll sleep on the floor. Carry on.”

“Will you just --” Gurjin lets out a frustrated groan, struggling with the mental acrobatics of kissing Kylan one minute, and then being expected to hold any kind of conversation the next. “We’re only kissing, alright? Which, for the record, I thought you were in favor of.”

“Of course I am.” Naia opens one eye, and peers through her fingers. “Just not when I have to share a bed with you.”

“No, wait a minute -- I thought you were gonna take the floor?” Naia ignores Gurjin’s protests, dropping her hand from her face, and flopping down on Gurjin’s other side, the bunk protesting under the weight of all three of them. “Come on, Naia, the bed’s barely big enough for two.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Gurjin?” Naia drawls, leaning back until her head is in Gurjin’s lap, and she’s staring up at Kylan. Neech climbs down from Naia's shoulder on to sit on her chest. He rubs his face against hers, purring until she reaches up to scratch under his chin -- but she doesn't break eye contact. “Sorry, but he was my brother first, so you’re going to have to share. I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand.” Kylan smiles kindly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you alright, Naia? You seem a little--”

“You’re being weird,” Gurjin cuts in. Naia’s still sprawled across his lap, and he presses a palm to her forehead, checking her temperature. There's no sign of fever, but she doesn’t fight him off, and that is somehow even more concerning. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Naia scowls, and tugs at the collar of her shirt, exposing the Darkening’s awful tendrils, the eerie purple marks writhing just below her skin. What started as a small mark on her wrist is now creeping across her collarbone, and inching up towards her throat. 

Gurjin’s heart skips a beat, and when he finds his voice, it’s cold and harsh. “That’s not funny.” He’s sure Deet already siphoned away what she could, after Naia saved Brea’s life, which means this is what couldn’t be healed. Obviously, Naia had no choice -- Brea would have died without her help. It doesn’t make seeing the effect on his sister any easier.

Remorse flickers in Naia’s eyes, and she shifts a little. “Sorry,” she says, and Gurjin knows that she means it. She’s still staring up at him as she continues, her voice low, her expression distant, “I want to finish this, Gurjin. I want to go home.”

Gurjin’s known Naia their entire lives, and he knows what she’s really saying -- that she’s afraid she won’t live to finish this quest, that she won’t make it back home. The thought is too terrible to bear, so he pushes it away, and lays a hand on her shoulder, trying to keep his own fear out of his voice. “We’re almost there, alright? We’ll hear what Onica has to say, we’ll get Brea her mirrors, we’ll get Deet into the castle, and she’ll heal the Crystal.” Naia nods as he speaks -- she’s relying on him like he always relies on her, and he refuses to let her down. “It’s all going to be fine, Naia. I promise.”

Kylan takes a sharp breath, and both twins look up, only to find him wincing. “Right, about that,” he says, shifting his gaze from Naia, back up to Gurjin, a deep frown etched into his features. “We might have a problem.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY

-+-

“I’m worried about her,” Kylan says, once he’s done recounting what the others had missed the night before -- specifically, a troubling encounter between Deet and a Garthim. “We’ve all seen her use her powers, but I’ve never seen anything like that. If that’s what happens when she takes the Darkening from one Garthim -- what’s going to happen when she goes to the source, and tries to heal the Crystal, and all of Thra?”

“You think it will overwhelm her?” Naia asks. She and Kylan are sitting side-by-side on the bunk, but Gurjin can’t keep still, pacing the length of the tiny cabin, again and again. He’d grown increasingly agitated the longer Kylan went on -- especially as Kylan described his terrifying glimpse into Deet’s vision, into a future that saw Kylan captured by the SkekSis and drained. Even Neech has picked up on the tension -- he’s curled up in Naia’s lap, but his eyes are tracking Gurjin as he paces. Naia feels just as restless, trying to take this all in, and planning for any complications that might arise. “What if she loses control?”

“What if it kills her?” Kylan shoots back, just as quickly. Naia hums, and Gurjin pauses his pacing for a second, only to start up again as Kylan continues. “She fainted as soon as we got back to the library. When she woke up she said she was fine, and was anxious to help you, Naia. Sometimes she’s tired, after using her powers, but -- this was different. It wasn’t normal.”

“None of this is normal .” Naia tips her head back to lean against the wall, remembering that first, frantic journey to the Valley -- before they knew the Garthim by name, before they’d heard about the Mystics’ Prophecy, or the terrible fate that awaits their people. She remembers blinking out of a purple-tinted haze in the library, and staring up into Deet’s tired, but smiling face. There wasn’t much Deet could do for her -- healing Brea had taken about all that she had left. Now, Naia’s fingertips are turning black, and there are whispering voices at the back of her mind. She doesn’t feel that compulsion that’s drawn Deet to the Darkened creatures, but she hears their cries all the same. They’re suffering, they’re dying -- and so is she. 

“Naia.” Gurjin’s voice is sharp, and Naia snaps back to the present moment, only to realize that her brother is sitting at her side, staring at her intensely. Kylan is still sitting at her left, and Neech has climbed back up to her shoulder, purring as he presses in close. Gurjin doesn’t look away, his eyes tracking hers as he asks, “Can you feel this?”

Naia glances down to see that Gurjin’s holding her infected hand tightly in his own. There’s no sensation -- not the warmth of his skin, not the strength of his grip -- just the cold, just an ever-present dull pain that she pushes back to her mind. She stares down at her hand, and wills her fingers to close -- and they do, she squeezes Gurjin’s hand right back, but she doesn’t feel that either. Gurjin’s watching her, waiting for an answer -- she could try to deflect, or to deny, but she’s tired, and she’s past all of that, so instead she just says, “No.”

Gurjin lets out a breath, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. It’s still a comfort, having her brother close, even if she can’t feel his touch. “Alright,” he says, and it’s clear he’s fighting to keep his emotions in check, to keep this rapidly devolving situation under control. Normally she takes it upon herself to be the strong one, but for once, she’s happy to let him take the burden. “I know this all sounds really bad--” 

“I think you’re underselling it,” Naia tells him, her voice flat. Gurjin rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores her comment, and presses on.

“--But Deet says we can do this, and I trust her.” He glances between Naia and Kylan, his eyes and his voice determined. “This is going to work. I’m not losing either of you, do you understand?” 

Gurjin says it with such conviction that Naia wants to believe it, but all of these strange occurrences are piling up. From Deet’s hesitation in the Orrery, after Mother Aughra insisted that their plan was likely to fail, to the vague half-answers she gives about her visions, to the secret she had whispered to Seladon, and the icy reception Naia had gotten when she challenged her -- and now, what Kylan had witnessed, both in the present and in a bleak vision of the future. It all tangles together and tumbles, like a boulder gaining speed, and Naia can’t help but wonder if Deet really is leading them towards a bright and beautiful future, or if they’re headed to their doom.

“Maybe...we should ask her?” Kylan suggests. He rubs his forehead, right above his eye -- is his headache from a lack of sleep, Naia wonders, or from nearly getting his brain melted during his glimpse into Deet’s vision? Was that another side effect of Deet’s growing powers, or just an unfortunate circumstance? Naia has more questions than she has the time or energy for.

“Ask her what, exactly?” Gurjin drops Naia’s hand, only to rub his thumb and first two fingers together. He clicks his tongue, and Neech slithers down from his perch on Naia’s shoulders, his sinuous form pooling into Gurjin’s lap. Gurjin scratches the little muski under his chin, and asks, “Will you just come right out with it? ‘Hey, Deet, any chance you’re gonna explode when you heal the Crystal?’ ” 

Kylan scowls. “I didn’t say she’s going to explode-- ”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Naia cuts in, drowning out Kylan’s protests, forcing her fingers to open and closed once more. “You saw her vision, didn’t you? Almost like a dreamfast?” Kylan hesitates, as he seems to work out where Naia is going with this, before he nods. Naia presses on, “So maybe if I dreamfast with her, she can show me what she’s seen in her visions.”

“Yes, but -- it hurt,” Kylan is quick to remind them -- Naia doesn’t miss the way Gurjin winces, at the thought of Kylan being hurt, but he bites his tongue, at least for now. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

“I’m willing to take my chances,” Naia replies, shrugging as she reaches out to pet Neech, who’s turning around and around, getting settled in Gurjin’s lap. Honestly, if it’s not safe, it’s best she be the one to try, as her time is running down anyway. She knows better than to say such things out loud to Gurjin, so instead she says, “I’ll talk to her, after I sleep -- I’m sure she and Rian are occupied anyway.”

“Wasn’t Hup bunking with them?” Gurjin wonders aloud, but Naia only scoffs, and leans into her brother’s shoulder, letting her eyes fall closed. She feels Gurjin sigh, and the rumble in his chest as he mutters something about the bed really being too small for three. Naia’s already half asleep, utterly exhausted after their time in Ha’Rar, and her constant battle with the Darkening, and she’s got plenty of practice ignoring her brother’s complaints anyway.

Gurjin doesn’t make any attempt to move, and after a whispered discussion, Kylan comes around to settle against his other side. It reminds Naia of another night, near the beginning of their journey -- when she and Kylan slept sprawled against Gurjin, at the base of an ancient tree in the Dark Woods. That thought in mind, Naia drifts off and dreams of how far they’ve come, and how far they still have to go.

-+-

The afternoon finds them all a little more rested, and scattered about the boat once more as they close in on their destination. Onica heads up on deck to steer them closer to shore, and before too long, Rian, Hup, and Kylan join her topside, while the twins stay down in the hold.

Deet settles into the pile of cushions in the main cabin with Brea, who really should be resting her voice, but is instead explaining the finer details of her plan to her sister. Tavra stands in Brea’s open journal, her little feet tracing the diagrams of the three suns, and the mirrors Brea will use to manipulate their light. Deet is content to listen, and to watch, letting Brea’s words wash over her as she wonders what this evening will have in store for them.

“Anyway, that’s the short version,” Brea concludes, her voice still a little raspy, but confident. “I know my calculations are sound, so it really ought to work. Now we just need the mirrors.” She taps a jumble of numbers and equations that mean very little to Deet. “Obviously it’d be best if we could find someone to craft them to these specifications, but I’ll make do with whatever I can get.”

“Brea, this is incredible.” Tavra’s pride shines through her voice, even in her spider’s body. Her changed form had been as much of a shock to Deet as anyone else -- there’s a blank space in her visions, between Ha’Rar and their infiltration of the Castle. For the time being, Deet may as well be flying blind. Tavra traces the lines of Brea’s diagram with one her feet, and says, “You did all this in two unum?”

“Give or take,” Brea says, with a little shrug, but Deet doesn’t miss the way she smiles, practically beaming at her sister’s praise. “I did most of my research and calculations during our stay in the Valley, and then I spent a few days at Mother Aughra’s Orrery running some simulations and checking my work.”

“I can’t think of anymore more clever than Brea,” Deet chimes in, scooting in a little closer to rest her head on Brea’s shoulder, while still being mindful of her wound. “And I’ve seen a lot of people in my visions, so she’s probably the best there is.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Tavra says, even as Brea rolls her eyes. Tavra makes a tiny sound that’s probably a laugh, before turning and glancing up at Deet. “You said you have visions as well? Do they come to you in dreams, the way they do for Onica?”

“Not really, no.” Deet frowns as she searches for her words. “It happens when I’m awake. Sometimes they feel like memories. Other times, I just know things.” 

“Hmm.” Tavra walks across Brea’s journal, only to sink down to rest on her sister’s knee. She’s quiet for a moment longer, and then she asks, “Do you know about the girl?”

“Girl?” Brea asks, before Deet can even answer, glancing between her sister and her friend, her eyes wide, the gears in her mind already turning. “Which girl?”

“Pale hair, kind to animals. She’s Gelfling, but she lives among the podlings.” As Tavra speaks, Deet feels Brea’s gaze settle on her, but she doesn’t look up, and stays focused on Tavra. “Onica dreams of her often. I’m not sure if she’s even been born yet.”

“She hasn’t,” Deet answers, thinking of the girl she’s only glimpsed in a handful of visions, and the secret she whispered in Seladon’s ear, and the promise she hopes she can keep. She doesn’t elaborate, but she does risk a glance at Brea, who’s watching her with a question burning in her eyes. 

It only takes a moment for Deet to put the pieces together -- Brea knows that Deet will have a childling, and she knows that childling is the key to the Mystic’s prophecy, but nothing more -- she must be wondering if this girl is Deet’s daughter. Honestly, Deet’s not sure she wants to correct her. She can’t help but think the less people know about Jen, the better she can protect him. On the other hand, she can’t help but wonder how many secrets Onica is going to share tonight. Wouldn’t that be a terrible way for Rian to find out about their son?

It seems Deet’s not the only one wrestling with this question. Brea is still watching her, and her voice is careful, measured, as she says, “You know, Deet. This might be a good time to talk to everyone. Before we speak to Onica, I mean.”

“Maybe,” Deet concedes, nodding her head, and thinking of the other secrets Onica could bring to light, and what effect those truths might have on their plan. What are the chances, Deet wonders, that Onica has seen anything beyond the path towards the Mystics’ Prophecy? It seemed to be the only path anyone else cared about -- at least it was the only one Mother Aughra, and the Mystics themselves, had even considered. Deet has the feeling that the glimpses down these other paths -- one where their plan fails and all is lost, and the other where they succeed and the Gelfling are saved -- are something only she has seen. Chances are, Onica won’t say anything about them at all.

She knows she promised Brea to tell the others the truth, but at the same time, the truth is likely to doom them. After constantly watching her friends risk their own lives, Deet’s more afraid than ever before for them to learn the true cost of their failure in the Castle. Armed with that knowledge, they may very well accept their fates, and let the Prophecy come to pass as the Mystics intend, rather than risk all of Thra just to save themselves, and their fellow Gelfling.

Brea’s still watching her, so Deet clears her throat and says, “Maybe you’re right. Let me think about it a little more.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” Brea says, with a nod towards the round window cut into the hull of the ship. Peering through, Deet can see the mountains looming larger as they sail closer and closer to shore. “I’m not sure where Onica is taking us, but it looks like we’re almost there.”

-+-

There’s something thrilling about being out on the open ocean -- thrilling, yet terrifying . Rian feels a little swoop of excitement when they crest the largest waves, and a lurch in his stomach just before they crash back down, the water spraying up around all them. Skimming across the sea, staring into the inky depths below, reminds him of flying with Deet along the Breath of Thra, nothing but empty chasms below them. Rian can’t say he’s fond of the sensation -- yes, the boat beneath his feet is sturdy and strong, but...boats sink. He’ll be much happier when he’s back on solid ground, where he belongs. 

In spite of that, he can’t deny the beauty of his surroundings. The suns are just beginning to set, casting the sky in strokes of orange and pink, their light reflecting off the water. He thought it might be cold, after that night in Ha’Rar, but the gentle breeze is warm and comfortable. The Claw Mountains rise up to the south, encircling the northern and western edges of the continent, separating the harsh, dry desert from the sparkling Silver Sea. Rian’s seen many wondrous things since he set out on this journey, but this is one of the best. The only thing that would make it better, he thinks, is if Deet was up here with him -- his hand in her hand, or his arm about her waist. Maybe once all this is over, they can find their way back here, and enjoy a quiet evening at sea, without the fate of all Gelfling resting on their shoulders.

Footsteps approach, startling Rian from his daydreaming. He shakes his head, and then glances over his shoulder to see who’s come to join him. 

“You alright there, Hup?” Rian asks, giving him a once over. His Podling friend hasn’t fared much better at sea than he had in the skies above the Crystal Desert. He’s pale and a little shaky, but he isn’t getting sick over the side of the ship, which is a marked improvement from last time. Hup grumbles under his breath, and then comes to stand beside Rian. He presses his forehead to the topmost railing, staring down into the rolling waves. Rian reaches over and claps him on the shoulder in silent commiseration, and then goes back to staring at the horizon. 

A few moments pass in companionable silence, before finally Hup peels back from the railing, only to clear his throat and admit. “Hup not sleep, before.” Rian turns to him, just as Hup folds his hands and rests his head against them, and pretends to snore. 

“Ah, in the cabin, you mean?” Rian asks, and when Hup drops his hands and nods, Rian winces, remembering his conversation with Deet. “I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable--”

Hup only scoffs, and waves his hand, dismissing Rian’s concerns. “Hup not care. Rian make Deet happy, so is good thing, ye? Hup happy for friends.” Rian nods, relieved, but then Hup’s expression darkens, and he continues. “But, Hup listen, when Deet and Rian talk…Deet not tell Rian truth.” There’s something guilty in his tone, like this admission is a betrayal, and he drops his gaze, unable or unwilling to meet Rian’s eyes.

It takes a moment for Hup’s words to sink in, and even when they do, Rian struggles with the implications. He pushes away from the railing, only to stare at Hup in confusion. “Are you saying she’s lying?”

Hup looks back up at him, and this time, his eyes are angry and narrowed. “Deet not lie! Deet never lie!” he insists, his voice impassioned, and Rian raises his hands in a sign of peace, trying to placate him. Hup huffs out a breath, and then collects himself before trying again. “Deet not lie, but Deet not tell...all of truth.”

“She’s keeping secrets?” Hup nods furiously, and Rian thinks back over the past few unum. Deet’s certainly kept some things to herself, but he’s never felt like she was trying to deceive him, or any of them. He frowns, and asks “Is this about her visions? She doesn’t like talking about them, I’m not sure that counts--”

“Not that,” Hup cuts in, and Rian trails off, nodding for him to continue. He keeps quiet as Hup describes what happened between Deet and a Garthim in the streets of Ha’Rar -- a battle with the Darkening that Deet nearly lost, that left her unconscious for hours, after the fact. By the time Hup’s story is done, Rian’s clutching the railing so hard his knuckles are turning white, gripped by fear and confusion -- this is what he’s been afraid of all along, that he could lose Deet to the Darkening again -- and that this time, he might not get her back.

“Was more,” Hup says, once the story is done, looking as shaken as Rian feels. “But, Hup not see what Gelfling see. Future -- bad future.” Hup shivers, and then adds, “Kylan see too. Rian ask Kylan what Gelfling saw.”

Rian turns, and stares across the deck at Kylan. The Spriton is sitting cross-legged, with an open book in his lap, scrawling notes as he talks with Onica. It’s too far for Rian to make out the conversation, but the pair is calm and relaxed -- the exact opposite of Rian is feeling, at the moment. His own emotions are in a whirlwind -- he’s not angry, he doesn’t feel betrayed, but he does still hurt, and he doesn’t understand. Why didn’t Deet tell him about this?

But then again, he thinks, his fear and confusion growing, gnawing at him like a pit in his stomach -- hasn’t Deet always kept these kinds of secrets? Didn’t she hide the first stages of the Darkening, after her pact with the Sanctuary Tree? Hadn’t she locked them all out when she was in its thrall, not accepting their help until it was nearly too late? More and more moments pile up, evasions and half-truths -- she hadn’t told him about the calls of the Darkened creatures, she refused to speak on most of her visions. Again, he doesn’t hold any of it against her -- Deet doesn’t owe him anything, she has a right to her privacy. Still, if these secrets are putting her in danger, or putting their friends in danger, Rian would hope she would share them. He finds himself at a loss, unsure of what he can do, or how he can earn Deet’s trust in these matters, or what he may have done to lose that trust, if he ever had it at all.

At his side, Hup sighs, his shoulders slumping as he stares out to sea. “Deet loves Rian, ye? Deet only want protect Rian. Deet not keep secrets to hurt.” 

“I know.” Rian lets out a breath, and tries to calm his nerves. “I know she would never hurt me, and that she loves me.” His thoughts are still racing, but his heartbeat starts to slow, grounded by thoughts of the one he loves, even if their situation is...complicated, to put it lightly. “I love her, too, and I want to keep her safe. I want to keep all of you safe. But if I’m going to do that, I need to know what’s going on.” He stares back down into the waves, bracing himself for some challenging, but necessary, conversations. “I’ll talk to Kylan, and then -- and then I’ll talk to Deet.” 

-+-

“Go on up without me,” Gurjin says, his voice a low whisper as he stands with Kylan in the narrow hallway below deck. Glancing past him, Kylan can see Naia, sprawled out across the whole bunk now that the boys are up, still fast asleep, with Neech curled against her chest. “I’m gonna sit with her for a while, I’ll catch up with you soon.”

“She’s going to be alright,” Kylan whispers back, catching Gurjin’s hand in his own, a quiet reassurance. 

“I know she is,” Gurjin replies. His tone is casual, confident, but doubt flickers in his eyes. Kylan wishes he could wipe that away, but the only way to do that is to finish this mission, and heal the Crystal, and cleanse Thra of the Darkening once and for all. For now, all he can offer Gurjin is a tired smile before bidding him farewell, and climbing the ladder, joining the rest of their party above.

An hour later, the twins still haven’t surfaced. It’s approaching sunset now, and Kylan sits with Onica, whose expert hands tug at the rigging, bringing the boat in closer to shore. She’s kind enough to answer his questions as she works -- the same questions he asked the Drenchen and the Grottan Gelfling, while he compiled Brea’s book. Kylan faithfully transcribes her answers, happy to record even a few more stories, hopeful that they will live on long after the rest of them are gone. Eventually, the interview ends, and they lapse into conversation.

“Are all your dreams of the future?” Kylan asks, finally closing up his journal, as Onica pulls the rigging taut. “Do you ever just dream?”

“Of course,” Onica tells him. She brushes back her curls, tucking them back as she concentrates on her work. “And my dreams don't only show me the future -- sometimes I glimpse things as they happen, but on the farthest corners of Thra.”

Kylan hums, considering her words. “There’s not much you can do to change those things, is there?”
“There’s not much you can do to change the future, either,” Onica returns, and Kylan’s hands fall still, and settle in his lap. “It’s not such an easy task.”

“But not impossible?” Kylan presses, fear prickling at the back of his neck as he considers the implications. First the Mystics and their unyielding Prophecy, then Mother Aughra and her skepticism at their chances -- had they come all this way only for Onica to tell them that their quest was in vain?

“I’m not sure,” Onica says, with a shrug, and Kylan’s fear only grows. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried.” She turns back to Kylan, her face folding into a frown as she studies him. “I’ve dreamt of your future, you know. Yours, and Gurjin’s.”

“You have?” Kylan asks, so taken aback that he’s distracted from his fear, and Onica nods. “May I ask what you saw?”

“You and your friends are going to make a decision, very soon,” Onica tells him, the cadence of her voice lilting, almost rhythmic, as she speaks. She drops the ropes, and turns to stare out at the horizon, watching at the setting suns, or perhaps something beyond them. “You will know, in your hearts, that you’ve done the right thing, but you will all come to regret it, in time. Gurjin will regret it first, and most fiercely. He won’t know peace again, until he returns to Thra.”

Kylan is quiet for a moment, letting Onica’s words sink in, each one more terrible than the last. “Onica,” he says, once he’s finally found his voice. His whole body alights with a nervous energy, a primal urge in his mind telling him to flee, but this isn’t something he can run from.  “That’s...that’s terrible.” Onica dips her head in acknowledgement, and turns back to him, searching his face as he struggles to wrap his mind around the scenario she’s just described, panic welling up inside him, threatening to bubble over. “Does it have to happen that way? Can we...what if we make a different choice?” 

“It’s not a question of if you can make another choice.” Onica says thoughtfully, folding her arms and tapping her fingers against her elbow as she weighs what he’s asking. “It’s a question of if you will.”

“I would certainly like to,” Kylan says, and if he sounds a little frantic, well. He doesn’t think anyone could blame him. “If it would stop--” Naia’s death, his brain supplies -- he can think of nothing else that would ruin Gurjin so completely, and it’s clear the Darkening is burning her up. Soon, there won’t be anything left of her. But he can’t bring himself to speak those words, to give them power, so instead he says, “--If it would stop something awful?”

“But, what if you’re preventing something even worse?” Onica challenges. Kylan’s mind screeches to a halt again, and he’s left floundering once more. Onica sighs, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t envy the choice that lies ahead of you, Kylan. But I will do what I can to guide you. And I trust that you and your friends will do what needs to be done. And for now,” Onica adds, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “I think your friend wants to talk to you.”

Kylan follows her gaze, and sees Rian approaching from the other side of the deck, a set to his shoulders, a determination in his eyes. Looking at him shocks Kylan out of his haze of fear and panic -- only because it reminds him of the one detail of his accidental vision that he hadn’t shared with the twins. He’d kept one thing back, a secret that wasn’t his to tell -- a glimpse of Deet, with a small childling, some trine from now. The image was hazy, just an impression with features too vague to make out, but he remembers dark hair, with streaks of blue.

“Kylan?” Rian calls, as he gets a little closer, and Kylan shakes his head to clear away the memories, and Onica’s awful suggestion of what they’ll have to do. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I talk to you, for a moment?”

“Yes, of course,” Kylan replies, scrambling to his feet -- eager to speak with his friend, and to put some distance between Onica’s frightening words. He does turn back to her, before he goes, but he can’t find any words for her, all of them stuck behind the lump in his throat.

Onica doesn’t seem to mind -- she gives him a nod, and a sad smile, before she glances at Rian. “We’re safe here, for the time being,” she tells them, and gestures to the nearby shore -- Kylan catches sight of a strip of sandy beach, but it seems they are getting no closer, the boat rocking as they waves buffer it, but with no wind in the sails, and deep water all around them. Onica continues, “I’m going to drop anchor, and then head into my cabin. When you’re ready, gather the rest of your friends, and join me. There’s something you need to see.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-ONE

-+-

Rian doesn’t know what to say, once Kylan finishes speaking, so he doesn’t say anything at all. It’s just the two of them up on deck, and the last of the suns is slowly sinking below the horizon. It feels like a different world out here, upon the waves, beyond the mountains, and the approaching darkness only makes their surroundings more unsettling, more ominous.

What’s even more unsettling and ominous is the story Kylan just shared. Not only had he confirmed what Hup had described, he’d taken it a step further, and told Rian what Hup hadn’t been able to see -- a glimpse into one of Deet’s visions, shared like some sort of dreamfast. He’d been sparing on the details, speaking only in broad strokes as he described his own grim fate, but Rian quickly filled in the gaps. His memories of Mira’s last moments claw their way out of that locked box in the back of his mind, as sharp and real as the day she died. He feels her loss all over again, rolling through him like the waves that rock the ship. To think that his friends might suffer the same fate, that he might not be able to save them -- Rian shudders, and shakes his head as he tries to banish the horrible images his memory conjures up. All of that, coupled with the terrible prophecy Onica gave Kylan, raises the low level of dread that’s been humming in Rian’s mind to a warning bell.

“Do you--?” Rian starts, finally finding his voice, only to break off and scrub a hand over his eyes. “Do you know when?”

“That’s a complicated question, isn’t it?” Kylan’s voice is hushed, like he’s afraid someone is listening in. As far as Rian can tell, they’re alone, except for the sea, and the night as it falls. “Deet says her visions show her the different ways our journey can unfold. And Mother Aughra told us there are many paths we might take.”

“So, which path was that?” Rian wonders, and Kylan hums, clearly pondering the same question. “And how do we know if we’re already on it?”

-+-

“This is nice,” Gurjin says, poking at strands of tiny, colorful beads, draped like garlands around the interior of Onica’s cabin. He’s nearly too tall for the place, only clearing the ceilings by a few inches, and he’s been ducking through doorframes since they got here. “Did you make this yourself, or--”

“--A trade,” Onica replies, not looking up from her work. She’s flitting about the room, arranging cushions in a circle, lighting incense and candles, and generally preparing for whatever ritual she has in store for them. “From time to time, Dousan traders will make their way across the Claw Mountains, and bring their wares to Cera-Na. These are made from desert glass.” She reaches up, and taps her fingers against a bright blue bead. “It’s formed when lightning strikes the sands.” 

“Glass, huh?” Gurjin glances over his shoulder at Brea, who’s chattering while Naia checks on her still-healing wound. Leave it to his sister to worry about everyone else, even while the Darkening eats her up, her fingertips turning black, her skin ice cold to the touch. All the more reason to get what they need, and move on. Gurjin turns back to Onica, nodding up at the beads. “Do they make anything bigger? Or is it all this small?”

“Your friends will join us soon,” Onica says, instead of answering his question. She smiles at him fondly, like she knows him, even though they’ve only just met. He doesn’t know what to make of that. “We’ll discuss the paths ahead when they arrive.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gurjin says, as Onica glides away. As she goes, he catches movement on her shoulder -- a spider, hidden in Onica’s curls as if they were curtains, that gives him a little nod as she’s swept away. Nobody’s explained to him how, exactly, Brea’s sister ended up in this form. He knows that Tavra was a soldier, and he knows that she infiltrated the Castle with Naia and Kylan, the night they rescued him, and that she didn’t make it back out. He knows she died...but apparently, that part didn’t quite take.

That’s a question for another time, he decides, casting about the room for the rest of his friends. Hup is stationed near the door, with his back against the wall. His eyes are downcast, and he’s turning his spoon over in his hands. Deet’s on the other side of the room, looking just as somber as her best friend. She’s standing near the little earthen hearth, wringing her hands, her expression troubled. Gurjin looks between her and Hup, trying to decide where he’s most needed -- and then he crosses the room, sidling up to Deet.

“Bit much for a couple of mirrors, don’t you think?” Gurjin whispers, giving Deet a gentle nudge with his elbow. “Couldn’t she just tell us where to go, and be done with it?”

Deet blinks, startling at his touch, and stares up at him in surprise. “Oh, Gurjin!” she says brightly. Her features soften, though her smile is faint, and her eyes are distracted. She glances at his shoulder, the bandages obvious under his shirt, and then back up to his face. “I hope you got some rest. Are you feeling any better?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Basically healed already,” Gurjin assures her, still concerned by the look in her eyes. It’s not the strange disconnect they’ve all learned to recognize, the one that precedes her visions, and he’s not afraid of her darting off after some Darkened creatures, but something is weighing heavy on her mind. Gurjin presses on carefully, keeping his voice low, mindful of the others in the room. “What about you? Kylan told us what happened with the Garthim.”

“Did he?” Deet asks. Her voice is still light, but the look in her eyes shifts, narrows, focuses. The smile flickers for only a moment before settling back into place -- not so faint, but a little more forced. “I’m sorry, I’m sure I frightened him, but really, I’m fine! It was nothing. What did--?” she breaks off, twisting one of her braids between her fingers. “What else did he say?”

“He said that he’s worried about you,” Gurjin answers honestly. Sure, Naia’s planning to talk to Deet later, but he’s got the feeling that it will be more of an interrogation, rather than a check in. No harm in him saying his piece ahead of that. “He’s worried about what will happen to you when you try to heal the Crystal.”

Deet’s face falls, and when she speaks again, he can hear her frustration boiling up. “You don’t need to worry about that,” she insists, holding her head a little higher. “I promise, I can handle it, Gurjin. Everyone’s going to be fine.”

“Right, but.” Gurjin holds her gaze. “When you say everyone -- that includes you, doesn’t it?” Deet hesitates, and silence stretches between them. Something in Gurjin’s chest twists, a little like the pain he feels when he sees Naia hurting. “Deet?”

“It’s fine,” she says, a little less certain, and then she amends. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

The room feels small, and this moment feels heavy, the weight of it resting on his shoulders. He doesn’t know what to say, except what it’s in his heart. “You know,” he says slowly, his eyes locked on Deet’s, unwavering. “It won’t be a happy ending, if you’re not in it. Not to us.”

Deet’s shoulders slump, and her expression falters. Gurjin realizes what’s about to happen the second before it does, and pulls Deet into a hug just as she bursts into tears. The room goes silent, except for Deet’s sobs, muffled against his chest, and the crackling hearth-fire. He can feel Naia and Brea’s eyes on him. Hup takes a half step towards them before Onica lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he relents. Gurjin supposes this is up to him.

“Alright,” he says, and then he gently peels away from Deet, clasping his hands on her shoulders, keeping her close but giving them both room to breathe. “It’s alright, Deet, if we need another plan, that’s fine. We can figure something else out.” Not that they have much time left for planning-- Naia doesn’t have much time-- but he meant what he told Deet. When he says everyone, he means everyone.

“It’s not that.” Deet takes a deep breath, struggling to compose herself, and wipes her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “If it works, I’ll be fine -- I know I have a future. I’ve seen that part.”

If it works, Gurjin thinks, but instead he asks, “What is it, then?”

Deet opens her mouth, but before she can speak, the door swings open. Gurjin glances over his shoulder just as Kylan slips inside, his eyes downcast. Rian’s on his heels, and he only has eyes for Deet.

Gurjin turns back in time to see Deet’s expression harden once more, to see her eyes clear, her features set. “Deet?” he prompts, but she shakes her head, once.

“It’s nothing,” she tells him, and offers the hollowest smile he’s ever seen. She reaches up, and presses a hand to his cheek. “Thank you, Gurjin. You’re a good friend. We’re all lucky to have you.”

With that, she ducks out of his grip, and makes a beeline for Rian. Gurjin watches as she takes Rian’s hand, her smile warm and real once more, and tugs him to sit beside her on the cushions closest to the door. There’s an expression that Gurjin doesn’t recognize in Rian’s eyes, but he follows Deet without question.

Across the room, Onica clears her throat, and all eyes snap to her. “If you’re all ready,” she says, her voice quiet, yet somehow filling every inch of the room. “I think it’s time to begin.”

-+-

It only takes a moment for Brea’s friends to find their seats, and settle in at Onica’s invitation. To Brea’s right, Naia gives Gurjin a searching look as he drops down on his sister’s other side-- probably wondering what he and Deet were talking about, same as Brea. Gurjin only shakes his head, absentmindedly rubbing at his shoulder. The circle continues -- Rian is sitting beside Gurjin, and then Deet, and Kylan, and finally Onica, at Brea’s left, with the gently glowing hearth to her back. Hup remains standing by the door, hovering close to Deet, overseeing them all with a watchful gaze, while Tavra is perched on Onica’s shoulder. Onica reaches out, palms up, open, waiting. One by one, the Gelfling all link hands.

The hull of the ship is sturdy and strong, but somehow, a cold wind blows right through the cabin, extinguishing every light. Darkness stretches -- above, beyond, below, within. Fear prickles at the back of Brea’s neck. The next moment, her stomach drops as she plummets into the well of inky blackness beneath her.

Brea doesn’t know how long she falls, or how far, before something stops her -- many tethers, pulling taut, holding her aloft in this strange space. She can’t see the connections, but she can feel them-- binding her to her friends, binding them to each other, and binding them all to Thra itself. For a moment, Brea just exists in this space, afraid, but not alone, her bonds with her friends keeping her afloat in a sea of darkness. She feels them, too, their minds buzzing right alongside her own, locked in dreamfast, in the dreamspace. She can’t see them, she just sees--

She sees lights. Six of them, right here in a circle. The closest light hovers just before her, and Brea reaches out. She cups her hands around it, feels its warmth against her palms. It’s not a flame, more like a ball of energy, the size of her first, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She glances around again, and finally catches sight of her friends, their faces bathed in the glow of their own lights. Beyond them, more lights flicker into view-- too many to count, rising and falling in the darkness that surrounds them. A sea of stars, on rolling waves of night. Some are dim and fading, others shine so bright that Brea has to look away. It’s the rest of her people, she realizes, a light for each Gelfling soul that calls Thra their home. 

Further out, beyond the waves, beyond the lights, a storm looms on the horizon. Bolts of purple energy crackle and spark like lightning through the clouds. Brea feels her own scar burning in response. The Darkening, pressing ever closer, threatening to consume all of Thra.. 

When single shines the triple sun--

Onica’s voice rings out, clear, like the chiming of a bell. Brea doesn’t hear the words, but she feels them, echoing in her mind. Instinctively, she cranes her neck and looks up, up, up, and there they are -- the Three Brothers, Thra’s triple suns, suspended above them. A sound reverberates from the darkness below her -- mechanical, like clockwork, like the gears of Mother Aughra’s Orrery, the miniature cosmos in constant rotation. With each heavy click, the suns tick closer together.

Without warning, Naia’s light blinks out. Just like that, the first connection is severed. The separation itself hurts, but not as much as the pain and alarm Brea feels from Gurjin, reverberating through the tether binding him to his friends. The suns don’t seem to notice, don’t seem to care, crawling their way across the sky above. 

Rian’s light is next, flickering once before it fades for good. Gurjin’s light fades just a moment later, and his broadcasted pain fades with it. In the split second before his tether snaps, Brea can swear she feels his relief. 

With each severed bond, Brea feels another hollow ache of loss, and she feels herself becoming unmoored in the darkness. Looking around, she realizes that it’s gotten even darker -- it’s not just her friends’ lights that are blinking out. All around her, the lights of the other Gelfling are extinguished in waves. Brea can’t help but wonder which lights belong to her sisters, or if they’ve already gone out.

She’s so distracted that she almost misses Kylan’s light as it fades, only catching it from the corner of her eye. Before the suns can move any further, she hears something -- a droning in her ears, a mounting pressure as an unseen force crashes over her, and sweeps her away.

When Brea’s light fades, all feeling fades with it. She knows she’s adrift, all her bonds severed, but she can’t feel the waves as they buffer her, she can’t feel the icy chill of the void that swallows her up. As the last of her bonds fray and snap, Deet’s light blinks out as well, only a moment after Brea’s. With that, Brea and her friends are all gone. A glance up at the suns shows there’s still so far to go before the Great Conjunction, before the Crystal can be healed, and their world healed with it. They didn’t even get close, she realizes, and if she had anything left in her that could feel, she thinks that knowledge would break her heart. 

All sensation might have faded, but Brea’s vision is clear. She can see the lights of the rest of the Gelfling, so few of them already, and still blinking out one by one. As the suns inch closer and closer into alignment, the few remaining Gelfling lights flicker and fade, until only two are left — two tiny, burning beacons amidst the vast emptiness.

Time seems to speed up, the suns moving double, triple pace, clickclickclick, as the purple storm beyond swells and beckons. With one last lurch, the suns lock into place, and a pure white light bursts forth -- it starts with those last two Gelfling, but it envelops everything. The light chases away the storm clouds, and cleanses the Darkening that’s been plaguing Thra. Even the darkness shifts, and changes -- no longer are they surrounded by a wave of night, but light and color and life. It’s beautiful, the light of the suns reflecting off the waves in colors Brea doesn’t even have a name for -- and there’s music. It’s a song Brea heard once before, in those moments when she was dying -- the Song of Thra, no longer sad and haunting, but a joyous melody, a celebration of a healed world. The song grows, so loud that Brea can’t think for the thrumming beat in her mind. Still, she can’t help but wonder at the sorrow of it all, every last Gelfling wiped from Thra. As bright and lively as the world seems now, wouldn’t it be even better, with the Gelfling still in it?

You must understand. Again, Onica’s voice isn’t coming from any one place, but from all places. Maybe it’s not even her voice, maybe it’s just the notes of Thra’s song, twisted and warped into words. What the Prophecy offers may feel like an ending, but it’s only a new beginning. Thra will endure, long after the Gelfling are gone. As she speaks, even the lights of the last two Gelfling fade. Still, the suns keep shining, and the Song rings out, just as strong and clear as ever. To choose any other path, is to risk the end of all things. The only way to guarantee our world’s survival is to abandon your quest, and play your part in the Prophecy.

“What do you mean?” Kylan asks, his words reaching Brea’s ears, not echoing in Brea’s mind the way Onica’s have. His panic bubbles over, fear made tangible here in the dreamspace. “Why would we choose this?”

As Kylan speaks, Brea’s vision shifts once more. The scene before her doesn’t fade, instead another layers over top of it. She sees the wooden planks of the boat’s hull, and the gently flickering candlelight. She sees her friends’ faces, a tableau of warring emotions as they grapple with Onica’s words. She still feels numb, feels nothing-- and the longer she looks around, the more she notices that some of the details aren’t quite right. Mist floods the room, hovering a few inches from the floor. The door is missing, and so is Hup, but Tavra is here. She’s back in her Gelfling body once more, standing behind Onica, with a hand on her shoulder, and her eyes staring straight ahead.

“We have a plan,” Brea chimes in, her gaze still fixed on Tavra as her sister’s outline flickers. Not quite here, not quite gone. “It can work. Deet’s seen it.” No need to speak of what will happen should their plan fail -- either Onica will tell them, or she won’t. Deet’s had her chance to come clean, and she didn’t take it. Though, as Brea thinks of those last two lights, alone for so long before quietly fading, she thinks she might understand why Deet’s kept her secret so closely guarded. The others may very well learn that truth tonight, but Brea decides, in that moment, that she won’t be the one to tell it.

I’ve seen the same, Onica replies. Unlike the rest of them, animated here in this uncanny version of her cabin, her lips don’t move, her body frozen in time, her voice coming from everywhere, expanding to fill the space. Yes, there is a chance, but it is slim. The path you desire is so narrow, so precarious, and the price of a single mis-step is so steep. What are you willing to risk, to save our people? To save yourselves?

“Why not risk it?” Gurjin asks. He looks like he’s been struck, one hand clinging to Naia like a lifeline, the other gesturing to their surroundings -- not the hull of this dreamed-up ship, but the multicolored waves beyond, where the notes of Thra’s Song still hum, where they watched the Gelfling race blink out of existence. “We’re dead either way. Might as well go down fighting, and if we lose, then there’s the Prophecy to fall back on.” He drops one hand, but doesn’t let go of his sister, fear in his eyes, but his expression hardened. “This isn’t a first choice, this is the worst case scenario.”

I’m afraid you underestimate your own importance. Onica’s expression hasn’t shifted, but her tone sharpens. As well as the true cost of your failure.

“Then show us.” Naia’s words are for Onica, but her eyes are locked on Deet, who’s been silent all this time, her expression troubled, fearful. Just as Gurjin’s pain and Kylan’s panic burst forth, regret pours from Deet, as real as anything else here. “Show us what happens if we fail. And no pretty lights this time,” Naia adds, her voice sharp, laced with a subtle command, like the Maudra she’s meant to be. “I want to see everything.”

“Naia’s right.” Rian’s voice is heavy, resigned, as if some part of him knows what is to come -- and maybe he does, or maybe his love for Deet has blinded him. “We need to know the truth -- all of it.” At his side, Deet’s shoulders slump, and she bows her head.

Very well, Onica says, with an air of finality. Instinctively, Brea reaches out, but before she can grasp the others, they’re all plunged, once again, into darkness.

-+-

If this is a dreamfast, Rian thinks, it’s sharper and clearer than any other. He’s standing in the heart of Castle, with the Crystal overhead, and the shard in his hand. He and Hup are flanking Deet, weapons drawn, backs to her as she reaches up, up, her hands extended-- 

“--Something’s wrong,” Deet gasps. The energy arcing between her hands and the Crystal crackles and hisses. Rian turns, reaches for her, but she shakes her head, and cries out, “Stay back, I can’t-- I can’t--” There’s a flash of light, purple and blinding, hot enough to burn. Deet screams, and--

--and Rian is thrown backwards. Hup is gone, burned to ash when Deet stopped being Deet, and started being something else-- a twisting, writhing mass of purple energy that only grows as it siphons more and more of the Darkening from the Crystal itself. Rian hears voices, and footsteps approaching--

--sharp claws hook him by the collar, and pull. He can’t walk-- his entire right side is burned, charred and blackened, not by flame but by the Darkening, and what it made of Deet. He can hear her-- not her, it-- crashing, thrashing through the Castle as he’s dragged down--

“--Rian, no. Not you, too.” Gurjin’s hands are bound behind him, his voice hollow and broken, as Rian is shoved to his knees on the cold Laboratory floor. There is blood down Gurjin’s front, and in a pool around Kylan, who lies a few feet away, still, and quiet, and--

“--Deet’s dead.” It doesn’t feel true until he whispers it to Gurjin, his voice hoarse, the words like ash in his mouth. “And Hup.” And Kylan, his eyes still open wide, a grisly wound in his chest. Rian doesn’t mention Brea or Naia, and can only hope they escaped before--

--the SkekSis congregate, sharing cheers and congratulations, wincing every time the ceiling rattles, as what’s left of Deet rages somewhere above them. It was the Chamberlain who dragged Rian down here, and now he’s brandishing the shard Rian doesn’t remember dropping. They’re waiting for the Emperor, and then they’ll begin--

--Gurjin is quiet and resigned, yet steady and strong as Rian slumps against him, too weak, too wounded to stay upright on his own. Did the light in Gurjin’s eyes die when he was captured, Rian wonders, or when Kylan stopped breathing? Gurjin remains calm, until a Garthim drags Naia--

“--Caught them on the roof.” An unfamiliar SkekSis trails the Garthim, tosses something to the ground. Glass shatters. A mirror. Rian barely hears it over his heartbeat, over Gurjin’s howl of anguish as the Garthim drops Brea and Naia. The girls aren’t bound. Brea is barely conscious, but Naia moves--

--it takes two of them to pin Naia, while a third wails over the dagger buried in their thigh. It is the Emperor who snatches a swooping Neech from the air as he enters the room, surveying the scene. With a snarl, the Emperor clenches his fist. Fragile bones snap--

“--Drain them.” The Emperor’s voice is cold as he issues the command, dropping Neech’s broken body to the floor, and grinding it under his heel. His eyes find Rian’s. He sneers, “Save the traitor Rian for last. Let him see where he has led his friends.” Rian hangs his head--

--Gurjin snaps his bonds as the Scientist straps Naia into the chair, and the Crystal descends. With a wordless cry, he lunges forward-- there’s nothing he can do, but he can’t do nothing. The nearest SkekSis startles, and brings down his scepter. There’s an awful, crunching sound as it connects--

--Naia fights until the very end, cursing and spitting even as the Crystal drains her. There’s a sound like a thunderclap when she goes, and another burst of acidic, purple energy. The surrounding SkekSis cower and shriek. Slumped on the floor, Gurjin lets out a gurgling breath, and falls still--

--Brea never fully wakes, limp and pliant as she’s strapped in. It’s small mercy, or at least, Rian tells himself so as the Crystal sparks and hums. He watches, because he owes her that, because he can’t stand the sight of Kylan’s blank eyes, or the ruin of Gurjin’s skull--

“--So sad,” the Chamberlain croons, running one clawed finger along Rian’s jaw. “If only Rian listened to Chamberlain. Instead, chose war. Chose death.” Rian can’t find his words, can’t even catch his breath. His friends are gone, every one of them, and he brought them here. He did this, he--

“--I’ll tell you what’s sad,” another SkekSis mutters, as Gurjin and Kylan’s bodies are unceremoniously dumped into the shaft below the Crystal, tumbling into the sun at the heart of Thra. “A waste of perfectly good essence.” Another voice replies, but Rian hardly hear over the pounding in his head--

--It’s almost a relief, when they strap him into the chair. The SkekSis laugh, but Rian doesn’t listen. He holds the faces of his friends in his mind, and he stares into the Crystal, and doesn’t blink. It hurts, it burns, it rends him into a million tiny pieces, and--

--and then it’s over. 

Afterwards, Rian finds himself back in that cool, dark place, adrift in a sea of stars. His light, his life, is nowhere to be found. He doesn’t know if his friends are here. He doesn’t know if he can face them, right now. The lights of the other Gelfling are here, though, twinkling amidst the waves -- and the storm is here, too. The Darkening, except -- except it’s grown, except it twists and writhes with malevolence, with intention. 

Just as before, the other Gelfling lights blink out, the lives of his people flickering and fading until every last light goes out. That’s not -- that isn’t right, Rian thinks, with a hollow pang of dread. There were two, there should have been two left. Where are they? he wonders, casting his eyes about in the dark, roiling sea, and finding only relentless waves. What happened? 

Far overhead, there’s a mechanical click as the suns tick into place, in a neat little row -- and then, they stop. With a roaring, howling force, the storm bursts free, pouring into the world, angry violet bolts electrifying the sea. Soon, even the waves themselves pulse with purple energy, soon the tendrils twist and combine, climbing their way towards the sky, soon the suns themselves go dark. Rian feels it, a burning from the inside out, as all of Thra chokes and dies. He thinks he might be dying right along with it. He thinks--

--he thinks if they try to save the world, the world will end, instead.

-+-

It’s a long, slow slog back to consciousness. Rian blinks, his surroundings coming back into focus, his hands and feet prickling with pain as his body wakes up, back in the physical world once more. The cabin glows with candlelight, the boat rocks in the gentle waves of the Silver Sea, and there are voices, filtering in one by one. Rian must be the last to wake, the last to surface from the dreamspace-- the last to fall, in that horrible vision, the last witness to the final act of quest that was doomed before it began.

Rian thinks he might be in shock, his senses muddled, his movements sluggish. Most of his friends have already made it to their feet. Naia is shouting, and she lunges for Deet -- her hands aren’t raised, there’s no intention to strike, but there’s fury in her eyes. She wants answers, and she wants them now. On her shoulder, Neech is puffed up, ever in tune with his partner. Gurjin intercepts Naia, bringing a hand up as he steps forward to block her path. Deet’s standing as well, glancing fitfully between Naia, and the door at her back. 

Hup moves next. He rushes forward, putting himself between the girls, and he’s shouting, too -- Rian doesn’t understand a word of it, but he doesn’t need to speak Podling to to guess at their meaning, to read Hup’s defensive posture. Brea’s moved to the center of the circle, her hands raised in peace. Onica is still seated, watching the scene unfold with a calm Rian cannot comprehend -- and so is Kylan, with his face in his hands, tremors running through him, shaking with a fear that Rian understands.

“Did you know?” Naia’s voice is harsh, and cold. Deet flinches, and Gurjin’s frown deepens, glancing between his sister and his friend, and then to Kylan, who’s still curled inwards, lost in his misery.

“Alright,” Gurjin says, though his voice wavers, and his face is wet with tears. Rian can’t look at him without hearing the echo of the blow that felled him. “Let’s all just-- let’s just take a minute, and--”

Naia ignores her brother’s suggestion, but she doesn’t push past him, and she doesn’t take her eyes off Deet, who’s turned to stare at the door, like she’s willing it to open. “Look at me, Deet. Did you know?”

Deet looks, her eyes wide, not with a vision, but with fear. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She wrings her hands, nails biting into her own skin, looking as though the world is crumbling around her. It hurts, to see her like this, and that spurs him into action. Finally, Rian catches his breath, and finds his voice.

“She didn’t know.” It takes a monumental effort to push himself to stand, his muscles aching as if he really was torn apart, only to be pieced back together. “She didn’t know, she would have told us--”

“You don’t speak for her, Rian,” Naia snaps, barely sparing him a glance, before turning back to Deet, and asking once more, “Did you know?”

“Stop!” Hup yells, his shoulders tense, his spoon at the ready. He didn’t see, he doesn’t know -- but Rian supposes it wouldn’t matter if he had. Hup has always been Deet’s staunchest defender, and he doesn’t think the awful truth would change that. “Stop scaring Deet!”

“She’s not afraid of me.” Naia’s not shouting anymore, but her words still ring with anger, with accusation. From his perch, Neech lets out a low growl, hackles still raised. “She’s afraid of what she did.”

“She’s our friend, Naia.” Brea tries, going for diplomacy in a scene that’s dissolved into chaos. It doesn’t seem to do much good, the air still thick with tension. “She’s only trying to save everyone.”

“She’s lying.” Naia takes another step forward, but Gurjin shakes his head, murmuring quietly, and keeps her back. “Aren’t you, Deet? You knew what would happen, you knew if we failed, the whole world would end, and you lied.”

“Yes,” Deet says. Her voice is just a whisper, but at that word, the whole room falls silent. “Yes, I knew. And yes, I lied.”

Naia takes a sharp breath in, but nods, her expression twisting into something terrible. Gurjin’s whole face crumples as he drops his hands, and Rian -- the ground might as well have fallen out from under him, he may as well be sinking to the ocean floor, crushed beneath the waves, because his whole world falters, at Deet’s admission.

“Why?” It’s Kylan who asks, his voice quiet and shaky as he finally lifts his head, his expression haunted.

“I had to.” Deet’s hands are still twisting, she’s still hurting herself, and Rian wants to reach out, to stop her, but he can’t -- he can’t move, and he can’t understand how it’s come to this. “I was only trying to protect you.”

Hup’s shaking his head, face flickering from confusion, to sadness, to hurt. “No. No. Deet not lie, not to friends.”

“She killed you, Hup,” Naia says, and Hup whips around to face her, eyes wide with alarm, before he turns back to Deet, shaking his head in disbelief. “We all saw it.”

“She didn’t mean to,” Brea cuts in, swiftly coming to Deet’s defense, the way Rian wants to, except all his words are trapped behind a vision of a whole world, going dark. Naia only shrugs, and shakes her head, unimpressed.

“I’m so sorry, Hup,” Deet whispers, reaching out. Hup takes a half step backwards, and Deet lets out a quiet, sad sound. She blinks back tears, scanning her friends’ faces, one by one. “I wanted to save you all. I wanted to save my family.”

“What about our families?” Naia demands. Her anger isn’t gone, but it’s cooled, and hardened. Rian watches as she sharpens it, wields it as she wields a blade. “What about every other family, what about everyone who would ever call our world home? You would throw their lives away?”

“I’m not throwing anyone’s life away,” Deet insists. Her hands are torn, blood staining the bandages that hide her scar, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I can save them. I can do this.”

“It didn’t look that way, Deet.” The words taste like betrayal, but they’re the only words Rian can dredge up from the mire he’s caught in, from the void filling his chest. “The Darkening killed you, it turned you into a monster.”

“Maybe it already has,” Naia suggests, and it’s not true, he knows that’s not true, but Rian shivers at the implication all the same.

“I don’t--” Deet staggers backwards, thrown off by Naia’s continued accusations, by Rian’s quiet doubt. “What does that even mean, why would I--? I don’t want this.” Her voice is rising, her eyes wild, like a cornered animal. “I didn’t want any of it.” 

“But you made a choice,” Naia reminds her. “A choice you took from us, when you decided to lie. If you’d just told us the truth, then--”

“--Then what?” Deet interrupts, her own eyes narrowing as she finally bites back. “If you’d known the truth, if you’d known the cost, what would you have done?” 

Naia doesn’t back down -- if anything, she takes Deet’s reaction as a challenge, and rises to meet it. She clenches her hand into a fist, her fingertips black and dying, purple veins writhing beneath her skin. “I would have done whatever I can to help my people, with whatever time I have left.”

Something flashes in Deet’s eyes, something sad, something angry. Her eyes flick down to Naia’s ruined arm, and then she says, “Eight days.”

Naia stands a little straighter, at that, and something else flashes in Deet’s eyes, something that looks a lot like regret, but her expression doesn’t shift. Gurjin breaks the tense silence, with a word that’s barely more than a breath. “What?”

“But it doesn’t have to happen,” Deet says. She reaches for Naia with one hand, an offer, a promise. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Naia -- but I can still save you. I can save everyone, you just have to let me try.”

“And risk all of Thra in the process?” For the first time since this all began, Naia’s face softens. She reaches for Deet’s hand, only to guide it back to rest at her side, and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but -- I’m not interested. You made your choice, Deet. Now I’m making mine.”

Deet’s face falls, and Gurjin makes a choked off sound, his shoulders shaking. Naia turns to him, they all do, but it’s a long second before they realize that it’s laughter -- terrible, hollow, but laughter all the same.

“Stop that.” Naia shoves at his chest, and Neech chitters unhappily, but Gurjin keeps laughing, the awful sound pouring out of him, and Rian’s panic spikes. “Gurjin, stop! What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Gurjin finally manages to gasp, wiping at his eyes. “It’s just -- feels like a waste, doesn’t it? All of this, for nothing. Eight days, really?” His laughter shifts, distorts, until it’s more of a sob. It’s worse than the laughing. “Eight days.”

“Gurjin,” Rian starts, with a step towards him, desperate to comfort his friend the way he can’t bring himself to comfort Deet, not now, not yet.

“No.” Gurjin’s laughter, his tears, dissolve in an instant, replaced with rage. Rian recoils, like he’s been struck, but Gurjin doesn’t back down, doesn’t relent. “Don’t act like this is something you can fix with a magic sword, or blue flames, or -- or love -- you can’t fix this, Rian.” He sounds broken, he sounds spent. He sounds defeated. “It’s over.”

“I know.” Rian hates the words as soon as he says them, but it’s true. “If we do our part, like Onica said, and wait for the Prophecy, at least -- at least Thra will survive, after we’re gone. After the Gelfling are gone.”

He looks each of his friends in the eyes. Naia, wearing her fury like a mask. Gurjin, on the very edge, about to shatter. Brea, finally at a loss for words. Kylan, buckling under this terrible burden. Hup, coming to terms with a vision he couldn’t see. And Deet -- Deet, surrounded by the people she loves, but completely alone, and all by her own hand.

Rian’s shoulders slump with the weight of the choice before them. He turns to Deet, and holds her gaze. “I’m sorry, Deet, but -- the whole world.” His voice breaks, his heart is breaking. “We can’t risk it. I can’t risk it.”

For a moment, he thinks Deet is going to argue with him. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to stay. The moment after that, she turns, and flees, darting for the main deck before anyone can think of stopping her. Before the door’s even closed, he hears the buzz of her wings, and knows that she’s gone. Only Hup moves to follow her, only Hup calls her name. Rian finds his feet are rooted to the floor, his voice trapped once more, under the weight of his broken heart.

The door clicks shut. The candles flicker. There is a long moment of stunned silence, each of them processing this terrible turn of events.

“Right,” Naia says, turning to each of them with a critical eye. “Did any of you know?”

“I did,” Brea admits, her voice small. Unlike Naia, she’s not looking directly at anyone, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “I figured it out, back at the Orrery.”

“Of course you did.” Naia lets out a breath, her hands still clenched, and then nods to herself. “Second question. Is there any alcohol on this boat?”

“Down in the hold,” Onica says. Rian startles at the sound of her voice -- he’d nearly forgotten she was here. She’s still seated, still calm, almost serene, even. Tavra is perched on her shoulder, another silent witness to this awful scene. “There’s a cask of nectarwine. Help yourself.”

Naia pops her lips. “Perfect,” she says, reaching up to scratch Neech under the chin, though it does little to calm the agitated muski. “Turns out I’ve got about a week to live, apparently, so I’d like a drink.”

“Wait, Naia,” Rian says, rubbing at his temples as he tries, and fails, to make sense of anything that just happened, to make any semblance of a plan. “We should talk about this.”

“Oh, shut up, Rian,” Naia snaps, rolling her eyes, even as she reaches down, and opens the hatch in the cabin floor. “You want to talk? Fine. Talk to me eight days from now.” 

“Naia,” Kylan tries, his voice a broken plea, but he trails off, after that. Naia holds his gaze for a moment, and then climbs the ladder down to the hold, pulling the trapdoor closed behind her. As soon as she’s gone, Gurjin sinks down to sit on the floor, and buries his face in his hands.

“I’ll put on some tea,” Onica says, her calm demeanor the polar opposite of the turmoil raging in Rian’s mind. “I think it’s going to be a long night.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIS IS HOW WE LOST THE WAR

-+-

PART ONE

-+-

Deet flies from the ship as fast as she can, until Hup’s desperate shouts are swept away on the cool evening winds, and fade to nothing. She skims low, over the surface, close enough to touch the water. The bright moonlight above shows her own reflection — warped, distorted. What do her friends see, when they look at her? A liar? A foolish childling, ready to risk so much for what must seem like so little? Or something even worse— a monster, an agent of the Darkening, twisted by the powers that thrum inside her veins?

She has no destination in mind, except away. After only a few minutes of flight she reaches land, crashing and collapsing on the sandy beach, her chest heaving with sobs. What has she done, what is she still going to do?

Onica had shown them what would happen if they failed, what would happen to them, and what would happen to all of Thra. Deet fears that path, but not as much as she fears the path Rian spoke of -- the path where they abandon this quest now, and allow the Prophecy to take its course. These are the visions that overtake her now, one after another, crashing against her mind like the waves on the shore. 

She claws at her head, and tries not to scream as she is overwhelmed by the sight of the future she fears most, but she can’t help it, she can’t defend against the relentless visions. She is lost. She isn’t here, anymore, she isn’t on the shore, with salt in her hair and seawater lapping at her knees. It isn’t now, and this isn’t a sandy beach. Instead, it is--

-+-

It is dawn, and Onica’s boat rocks in the gentle waves of the Silver Sea. As the suns rise on a new day, Deet and her friends have a choice to make.

They put it to a vote. Hup abstains, as it’s not his race that will be sacrificed, as do Onica and Tavra, as it’s not their quest -- though they at least stay to watch, while Hup keeps to himself below deck. That leaves six of them, to make a decision that will decide the fate of every Gelfling, and perhaps all of Thra.  

It’s an even split -- not that it really matters. For Brea’s carefully concocted plan to succeed, it will take all of them -- all of them, or none at all. Deet’s seen it, and she tells them so, and then Onica confirms it, when Deet’s friends look at her with all the doubt she’s earned. All it will take is one dissenting voice, and they have three. Brea votes for her own plan, her confidence in her work unwavering, even now. Deet casts her vote with Brea, of course she does, as well as--

“Gurjin?” Naia sounds as surprised as Deet feels, when Gurjin raises his hand. “Really? After everything we saw last night?”

“Really.” Gurjin drops his hand, but holds his sister's gaze. The world around them is quiet, except for the sounds of the waves, lapping against the sides of the boat. “I’m not voting for a plan where you’re dead in a week.”

“You’d risk the whole world?” Naia presses. Neither of them are looking at Deet, at any of their friends. This moment is theirs, and the rest of them are just witnesses. 

“For you? Absolutely.” Gurjin shrugs. He’s tall and broad, but there’s a defeated hunch to his shoulders. Deet’s never seen him look as small as he does now, like counting the remaining days of his sister’s life on his hands has taken something from him. “The whole world, or you? I pick you, Naia. Every time.”

Deet’s no artist. She doesn’t have Brea’s steady hand, her eye for light and shadow. But if she could, she would draw this moment -- Naia, fierce and proud on the deck of the ship, a world away from the home she’ll never see again. Naia, who knows full well that what she’s asking of her brother -- asking him to let her go -- is impossible, and unfair, and yet, she’s asking anyway. Naia, unafraid to do what is hard, so long as it’s also what is right, who would have been the kind of Maudra people sing songs about, but instead--

“What happens now?” Naia asks, finally breaking Gurjin’s gaze, and turning to Onica. She has no words for her brother, or least, none that she’ll share in front of an audience. Gurjin’s expression doesn’t change, but he takes a step back, and then another, and then he disappears into Onica’s cabin. Kylan follows him without hesitation, but Naia holds her ground. “What do we do?”

“Go home. Live your lives.” Onica’s eyes linger on Deet for a moment, and Deet quickly looks away. “Keep fighting for the people you love, and defend them for as long as you can. And keep the Crystal Shard safe, and hidden.” Brea reaches into her bag and presents the shard in question, the light of the rising suns glinting and sparkling from its many facets as Onica explains, “You must not let it fall into SkekSis hands, no matter the cost.”

“We can do that,” Rian says, his voice solemn. He hasn’t looked Deet in the eyes since the fallout of last night’s dreamfast. She doesn’t know how they’re going to claw their way out of this hole, but she knows that they must, considering their shared role in the Prophecy. One day at a time, she supposes. Bit by bit. 

-+-

It is the evening after their vote, and it is Naia who makes the offer.

“Come south with us.” She says it to the group at large -- they’ve all gathered once more on the desk of Onica’s boat, save for Gurjin and Kylan, who still haven’t emerged from their cabin. Naia’s eyes settle on Deet, and something in her expression -- it doesn’t soften, but it shifts. “We’re well defended, with strong warriors. It’s the safest place I can think of. My clan will welcome you -- all of you,” she adds, glancing to Rian, and then Brea, and then Hup, before turning her gaze back to a very surprised Deet. “I don’t forgive you, Deet, and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon. But, the past is past, and now, we move forward.” Another shift, and Deet reads genuine sorrow in Naia’s eyes. “The truth is, you can’t go home, and I am sorry for that -- but your clan, and your family, are safe in the Sog. And you’ll be safe there, too, as long as the Drenchen live to defend it.”

“Thank you, Naia,” Deet manages, around the lump in her throat. Her visions had shown her where she would go, after everything, but not how she would get there. She certainly hadn’t expected it to be at Naia’s invitation. “You’re very kind.”

“Yes, well.” Naia sighs, and reaches up to stroke Neech’s nose, her muski companion fast asleep on her shoulders. “It’s not like I have to put up with you for much longer anyway, is it?” Deet winces, and ducks her head at Naia’s callous tone. “Besides, I need a favor. From you,” Naia adds, nodding to Rian. “I imagine you’ll go where she goes?”

There is a long, tortuous moment where Rian doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything. And then, finally, he nods, and asks, “What do you need?” There’s something heavy in his tone, and Deet supposes he already knows what Naia is going to ask of him.

“I need you to make sure my brother gets home,” Naia tells him. For the first time, for as long as Deet’s known her, Naia’s voice almost wavers, almost breaks. “I’m not sure what he’ll do, after -- after.” Naia takes a breath, and steadies herself, and suddenly her eyes flash, her resolve turned to steel once more. “Get him home, and once he’s home, you do whatever you have to do to keep him alive. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Unlike Naia, Rian doesn’t lock his emotion away, he wears it plainly, in his posture, on his face. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Good.” Naia scrubs a hand over her eyes -- they’re all exhausted, no one slept much last night, and what little sleep they got was certainly plagued with nightmares. “Hup?” Hup nods immediately, and Naia dips her head. “What about you, Brea? You could see Lore again, assuming he’s still where I left him.” Naia glances off, and Deet follows her gaze to see Onica, her deft hands tugging at the rigging, the sails unfurling with a snap. “But I’m sure you’d like to stay with your sister. And when Onica rejoins the Sifan fleet, you can find Seladon again.”

“Onica’s not going back to the fleet,” Brea answers. Like last night, she’s still not quite meeting anyone’s eyes, clearly uncomfortable with her part in all this, and unhappy with the decision they’ve made. “I talked to Tavra, last night -- she and Onica are going somewhere else.” Finally, she meets Naia’s gaze, and gives her a little nod. “I think I’ll come south, with the rest of you. It sounds like a safe place to keep this.” She pats the bag, with the Crystal Shard tucked within. “We should all stick together, anyway. For as long as we can.”

Naia and Rian both hum at that, but Deet hears something else. A voice in her mind, echoing from down this very path. Together, then, it says, and the ghost from Deet’s visions grows a little more solid, doomed to the life she didn’t save him from.

-+-

It is a little after sunset, seven days after the decision that sealed their fates. They are on the banks of the Black River, a path they have followed before, though Deet’s memories of that first trip are shrouded and hazy. This time, it’s been a slow, circuitous journey south. Thankfully, they’ve managed to avoid any wandering Garthim, though it’s cost them precious time. Tomorrow, they’ll leave the forest and reach the Spriton Plains. Another day after that, they’ll finally arrive in the swamp of Sog -- and there they will stay, until the end of the Garthim Wars. That is, most of them will reach the swamps, while two of them have made it nearly as far south as they’re able to go.

“We should talk about tomorrow,” Kylan says, breaking the tense silence that’s fallen over the camp. They’ve built a low fire -- it was a risk, but with scores of Garthim roaming these very woods, they were just as likely to be discovered by accident, and none of them wanted to fight in the dark.

“No,” Naia says, staring into the flames. She’s kept to herself, this past week, intensely focused and on high alert. Her caution has kept them out of three Garthim encounters already. It seems she’s determined to spend what’s left of her time protecting her friends. Deet didn’t expect anything less. “No, we shouldn’t.”

Deet already knows how the rest of this night will go. Brea will chime in, and insist there must be something they can do, some way to stop what’s happening. When asked, Deet will tell them the truth -- that she hasn’t seen how it happens, only when. Gurjin will rise suddenly, and stalk off into the woods, and a few minutes later, they’ll all hear muffled thuds as he takes his frustration out on a hapless tree. Deet knows that Naia will take first watch, and that she will bandage her brother’s torn and bloody knuckles when he wanders back into camp, and that they will have a conversation that Deet refuses to eavesdrop on, even in her visions.

She knows that Gurjin will stare at Brea’s bag, all through the long, lonely hours of the second watch, and she knows that he will make a choice tonight, that he’ll regret every day, for the rest of his short life.

-+-

It is a perfect summer evening, until they are ambushed, on the border of the Dark Woods and the rolling Spriton plains. As the suns set, their choice is made irreversible, when seven become six, and one becomes half. 

The twins wind up separated from the rest of them, moving in tandem as they hack at the Garthim’s legs, falling back on the only strategy that’s ever worked for them. It is Gurjin who lands the killing blow, precise in his desperation, trident flashing as he buries it deep in the creature’s howling face. He moves away a second too late, and the beast cleaves him with one well-timed strike, carving a line from his forehead to the hollow of his throat. It leaves him staggered, gurgling, choking on his own blood. He sinks to his knees, one hand grasping feebly at the wound, as Naia shouts his name, and rushes to his side.

Kylan moves, too, but he’s too far away, he won’t get there in time to stop what’s bound to happen next. Deet and the others are locked in combat with the second Garthim -- it takes the combined efforts of Rian, Brea, and Hup to distract it long enough for Deet to get in close, to lay on hands and do her work.

When Deet comes back to herself, she comes back to a pounding in her head, and a buzzing in her ears, and the sight of wildflowers pouring from the husk of the Garthim. Rian reaches out to steady her, but Deet pulls away, to see what’s become of their friends. She finds them not far from where Gurjin fell -- Naia has dragged him away from the Garthim’s twitching, rotting corpse, and has him propped up at the base of a tree. 

It happens very quickly. Deet watches as Naia draws her dagger, only to lay the hilt in Gurjin’s open hand, and curl his limp fingers around it. She presses her palms against his wound, and presses her forehead to his. Her hands light up with a brilliant, blue light.

Afterwards, Naia lies slumped in Deet’s lap, still, and quiet, and dead. Deet tried, she tried to siphon the poison away, but it was too late -- Naia was gone before Deet even made it to her side. The Darkening had spread too far, rooted itself completely to Naia’s essence. Even now, the tendrils writhe and twist under her skin, which faintly glows with a dim purple light. Her right arm has turned black, necrotic and shriveled, like it burned away when she traded her life for her brother’s. The only thing that stands out on the ruin of her flesh is that familiar scar, flashing purple -- a reminder of the deal they made to save Deet from this very same fate, so many unum ago. There was always going to be a price for that decision. Naia was always going to be the price. 

Neech is ever-faithful --  the little muski is curled up tight on Naia’s shoulders, burrowed in close like he can keep her warm, though her body is already growing cold. Naia’s eyes are still open, until Deet reaches out and closes them. Kylan makes a sound, at that, a wrenching sob that tears its way out of him. He’s curled into Brea, whose own face is wet with tears as she offers what comfort she can. Hup hovers nearby, on alert for any more Garthim, once more their protector. 

Gurjin -- Gurjin still doesn’t -- still can’t -- accept what’s just happened. He is on his feet and raging, though he’s half-dead himself. The dregs of Naia’s magic were just enough to save his life, sealing up the wound on his neck, where it was deepest, most deadly. His injuries are still devastating -- the gouge through his face will leave a terrible scar, if it heals at all, and his left eye is ruined and blinded. Gurjin barely seems to notice his wounds, swaying as he loses a heated argument with Rian, far enough away that the words are muffled, even to Deet’s sensitive ears. She doesn’t need to listen to know what he’s asking for, to know that Rian won’t let him take it. It’s too late, anyway, and even if it wasn’t, he’d never make it to the Castle, as weakened and wounded as he is. Rian isn’t trying to reason with him, he’s just trying to coax him to sit, to rest, to process what’s happened, this monumental loss that he’s facing.

“Can we even--” Brea starts, and then she takes a deep, heaving breath, struggling to compose herself. When she speaks again, her voice is very small. “What can we even do with her? The Darkening--”

“The Drenchen bury their dead.” Kylan’s words ring hollow, and he is not looking at Naia’s body, and he is not looking at Gurjin. He is well acquainted with loss, has been since long before Deet met him, and it seems he is retreating now, to a place he’s been before. “He’ll want to bury her, we have to let him.”

“We’ll do it here,” Deet says. Burying Naia is no better than planting the Darkening like a seed, to spread its poison even further. She’ll make sure they lay Naia to rest however Gurjin sees fit, she owes them both at least that much -- but it’s a matter of mitigating damage, and bringing her back to the Sog will only expedite the gelfing’s inevitable end. “He can’t take her home. But this is -- this is nice,” Deet says, glancing around at their surroundings -- the cool, dark greens of the forest blending with the bright yellows and oranges of the plains, the sky above painted blue and pink and purple with the setting suns. “This place is beautiful.”

Kylan buries his face in his hands and weeps, and Deet finds all her words dried up and turned to dust. This is only the first goodbye, after all, and she honestly has no idea how she’s meant to survive all the rest.

-+-

It is the dead of night, and no one knows what to say. They buried Naia as the night fell, on the edge of the Dark Woods, far from the waters of her home. Gurjin had all but collapsed, afterwards, and it took Rian and Kylan both to haul him back to their campsite. Naia had saved his life, but there was still so much damage. None of them felt equipped to handle it, but they did their best all the same. Gurjin hadn’t flinched, as they tried to clean and bind his wounds, hoping to stave off infection, but not expecting much.

By midnight, a fever-heat rises from his skin, and he’s nearly delirious with grief and pain. Kylan lies down beside him, tucked tight against his side as the chills set in, and Neech finally gives up calling for Naia, his heart-wrenching chirps quieting down as he curls up on Gurjin’s chest. The rest of them build the fire as high as they dare, and try to make it until dawn.

“Do you think--?” Gurjin starts, his voice hoarse and broken. Deet won’t ever forget the sound he made, once Naia was in the ground, not for as long as she lives, and it seems this shallow rasp is all he has left. “Do we ever come back, do you think? I know -- I know she’s--” The last word is lost as his voice breaks on a sob. Gone . Kylan burrows in a little closer, pressing his face to the hollow of Gurjin’s neck, mindful of his wounds. “Not the same, but -- as something new?”

“I don’t know,” Rian admits. His eyes are hollow, heartbreak plain as he stares out into the woods. He’s wondering if they’ll have to dig a second grave tonight. “Try to rest, Gurjin. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“You were wrong,” Gurjin whispers, and Deet feels a shiver down her spine. “You were wrong, I should have taken it -- I could have -- she didn’t have to--” He stops making sense, after that, his words unintelligible through the sobs that wrack his frame, until he finally falls asleep, or unconscious. Their camp lapses into silence, except for the crackling flames, and the rest of them fall into an uneasy sleep, one by one. 

It feels like only a moment before there are hands on Deet’s shoulders, shaking her awake. She blinks up into Brea’s face, and reads the intent in her eyes before her friend even says a word.

“You’re leaving?” Deet whispers, sitting up as Brea sits back on her heels. “Why?”

Brea’s hand goes to satchel at her side. “What would have happened?” she asks, watching intently for Deet’s reaction. “If Gurjin had taken the Crystal Shard?”

“To him?” Deet asks, keeping quiet, so as not to disturb their fitfully sleeping friends. “To us? Or to the Prophecy?”

“To all of it,” Brea replies. This isn’t hypothetical, she wants to know -- and so, for maybe the first time, Deet goes searching for futures. She lets her mind wander down a path where Gurjin went to the Castle all on his own, a stolen shard in his hand, and desperation in his heart. He would have made it to Crystal Chamber, before they caught him, and dragged him off to a fate he’d avoided once before. Deet supposes the shard could have been retrieved, the way it will be after Rian loses it -- but she doesn’t let herself follow this path much further than that. She doesn’t let herself consider a reality where Gurjin does not live to see the Resistance shatter, she does not allow herself to wonder if she and her son will still make it out of the Sog alive without him, or at whose terrible hands they might fall. There is failure, at the end of this path, and that’s all she needs to know.

Deet shakes her head, and Brea sighs. “You really did have it all figured out, Brea,” Deet tells her, and it’s as much an apology as it is an acknowledgment. “If I hadn’t lied--”

“Then we might have found ourselves here all the same,” Brea says, shaking her head. She has that look on her face, the one she wears when she’s counting and calculating, tallying up the evidence and laying it all in row. “You know, I’m not sure that was the difference. And I’m not sure it matters anymore.” Her hand strays to her bag again, checking the latch, making sure it’s secure. “I have to keep the Crystal Shard hidden. Not just from the SkekSis -- from everyone.”

“Gurjin won’t try to take it again,” Deet says, and she knows it to be true. The things Gurjin would do for Naia, and the things he would do for anyone else, are not the same. And if he wouldn’t take the shard for her--

“No, but someone else might,” Brea points out, finally letting go of her bag, only to fidget with the clasp of her cloak. “I don’t agree with the choice our friends made, but if this is what we’re doing, then we ought to do it right.”

In that moment, Deet wishes more than anything, that she knew what Rian will say to Brea, that day in the Orrery, three trine from now. How will he convince her to give her plan one last try, to give him the Crystal Shard, and not just her blessing, but her aide? What will he say, and what can Deet say now, what tiny bit of wisdom can she give that will ring in Brea’s ears in that moment, to tell her to say no, and send Rian back home where he belongs?

The truth is, there’s nothing Deet can say, and even if she knew the words, she wouldn’t say them. She can’t save her friends, she can’t save Rian, she can’t even save herself, not anymore. They buried that hope with Naia. But she can still save her son, and he can save Thra -- and to do that, Deet can only follow this path to the letter, no matter what it costs.

“Deet?” Brea asks, after a long silence. The campfire is burning low, and the suns will rise soon, on the first day after, the beginning of the end. “Will I see you again?”

“Once more,” Deet tells her, too tired to be anything but honest. “At the end. We’ll see each other then.”

Something flickers in Brea’s eyes at that, but she schools her expression, and draws herself up -- regal, composed. A princess. “Well, alright,” she says, and she reaches out to squeeze Deet’s hand. “Until then, Deet.”

“Goodbye, Brea,” Deet says, her heart in her throat. Without another word, Brea slips away from the camp and unfurls her wings, before disappearing into the night.

-+-

It is early morning, and six has become five, will become four if they don’t find help for Gurjin soon. It’s easy for Deet to lie. It’s getting easier. When they wake in the morning and find that Brea is gone, and the Crystal Shard with her, Deet acts just as surprised as the rest of them. She knows how badly Rian wants to go after their wayward friend, desperate not to let this group fracture any further -- but they have to get Gurjin south, to the healing hands of his people, or else they’ll lose another.

Kylan and Hup venture a little further into the plains, trying to rustle up some Landstriders, while Rian checks Gurjin’s bandages, and does his best to soothe his injured, grieving friend. It’s Deet who finds Brea’s note, tucked beneath Rian’s pack, on a page torn from her beloved journal. Deet’s no artist, but Brea is. On one side, there’s a picture, in Brea’s steady hand, the light and shadows capturing the scene just right  -- Naia, as she was, fierce and proud on the deck of a ship. On the other side, there are two words:

I’m sorry.

-+-

PART TWO

-+-

It is a quiet autumn afternoon, and it is raining. It rains every day, in the Sog, and so it’s raining on the day she tells Hup everything. The two of them are sitting, on the sprawling roots of an ape-knot tree, seeking shelter from the downpour beneath its wide, sweeping boughs. Deet doesn’t mind the rain, so much. Hup hates it. She knows he doesn’t have to stay here, that the Podlings are still safe, that he could make a home in any of their settlements. She knows that he’s here for her, and her alone.

Hup is the only one who has truly forgiven her -- though, as she likes to remind herself, Hup is also the only one who didn’t actually see what she did, the way she brought the whole world to ruin with her choices, her actions. The others saw, and she expects they’ll never look at her quite the same. Kylan is not unkind to her, though he keeps his distance, settling in with Gurjin and his family. Gurjin won’t look at her, period, hasn’t so much as glanced in her direction in the five unum since they came here -- and why should he? It was the Darkening that took Naia from him, the very same Darkening they took from Deet. It’s alright if he hates her.

His mother looks Deet in the eyes exactly once, the day they arrive. It is Naia’s cold stare that pins Deet down, just the way it had that night, in the cabin of Onica’s boat. 

“Tell me,” Maudra Laesid says, and her voice is steady and calm, even though one of her daughters is dead, and another is out to sea, and her son is horribly wounded, battling an infection that set in halfway through that last push south. “Were you worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Deet answers honestly. Her hands are shaking, but she keeps her voice steady, and her chin up. “I’ll try to be.”

“See that you succeed,” Laesid says, and dismisses her with a nod to the door. It is the only conversation Deet will ever have with the Drenchen Maudra, but she can’t help but feel that she’s never been seen through quite so completely.

Deet doesn’t bring Hup to their spot at the ape-knot tree intending to tell him the truth. She only wants to talk, to pass the time with her best friend, desperate for connection as her world falls apart. She wants to talk about Rian -- Rian, who shares a home with Hup and Deet and her fathers, and her brother -- though he doesn’t share Deet’s bed, not anymore. The two of them haven’t been together in that way since that night in the wildflowers, outside of the Orrery, when Deet glimpsed the future they could have had, will never have, now. She likes to think they are still friends -- Rian speaks to her, laughs with her, spends time with her and her family -- but there is a disconnect, there is something broken between them, and she doesn’t know how to mend it. 

“Rian loves Deet,” Hup assures her, when Deet has finished speaking, finished pouring her fears and worries into the space between them. He shoulders the weight effortlessly, sitting proudly in his Drenchen armor. Maudra Laesid had accepted him into the guard, on the condition that he carry an actual blade -- it hangs at his hip now, a dagger, similar in make to the one Naia carried -- the one Gurjin carries every day, but will wield only once. Deet chases those thoughts away, and focuses on Hup as he continues. “Rian feeling...sad. Scared. But, still loves Deet.” Hup taps a hand over his heart, and nods once. “Still does.”

“I hope so,” Deet says, with a sigh. She knows what the future has in store for her and Rian, of course she does -- but it’s easy to doubt, when he won’t touch her, when he doesn’t say her name the way he used to. 

Hup glances side to side, like he’s checking for listening ears, and when he speaks again, his voice is pitched low. “Hup, Rian, talk about Deet. Little bit,” he amends, as Deet opens her mouth, ready to interrupt, to press for details. “Rian will forgive Deet. Needs time, ye?”

“I know. I know he does,” Deet replies, allowing a fragile hope to creep into her heart once more, and pushing the doubts away. And then, because she is tired of secrets, she says, “You know, we’re going to have a baby.” Hup takes a sharp breath in, and his eyes go wide, and Deet rushes to add, “Not yet -- I’m not-- it’s a long story.”

It is a very long story, and most of it hasn’t even happened yet. Hup sits quietly through the telling of it. As it turns out, secrets are heavy, each one weighing on her, pulling her down a little further every day. At the end, Deet’s not sure she feels any lighter, but her heart’s not any heavier, either. For now, that’s enough. Hup is quiet for a long time, afterwards, seeming to gather his thoughts, and putting his words in order.

“Hup protect Deet,” he finally says, his voice solemn, his expression serious, his eyes locked on hers. “And protect baby. Someday,” he adds, with a nod. “Keep both safe. Promise.”

“Of course you will,” Deet lies. She lays a hand on his knee, and she doesn’t let herself think of what a good uncle he would have been to her children, what a good father he would have been to his own. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

Hup nods, satisfied, and the two of them go back to watching the rain fall, for the rest of the afternoon, for the very last time.

-+-

It is two days after that, when Gurjin carefully carries Hup’s broken body back home to Deet, after a Garthim ambush at the border. Hup’s life is not the only one lost that day, though it’s the loss that cuts her the deepest, that brings their party from five down to four.

“I’m sorry,” Gurjin says, his voice hoarse, one eye scarred and silver and blind, the other haunted with grief. It is the first time he’s spoken to Deet since the day Naia died. “I’m so sorry, Deet, we tried but -- no one could get to him in time, I swear we tried--”

Deet watches as Gurjin lays Hup out, his movements gentle, almost reverent. Deet can’t quite look at the mess of Hup’s chest, proof of the crushing blow that killed him. She can’t look at his face, either, can’t stand the sight of it, lax and gray. She looks at his hands, instead, at the spoon still strapped to his belt, until Gurjin tugs the cloak Hup’s wrapped in, and covers him up. She hears herself ask, “Did he suffer for very long?”

“I don’t think so,” Gurjin says, and Deet believes him. “I don’t think he even had time to realize what happened to him. One minute he was up, holding his own, and the next--” Gurjin trails off. Neech swoops overhead once, twice, before settling on his shoulder, his lithe form tense as he mirrors Gurjin’s grief and pain. “He was so brave, Deet.”

“Of course he was.” Deet can’t remember the last time she cried. Was it on the boat, the last time she had a quiet conversation with Gurjin? She isn’t sure. She doesn’t cry now, but another piece of her heart breaks. “He was Hup.” 

They lay him to rest that evening, just the four of them -- in less than half a trine, they’ve lost nearly half of their party. Certainly there are Podling rites, but none of them know those rituals, not even Kylan, who grew up in Sami Thicket. They return him to Thra with the Drenchen ceremony, instead -- Deet supposes it’s fitting, as he died in the service of the Drenchen Maudra, but she can’t help but feel a wave of guilt, of shame, knowing that she can’t even do this one thing right for her very best friend. They bury Hup with his spoon, just as they buried Naia with her bola, as neither of them carried a spear, and it’s as close to tradition as they can manage. Afterwards, Gurjin takes them all home with him to the Great Smerth, and they all get very, very drunk.

“Naia told me,” Gurjin says, either very late that night, or very early the next morning. They are on a balcony, overlooking the swamps. Kylan is fast asleep, laying halfway across Gurjin’s lap. Rian is nowhere to be found. Deet knows he has something he wants to ask her, but he’s not quite ready, and anyway, he wants them both to be sober when he does it. Her head is muggy with wine, and for once, she doesn’t feel anything at all. “Do you know what Naia told me, the night before -- the night before?” Gurjin’s speech is slurred, his movements sloppy, wine sloshing as he sets down his cup. The scar on his wrist pulses, thrums, purple tendrils disappearing under his sleeve. He hasn’t let Deet close enough to siphon away the Darkening in five unum, and it shows. “Do you know what she said?”

“No,” Deet tells him, and it’s true. She didn’t listen in. “What did she say?”

Gurjin breathes in deep, and then lets the air out slowly, the gills on his neck vented in the humidity. His eye is bloodshot, but Deet’s not sure if that’s from all the alcohol, or his deep well of grief. “She said she didn’t regret taking the Darkening. Said she’d do it again, if she could go back. Because it was the right thing to do. What do you think about that, Deet?”

“I think.” Deet thinks. It’s hard, through the haze, but slowly she strings her words together. “I think that Naia and Hup were the best of us.”

“Yeah.” Gurjin’s voice is hollow, breaking even on that one word. He has to turn his whole head to see her, half his vision gone, the silver of his ruined eye glinting eerily in the moonlight. “They were. I know he forgave you, for lying, but she never did. How does that feel? Knowing there’s a ghost that hates you?”

“Do you hate me, Gurjin?” Deet asks, instead of trying to wrap her mind around the question he’s not quite asking. 

“‘M not a ghost,” Gurjin points out, and Deet only scoffs. Isn’t he? Isn’t she? Aren’t they all? Gurjin sniffs, and then he says, “No. I don’t hate you. I wanted to. I tried, I really tried. Thought I had it, for a while, but.” He trails off, and shrugs. He opens his mouth, and closes it, before he manages to ask, “Is it gonna get any easier? Losing people?”

Deet turns, and faces him, and holds his gaze. “Do you want the truth?” she asks him, as serious as she’s ever asked anything.

“No,” Gurjin answers, just as serious.

“You get used to it,” Deet tells him, and Gurjin hums, and leans his head to rest on her shoulder. She doesn’t know what to say, after that, though she is well versed in grief -- grief that she’s earned, and the grief she’s still waiting for. She will lose, she will be lost, and all she can do is hope she has enough to give.

-+-

It is raining, the first time she visits Hup’s grave, and every time after that. She knows he isn’t here, not in any way that matters, she knows that he’s a part of the Song, now. The thing is, she can’t hear its melody, but can come to this place, and pay her respects. Of all the people she loves, Hup will always be the only one with a grave she can visit as often as she likes. She knows that one day, she and Kylan will find the place they buried Naia. She knows that there will be no graves for the rest of them, and there will be no grave for her, no place for her to lie still, and quiet.

Kylan goes with her, the first time, and many others. Afterwards, they take the longest, winding path back to the heart of the Drenchen clan, just talking, just catching up on the past few unum, marked by distance and silence. Deet is so grateful to have her friend back, though she’s not sure she deserves it.

“Gurjin asked me to marry him,” Kylan says, out of the blue, in a lull in the conversation. Deet stops in her tracks, her eyes going wide, her jaw dropping.

“He did?” She reaches for Kylan’s hand, and tangles their fingers together, her heart light for the first time in many unum. “Did you say yes?”

“I didn’t say anything, yet.” Kylan winces, and then clarifies, “I mean, I didn’t say nothing, I just said I...needed time to decide?”

“To decide if you want to marry him?” Deet frowns, because it seems so simple. She sees two people in love, with a chance for even a tiny bit of happiness in the darkest times she can imagine. Why not grab onto that happiness with both hands, and hold on tight? “Do you want to?”

“I do.” Kylan sighs, his shoulders slumping. The rain has petered off, for once, and he stares up into the canopy before glancing back down and meeting Deet’s eyes. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t hate me. I chose this.” 

“Because, then he’d have to hate Naia, too,” Deet says, her voice soft. Kylan hums, his face twisting up with grief, but he keeps his composure. “And you know he can’t do that.” She pauses, weighing her words, wondering if she even has the right, and then she reminds him, “He loves you, and you love him.”

“I don’t--” Kylan breaks off, and steadies himself. “I don’t want to be another thing that breaks him.”

Deet takes a breath, and holds it for one second, for two. She lets it out, and says, “Are you asking me a question, Kylan?”

“Yes.” He squeezes her hands, and holds her gaze. “If you’ll answer it.”

Deet doesn’t have to go looking, this time. This is something she already knows. “He goes first,” she says, matter-of-fact. Kylan hisses in a sharp breath, but his expression does not falter, not even as Deet adds, “Don’t ask me when, I won’t say. Not again. It won’t change anything, and it will only hurt people.”

“That’s fair.” Sorrow flickers in Kylan’s eyes, and already she can see him retreating into that other place in his mind, a place he built when he was a childling, and his home and family was stolen from him. Kylan knows all about the end of the world, after all. He’s lived through it once before. Deet wonders if it’s any easier, the second time around.

-+-

It is another two weeks, before Rian comes to her, late one night. He stands in the open doorway of her room, and there is a question in his eyes, a plea. Deet crosses the room on near-silent feet, and takes his hand. She guides him into the room, and closes the door behind him.

Rian cups her face in his hands, his touch feather light, and he kisses her like he’s hungry, like he can’t get close enough. She’s not sure if this is forgiveness, or absolution, or just Rian at his breaking point -- so lonely and heartsick that he can’t be apart from her any longer. Whatever it is, she’ll take it. She kisses him back, just as desperate, only breaking the connection long enough to catch her breath. She presses her hands to his chest and walks him backwards, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of her bed, and he sits on instinct. Deet leans down and kisses him again, and then she follows him onto the bed.

Afterwards, still tangled up in blankets, and each other, Deet lays her hand on Rian’s chest, and draws the Darkening away. Slowly, the tendrils under his skin retract, and flowers spring up at the foot of her bed. When her work is done, she clasps her hand in his. They trade lazy dreamfasts back and forth -- not even full memories, just feelings and impressions, of better times. Of long, quiet days in the valley, of a hill covered in white wildflowers.

“Oh,” Deet says suddenly, as logic and reason filter back into her brain, chasing away the yearning and desire that’s guided her actions this evening, in this room, in this very small house. “I hope my fathers didn’t hear any of that.”

Rian laughs. She can’t remember the last time she heard him laugh. It’s a lovely sound, and she feels the rumble in his chest, where she’s still curled into him. “Might make for an awkward breakfast conversation,” he says, his voice mild.

Deet hums, and pulls back, settling against her pillow to stare up at Rian. “I’m sorry,” she tells him, and she hopes he knows how much she means it. “I’m sorry, Rian. For everything.”

“I forgive you,” he says simply, reaching out and gently brushing back her hair. When he speaks again, his voice is impossibly heavy, and infinitely sad. “What would it have been like, Deet? What did we give up?”

Panic grips her at his words. In an instant she’s sitting upright, and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, ready to move, ready to run. “Don’t ask me that,” she says, and it’s a battle to keep her own thundering heart calm, as a thousand happy memories, no better now than broken promises, press in at the edges of her mind. She’s kept them at bay, she’s been keeping them at bay as best she can, because that is the only way -- the only way -- she can hope to survive this. If she lets those thoughts in, if she thinks of what she’s losing, it will drive her mad. “You can’t ask me that, Rian, you have to promise to never ask again.”

“I promise.” Rian’s voice is solemn as he sits up behind her, and lays a hand on the small of her back. “I love you, Deet,” he swears, leaning in from behind to press a kiss to her cheek, to her neck, to her shoulder-blade. “I won’t ask again. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Deet whispers, leaning back into his touch, and doing her best to focus on what she still has, instead of all that she’s lost, and all that she still has to lose.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

PART THREE

-+-

It is the first day of summer, and Deet is wearing flowers in her hair, when she marries Rian. They are standing in the shade of the Great Smerth, the ancient tree that looms over the Sog, sustaining and protecting her swamps and her people. They’ve made a home here, even as the world crumbles around them. It’s been a trine, since they decided the fate of the Gelfling, since they said the first of many goodbyes. Naia was right, that day on the boat -- the past is past. They have to move forward.

Their wedding is a simple, but joyous, event -- not the loud and raucous occasion that Gurjin and Kylan’s wedding turned out to be, celebrated alongside the Drenchen spring festival -- but for Deet, it’s a perfect day. Her fathers are there, and her brother, and Maudra Argot, and of course Kylan and Gurjin -- the family that chose her, and the family she’s chosen.

Rian pledges his life to hers, and she pledges hers to him, making official a vow they’ve been upholding since they finally found each other again. He’s kept the promise he made that night, and Deet has done her best to forget about prophecies, and paths, and just live moment to moment.

Those long, summer months are -- they’re not peaceful, not with the occasional skirmish as the war edges closer -- but they are quiet, and relatively calm, and Deet knows that she will miss them when they’re gone.

-+-

It is some strange magic that keeps Lore standing. Deet won’t pretend to understand it, but she is grateful. Every few weeks, two or three Garthim make an assault on the border -- for the most part, Lore dispatches them easily, the stone guardian as steady and solid as ever, though moss hangs from him in great, shaggy patches, as the jungle takes him over. He is a sight to see -- he always was, she supposes -- a relic, a marvel, the only one of his kind. 

He finally falls, when autumn arrives, with a chilling reminder of the fate that waits for them all. For the past trine, the SkekSis have seemed content to wait them out. Deet knows, in that awful way that she knows many things, that their attention has been elsewhere -- namely, sending the Sifan fleet to the bottom of the Silver Sea, picking them off one by one. It is not until after that, until the last Sifan ship splinters and sinks, that the SkekSis turn their eyes to the final two Gelfling strongholds -- the Wellspring, separated from the Castle by miles and miles of harsh desert, and the Great Smerth, deep in the maze-like Swamp of Sog.

When the Garthim come, one fine autumn day, they come in waves. Dozens of Gelfling die in the battle the follows -- including Maudra Laesid and Maudra Argot both, in a show of strength and cunning that the Gelfling will sing about, for every night they have left. More are carted off to the Castle, to a truly terrible fate. It’s the day that Lore shatters, the day that the Sog is nearly lost, but manages to hold strong, her warriors rallying until the last of the attacking Garthim twitch and spasm as they sink into the swamp. It’s a victory -- hard-won and bloody, but a victory nonetheless. Deet finds it hard to celebrate, knowing what she knows -- knowing that no matter how hard they fight, how many Garthim they kill, the Sog will still fall, and the Resistance will fall with it. 

-+-

It is another trine before the Grottan decide that they’ve had enough.

Her clan has been safe in the Sog, and they have been welcomed with open arms -- and they stay, for more than two trine, until they can’t anymore. Pemma is barely sixteen and Laesid’s youngest daughter -- her only daughter, now, as Naia lies sleeping on the edge of the woods, and Eliona didn’t make it home before the Sifan fleet sank -- when she takes up her mother’s mantle, in the aftermath of that brutal autumn day. She guides her people with all the grace and stubborn determination of her mother before her -- but she is young, and the will of their Grottan guests has been shaken by the horrors they have faced overground. Still reeling from the loss of their own Maudra, and many of their already dwindling population -- Amri didn’t make it home, either, and more have been dragged off by the Garthim in the increasing raids, as this war takes and takes and takes -- the Grottan clan finally reaches its limit. And so, they splinter, and retreat, hoping to battle back the Nurlocs and the Darkening to reclaim even a small piece of their homes.

Deet is the only Grottan who plants her feet, and stays behind, with the home and the life she is building here, and the fate that’s been placed on her shoulders, and the last seed of the Sanctuary Tree in her pocket -- the one Amri gave her, the one she thinks was meant for so much more. She thinks she was meant for more.

Her fathers beg, certain that this place will be her death. She doesn’t ask her fathers to stay, because she knows they are meant to go, and she hates herself for that. She pities them, and this choice they have to make -- she knows it breaks their hearts to leave her, but they have to do what they believe is best for Bobb’n. They have a childling to worry about -- and now, so does she. Deet does not bend, listening to their pleas with a swoop of nausea that has nothing to do with dread, and everything to do with the secret she intends to keep, for as long as she can. 

The news comes three weeks later, from a scout who watched it all from afar. Garthim raided the Grottan camp, while they fought to take back the caves they called home. There were no survivors. For once, Deet’s gifts show her mercy -- there is no vision of how her fathers, and her little brother, met their end -- she just knows, with a crushing finality, that they are gone. 

-+-

It is winter, though it’s as hot and humid in the swamps as ever, and Gurjin is the first to figure out her secret. It shouldn’t come as a surprise -- Maudra Laesid was an accomplished healer and midwife. She might not have trained her son the way she did her daughters, but clearly he picked up enough to catch on to Deet’s condition. When he finally confronts her, with all the care and caution of a worried friend, she doesn’t waste her time trying to lie.

“You’ll have to tell him eventually,” Gurjin says, and Deet sighs. They’re sitting side by side on one of the boardwalks, with their feet dangling in the water, while Neech swoops and dives, chirping happily as he plays. Gurjin is right, she knows he’s right, but still. Telling Rian about their childling means she’ll be telling him goodbye soon enough -- on this path they have chosen, this knowledge will drive Rian to his end. Gurjin continues, his tone light, but his gaze pointed. “I mean, I know this is Rian we’re talking about, but it’s gonna be pretty obvious before too long.”

“I know.” Deet sighs, and presses a hand to her middle. How strange it is to think that this is the promised hero of Thra, this tiny fluttering of life, safe inside of her. Her loose dresses have kept her secret hidden so far, but the proof of it is growing every day, just like the childling she carries. Rian certainly would have noticed by now, except she’s kept him at a distance, even in their bed. She’s sure he’s chalked it up to her grief over her family, and it’s easy to let him believe that. He’s given her space, sworn he will be whatever she needs, whenever she needs it. There is a voice in the back of her mind, cruel and cold, that says she doesn’t deserve his devotion, not after all she’s allowed to happen, all that will still come to pass, things she could have changed if she was braver, if she was better.

“Hell of a time to have a baby, isn’t it?” Gurjin sighs. Deet lets out a hollow laugh, that turns into a sob, and Gurjin slings an arm over her shoulder, and tugs her in close. 

-+-

It is later that very same evening, when she lets Rian touch her for the first time in weeks. His fingertips are cautious and light as he maps the growing curve of her stomach, coming to terms with what Deet’s just told him. It’s too early still for him to feel the tiny movements, the way she does, but his eyes are wide and wondering all the same, marveling at the thought of what they’ve created, at what they’ve done.  

“When, uhm--” Rian can’t seem to find his voice, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. “How long until--?”

“Midsummer.” Deet replies. Eighteen trine to the day before the Great Conjunction, not that it matters. She doesn’t imagine the Mystics spend much time divining birthdays, or that her son will ever understand what that day could have meant to him, in a kinder world.

Rian nods, and she can tell he’s counting the weeks in his head. His face falls, as he realizes this is yet another secret she’s kept from him. “Were you afraid to tell me?” he asks, pulling away. He’s hurt, and confused, and she’d be sorry for that, except she didn’t have a choice. She was only trying to protect him, in the only way she knows how.

“It’s not that.” Deet reaches out, and takes his hands in both of her own. There’s so much she can’t say, because it doesn’t matter, because she can’t change things, or else she won’t. She’s not sure if there’s a difference between the two. She is sure that Rian will love this childling so much it kills him. Fear and desperation to keep his family safe will drive him towards a mistake that will cost him his life. It’s inescapable, and she knows that. She knows. It doesn’t change the way she feels, and it doesn’t mend her broken heart. She doesn’t tell him any of that, but she does tell him another truth. “I knew you’d be sad.”

Rian blinks, taken aback, and then shakes his head. “Deet, no, that’s not -- I’m not --”

“It’s okay, Rian. I’m sad, too.” She reaches out, and guides his hand to rest once more over their growing childling, and lays her own on top of it. With her other hand, she cups his chin, and tilts his face towards hers. “Here we are, bringing a childling into the world, but the world is ending. Our world is ending.”

She sees the sorrow in Rian’s eyes, as he thinks of the future. Her visions may haunt her, mock her, remind her of all the ways she’s failed -- but at least Deet knows that her childling will live, even if it’s not the life she wanted for him. It hurts her to think of the horrors that Rian must be imagining, as he wonders what this war will make of his family. A moment later, that sorrow settles into something else.

“I’m going to take care of you, Deet,” he swears, and just like that, he’s already lost to her, and she knows it. She’s not sure what’s worse -- knowing that he’ll leave, or knowing that she’ll let him go. He kisses her, gentle and sweet, and makes a promise he won’t be able to keep. “I’m going to take care of you both.”

-+-

It is late spring, the last time she visits Hup’s grave. Midsummer is fast approaching, and the journey to see her friend has only gotten harder on Deet with each passing unum. She knows she won’t be able to manage the trip again. As it turns out, babies are heavy, and this one weighs on her, wearing her out a little more every day. She’s always tired, and every bit of her is sore, and she’s honestly not sure why something as sacred as creating new life has to be so unpleasant. If only that was the least of her concerns.

“I already miss him,” she admits, to Hup, to the trees, with their branches spreading above her and their roots spreading below her. “He’s still here, but I miss him more every day.” 

A change has come over Rian, starting the moment she told him about the baby. She knows what he’s planning -- not because he’s told her, but because she’s seen it -- and she knows how it will end. She’s seen that, too, in a vision that sent her to her knees on the snowy streets of Ha’Rar one cold night, nearly three trine past. She keeps that knowledge locked away, behind a wall of stacked stones, protecting herself from a truth that is too terrible to bear. It is enough to know that she’s going to lose Rian -- accepting how she is going to lose him is unthinkable.

“Is it wrong--” Deet trails off, because even asking this feels like a betrayal, after everything, and everyone, she has sacrificed already, in pursuit of this Prophecy, of a future for Thra -- of her son’s only chance at some sort of life. “Is it wrong if I try to save him?”

Hup doesn’t answer, and neither do the trees. Eventually, Deet bids her friend farewell for the very last time, and heads home.

-+-

It is a little more than two weeks before her son will arrive, and the day before Rian will leave her, when Mother Aughra comes to the Sog.

The war has pressed in, ever closer. Every few weeks, a handful of survivors reach their borders -- Gelfling who lived outside of the major settlements, for the most part, and who avoided the Garthim until they couldn’t. Each is welcomed into what remains of the Resistance, and each comes with news of more and more loss, and of the Darkening’s spread. Deet can feel it here, too -- the Darkening has reached the roots of the Great Smerth, the ancient tree still sheltering and nourishing her people, even as she dies. She will not outlast them by long. 

Deet cannot try to heal the Great Smerth, and she cannot try to heal her family, for fear of what taking on the Darkening would do to her childling. And so, tendrils spread across their skin, covering Rian’s chest, climbing up to Gurjin’s shoulder, spanning from Kylan’s temple to his neck. They bear it without complaint, and if they’re in pain, they suffer in silence. She knows that the Darkening will not kill them, the way it killed Naia, it is not their fate -- but it’s a reminder all the same, of what they did for Deet, and how she repaid them.

Mother Aughra comes with the latest group of survivors, who are congregated in the main hall of the Great Smerth. It takes a moment for Deet to realize that the feeling bubbling up in her chest is anger. She’s angry at Aughra, for leaving her beloved Gelfling alone for so long, for showing up now, as the war comes to a close, for accepting the inevitable end as a simple truth. Before she can think better of it, Deet marches across the room as quickly as she can manage -- Mother Aughra notices her, and shoos the other Gelfling away, affording them a moment of privacy.

“What are you doing here?” Deet demands once she’s in earshot, drawing herself up, only to stare the wise woman down.

“Needed to meet with your Rian,” Mother Aughra replies, looking her up and down, and nodding a little to herself. “And the Maudra, too -- it’s one of Laesid’s girls now, isn’t it?”

“Pemma?” Deet asks, not bothering to keep the icy tone from her voice. “She’s dead.” Little more than a childling herself, the young Maudra was struck down by a Garthim three days ago, as she defended the border. Gurjin hasn’t spoken a word since. “So, I don’t think she’s going to make it to your meeting.”

“You’re angry with me.” Mother Aughra actually has the nerve to sound surprised, and Deet’s anger boils over into fury.

“Of course I’m angry,” she hisses, not breaking eye contact, and not caring if she offends Thra herself -- she’s been asked to give up everything, she thinks she’s earned a little rage. “You claim to love the Gelfling, but we’re here dying, and you left us, again. Where have you been?”

“Looking after the other one,” Mother Aughra replies, with a pointed nod at Deet’s round belly. “She hasn’t got you to clear the path for her, so I’m doing what I must.” There’s a pause, and then a flicker of grief on Aughra’s wizened face, before she adds, “She’s just lost her mother. Poor child.”

“Seladon’s dead?” Deet asks, surprised. For once, she didn’t know -- that half of this path has always been a little hazy, as it isn’t hers. She knew just enough to whisper a secret in Seladon’s ear, that morning in the library. You’ll name her Kira, and she’ll save the world. She knows that Seladon didn’t sink with the Sifa, that many of the Vapra returned to the mainland after only a few unum at sea, long before the fleet met its end. She doesn’t know what happened in between, she only knows that Mother Aughra will whisk Brea away from the Castle, after Rian’s desperate plan fails, carting her off to fulfill her own destiny, all the while leaving Rian to his fate. Deet can’t forgive herself for dooming Rian, and she certainly can’t forgive Aughra for it, either. If only things were different-- 

Mother Aughra must read something in her face, because she hums and says, “Can’t go back on it now, Deethra. Stepping off point was a long time ago. This is the path, and we’re all on it, whether you like it not.”

Deet’s anger flares up again, except this time, she’s angry at herself, because Mother Aughra was right after all -- the future really is immutable. She was foolish to ever hope for anything else. Unless--

“What if I tell him the truth?” Deet asks, before she can stop herself, keeping her voice low, like the words themselves are risking what she’s worked so hard for.

“Which truth?” Aughra squints, regarding Deet with uncertainty. “There’s so many. Too many,” she grumbles, staring off into the distance, at something even Deet cannot see.

“The truth about our childling,” Deet presses, with a cautious glance around. The other Gelfling are filtering out, and there are no prying eyes, no listening ears. She still has to be careful. “The truth about who he grows up to be.”

“Bah! Won’t matter.” Mother Aughra scoffs, and Deet’s anger wells up again. “Tell him, don’t tell him. Won’t change what’s about to happen. Won’t stop him from going.”

Deet shakes her head, certain that Mother Aughra’s not listening, if she would just listen-- “If he knows the baby lives--”

“Oh, Gentle Deet.” Mother Aughra’s weathered face softens, and Deet reads genuine sorrow in her eyes. “You’ve seen the pieces, haven’t you, but you put them together all wrong. Rian’s not just trying to save your childling. He’s trying to save you.”

Deet hears her words, and she understands them, but -- no. No. That’s not right. She’s seen it, she knows why Rian goes, why he convinces Brea to give him the shard -- she knows why he tries to heal the Crystal, long before the suns line up in the sky. She knows why he dies. She thought she knew. “I don’t--” Deet manages. It’s for their son, it’s always been for their son. Hasn’t it? “ Why?”

“Because he is very foolish,” Aughra says, sounding as sad as Deet’s ever heard her. “And because he loves you very much.” She reaches out, but waits for Deet to nod and grant permission before laying a hand on her belly. At her touch, the baby kicks, hard, and Mother Aughra harrumphs. “Is that right?” she asks with a scowl, before pulling her hand away, grumbling something under her breath. She claps Deet on the shoulder, sighs, and leaves without another word.

-+-

It is nearly impossible for Deet to sleep that night, knowing what the morning will bring. She lays in the dark, lonely, but not really alone -- her childling shifts and twists, her constant companion. He’s grown stronger with each passing unum, and has been getting more and more restless as time goes on. It won’t be long now -- soon, she’ll welcome him into a world she can’t protect him from.

Rian comes to bed nearly two hours after her, padding across the room on silent feet. The only light comes from the bright moon hanging outside their window, visible on a rare, clear night, but Deet can see him perfectly -- the concentration on his face as he moves without sound, the grim determination in his eyes that tells her he’s already made up his mind. It doesn’t matter what Deet says tonight -- Mother Aughra told him where Brea’s been hiding, and Rian will die, for the first time, just a few days from now. She tries not to dwell on that, tries to give herself one last night with the person she loves. She keeps perfectly still, until he turns up the covers, and slips into bed beside her.

“What took you so long?” she murmurs, and Rian winces at the sound of her voice, before smiling down at her, just as bright and full of love as ever. She tries to commit his smile to memory, desperate to remember him this way, to remember how it feels to be loved by him. She’ll need this image, this memory, in the time she has left.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he answers, leaning back against the headboard as Deet sits up, and slowly does the same. “I was talking to Mother Aughra, I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Deet assures him, shifting her position as she tries to get comfortable -- a lost cause, so close to the end of her pregnancy, but a worthy effort nonetheless. “Someone won’t stop doing somersaults.”

“Well now, that won’t do.” Rian lays a careful hand on her belly, and leans in a little closer, pretending to be stern. “Listen here, little one — your mother needs her rest. Why don’t you quiet down in there?” Deet smiles at the display, and then grabs Rian’s hand, guiding it a little higher, letting him feel two swift kicks. His whole face lights up, and Deet tries to enjoy this for what it is, without thinking about the injustice of it all. They could have had so much more of this, an entire lifetime of happiness with their family, their children — no, she reminds herself, throwing up walls to block those thoughts, sinking back into this moment.

“They’re getting impatient,” Deet says, because sitting here with Rian’s happy silence is breaking her heart, and she needs to fill the quiet. “I am too, honestly. I thought babies liked to sleep, but this one’s always dancing around.” As if to prove her point, the baby shifts again, and then kicks, kicks, kicks. Deet sighs, and gives Rian a long-suffering look. “You see what I’m dealing with here?”

“Let’s just hope they’re a better dancer than me,” Rian quips. Deet rolls her eyes, and Rian laughs, and leans in to kiss her. As he pulls away, he asks, “I suppose we’ll find out soon?” Deet’s heart is in her throat, so she only nods. Rian leans down, and presses another kiss to the swell of her belly. “But not too soon,” he says, addressing their childling. “Stay put until I get back home. I want to be here to meet you.”

It’s a simple wish, but an earnest one, and it shakes her resolve. For just a moment, her carefully constructed walls crumble and fade, and Deet lets herself think about the path they didn’t take, a path where Rian is there to support her on the longest night of her life. She thinks of her back to Rian’s chest, his body her anchor against the storm that rages above them, and the storm that rages within her. There is still tension, that night, there’s still fear, and pain, but there is also Rian -- those are his arms that hold her as she delivers their son, that is his tired smile as he stares down into a tiny face so much like his own, those are his lips that kiss her, his eyes that shine with wonder at Deet, and the new life she’s created. This is a night that will never happen, this is a life she gave up, but she wants it. She wants it so badly that for a moment, she’s willing to risk everything, all over again.

“Rian,” Deet says, before she can stop herself. She doesn’t have the right to ask, not after all that she’s allowed to happen -- not after Naia, and Hup, not after her fathers and her brother, not after every Gelfling whose been cut down in battle, or dragged off to a horrific end deep in the Castle. She asks anyway. “Please don’t go.”

“It’ll only be a few days.” Rian ghosts his hand along her cheek, and swipes his thumb at the corner of her eye, wiping away tears -- she hadn’t even realized she was crying, but now that she knows, she finds she can’t stop. Rian makes a sad sound, and pulls her into a careful embrace, letting her press her face to the crook of his neck as she sobs. He strokes her hair, and says, “It’s just a quick scouting trip, to get a count on the nearby Garthim, and to look for any more survivors. I’ll be back before you know it.”

It’s a good lie, and a practiced one. It worked on Gurjin, who won’t think to go after Rian until it’s too late. Deet wishes it could work on her, wishes she could believe that Rian will come home to her. She wishes he could meet his son.

“Rian,” she says, pulling away and meeting his eyes, speaking through her tears. “Rian, I have to tell you something--”

“--No, Deet, it’s alright.” Rian shakes his head, and drops his hand to rub small circles into her shoulder. “You should just get some rest.”

Deet takes a breath, takes a moment to gain composure, because she needs to say this-- maybe, maybe if he knows, then maybe he’ll stay. “It’s about-- Rian, it’s about the baby--”

Her words fail her, as she grapples with this desire, this need that’s burning in her chest, and the knowledge of what she must do. Rian only sighs, and reaches for her. “I know.” He cups her chin in his hand, she leans into the touch. “Deet, I already know.” 

Just as quickly, Deet leans back, pulling away from his touch, recoiling at his words. “What do you know, Rian? Did Mother Aughra say something to you?”

“She did, but-- not about this.” Rian lets out a breath, and his shoulders slump. He stares down at the blankets, seemingly unable to meet her eyes as he says, “There was that room, in the Valley -- the Mystics kept it ready for the Gelfling from their Prophecy.” Deet can’t speak, can’t breathe, as she remembers that sad little bedroom, and the ghost that walked the winding paths of the Valley. She didn’t know then, who he was to her -- or maybe she always did. Rian continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You used to sit in there for hours. I’d find you on the bed, just staring, like you were expecting someone. I never asked, but-- I always wondered who you were waiting for.” 

The baby shifts fitfully, and Deet rubs a hand over her belly to try and soothe him. “Rian--”

“--You said there were two,” he says, before she can finish. Finally, he looks up at her, and there’s grief in his eyes, but there’s also a tiny, flickering hope. “You said there were two Gelfling, at the end. If one of them is our childling, then, are you--?”

“No,” Deet says. Her voice breaks, her heart is breaking, because Mother Aughra was right. He’s doing this for her, and Deet doesn’t know how to live with that. “I’m sorry, Rian. It’s not me.” 

Rian nods, and is quiet for a moment. She’s sure he knew already, just as he’s apparently known the secret she tried so hard to keep. He saw the same scene in Onica’s lights as she did, after all, but knowing her husband, he hoped for the best for as long as he could. 

“I love you, Deet,” he says, a long moment later, and she bites back a sob. “I love you, and no matter what happens, I still think I’m the luckiest Gelfling there ever was, because you love me back.” Deet stops fighting it, burying her face in her hands as she cries, for what they’ve lost, for what they could have had. She hears the tears in his voice, right in her ear as she falls into him. “I'm sorry I didn’t listen to you. You were right, we should have tried. But, I’m trying now.” He pulls back, and holds her at arm's length. “I have to try.”

“If you go,” Deet says, through hiccupping sobs. “Rian, if you go--”

“I don’t-- I don’t want to know,” Rian tells her. It sounds like an apology. It sounds like goodbye. “I have to go, and-- and I have to believe I might make it back home to you.” 

It isn’t fair, what he’s asking of her -- but then again, none of this is fair. Deet can’t make herself speak, her throat closing up, her heart and body numb, so she just offers a shaky nod. She can give him that much. She owes him more. 

Rian kisses her, then, and lays her down, holding her tight as their last night closes in around them. “Get some sleep, Deet,” he says, as she finally shuts her eyes. “Things will be better in the morning.”

It’s the last thing Rian ever says to her, and it’s a lie. When she wakes, Rian is gone, and she never sees him again.

-+-

It is satisfying to break things. She starts with their plates, ceramic shattering as she throws them to the floor. She rips the sheets off their bed, next, pulls down the curtains that hang above their window. She tears apart every piece of the life she built, in this little home on the edge of the swamp, just like the SkekSis tore Rian apart, only to piece him back together, only to make him into a monster.

Deet saw it, she saw every second of it -- she saw Rian atop the Crystal, saw the realization on his face when he replaced the shard, and nothing happened. She saw them drag him down to the lab, saw the new procedure they’d been saving just for him -- using a reflection of the Crystal, to drain away the essence, while still leaving a shallow husk of a body behind. They left a little more than that, they left just enough that Rian would feel every cut, every slice of the Scientist’s tools, feel the grinding and breaking of bones. They left his voice, so he could scream.

Someone’s screaming, now. Deet hears it. She thinks it might be her.

It’s Gurjin who finds her. She feels his hands on her shoulders, she hears his voice, sounding frantic as he speaks first to someone behind him, and then directly to her. “Come on, Deet,” he says, and he’s afraid. She’s scaring him. He should be scared. “Just look at me, please.” 

Deet’s vaguely aware that she’s not screaming anymore, but only because her voice is gone. Gurjin’s fingertips press into her shoulders, and she tries to focus on that, on those points of pressure, tries to let it ground her. Her eyes are open, but it takes a long moment for her to focus on anything outside of her vision, to settle on Gurjin’s terrified face, just inches from her own.

“There, that’s it,” he says, his own voice tight with fear. “You back with me?” If Deet opens her mouth, she thinks she'll start screaming again, so she only nods. Gurjin lets out a breath, and nods in return, keeping his voice low, and calm, as he says, “Kylan’s gone to find a healer.” 

“Rian’s dead,” she chokes out, biting back another scream. “He’s dead. I killed him. I killed him.” 

Even in her haze of grief, Deet is aware of one thing -- that Gurjin is the very best friend that anyone could hope for. He hears her what she says, and he reels back, like he’s been struck. She sees confusion, and then grief, flash across his face. Gurjin, who had the most to lose of all of them, who has nearly lost it all, facing loss once again. Through it all, he doesn’t let go, kneeling with her on the floor of her ruined home, letting her collapse against him as broken sobs tear through her. He holds her up, holds her steady even while his own sorrow pulls him down, and he stays with her in the darkness.

-+-

It is a few hours until dawn, and the interior of the Great Smerth is hot and muggy, dimly lit with flickering candles. Gurjin brought her here, two weeks ago, scooping her up from the floor of the home she shared with Rian, and settling her in to the home he shares with Kylan. It is here that she finds herself on the longest night of her life. Outside, a storm is raging. Outside, the Sog’s few remaining Gelfling defend their home from yet another Garthim attack, and they are barely holding their ground. Inside, Deet is fighting a battle of her own -- fighting to bring her son into the world. 

She’s never doubted the truth of her visions. She knows that this is not how she ends, and yet, she is certain that she’s dying, that she’s coming apart. Sundered and undone, she thinks, the words of the Prophecy coming back to mock her even now, in the most harrowing moments of her life. She doesn’t feel like herself, powerless to do anything but what her body tells her. This isn’t possession, this is compulsion, this is primal, and she is lost in it. She is tired, and she’s more afraid than she’s ever been before. 

Rain pounds against the canopy overhead, thunder rattles the very roots of the ancient, dying tree, lightning flashes through the slats of the shuttered windows. Deet does her best to block all of that out, and focus on what she has to do, her world narrowed down to one purpose. She has to get through this, she has to get her son through this. So, she blocks out the howling wind and the sounds of battle, and she blocks out her exhaustion, and her fear -- fear that things will go wrong so close to the end, that she’s done something along the way to hurt him, that she isn’t strong enough to do this.

She is strong enough, and she does it -- with Kylan’s hand in hers, and his words of encouragement in her ear -- with the aid of an elderly Drenchen healer, whose name Deet can’t remember through the fog of pain -- with a storm battering the walls around them, sounding like the whole world is shattering -- and without Rian. He should be here, she needs him to be here, but he’s not. He’s gone. 

Her baby cries out, clear and piercing over the wailing wind, and Deet nearly weeps with relief. A moment later, he’s finally -- finally -- in her arms, here and whole and real. At long last, she can touch him, at long last, she sees that face that’s haunted her dreams and visions. He’s beautiful, and perfect, and worth everything it cost her to have him, and more. She thought she loved him before, when he was only a ghost. It turns out that was nothing compared to the love she feels now, holding her son -- Rian’s son -- as he quiets, calm and content against her chest, her familiar heartbeat soothing him.

-+-

It is some time before Deet can even pull herself out of her own head long enough to focus. She’s vaguely aware of the healer taking care of her, and looking over the baby, before heading back out to tend to the wounded, as the battle rages on. If she didn’t know what the future held, she would be afraid that they might not survive this night.

“Had you picked out a name?” Kylan asks, once the healer is gone, once it’s just the three of them, and the candlelight, in the room. Deet hesitates, unsure of how to explain that she has known her son’s name, and the shape of his future, since before he even existed.

“Rian wanted Shoni, for a girl,” she finally offers, the words sticking in her throat as she tries to speak, and tries not to think of the daughters Rian would have given her, had he lived, had things been different. She doesn’t let herself dwell on a girl she’ll never meet, named for Rian’s late mother, a childling with pale hair streaked with blue, with Deet’s dark eyes but her father’s Stonewood complexion, and every inch of his spirit. She does her best to let those thoughts slip away, and focuses instead on the childling in her arms. Her first, her only. “We never settled on a boy’s name.”

“Do you want to name him after Rian?” Words fail her, but she shakes her head fiercely, and Kylan asks, “Then might I make a suggestion?”

“Alright,” Deet manages, with her son still cradled against her chest, blinking away tears and marveling at his tiny, perfect, fingers and toes. He is the one good thing that’s come out of all this heartbreak, one decision she can never bring herself to regret. He’s going to save the world, someday -- she won’t be there to see it, but she’ll keep him close, and keep him safe, for as long as she can. She’s not sure a changed name would change that future. “What did you have in mind?”

“You know Jarra-Jen, from the songs?” Kylan asks, and already Deet’s breath catches in her throat. She manages to nod, but only just. Outside, thunder rumbles, the storm still making its presence known. Kylan doesn’t pay it any mind, just leaning in closer to get a better look at the baby. “The legends say he was born during a thunderstorm, just like this one.”

The laugh that bubbles out of Deet is real, and genuine, and it quickly overtakes her. Kylan looks alarmed, glancing between Deet, and the baby, and the door, where the healer disappeared off to. “Deet?” Is everything alright? Should I go get--”

“No, Kylan, no. Everything’s fine.” She leans in and presses a kiss to Kylan’s cheek, and then another to the top of the baby’s head. “It’s perfect.”

-+-

It is just after the first sunrise, and all the world is quiet. Deet’s wrung out and exhausted, in the hours after the baby’s arrival, but she can’t bring herself to close her eyes, and instead just watches him sleep. There’s this tiny, awful voice in the back of her mind that’s counting down the seconds she has left with her son, and she can’t bear to waste any of them.

The door creaks open, and Deet glances up, only to see Gurjin hovering just outside the room, one hand on the doorframe. The fighting must be over, Deet realizes, faded with the rising of the sun, just like it has every night for the past two weeks. The Garthim attack ruthlessly at night, only to retreat, and keep the Sog surrounded, during the day. It’s a strategy they’ve seen before. It’s certainly related to Rian’s failed mission -- the SkekSis have the Crystal Shard, now, so all that’s left is to finish their extermination. She’s sure Gurjin thinks the same, but neither one has the heart to say it aloud.

“Sorry,” Gurjin whispers, when he sees Deet watching him. The last time she saw him, she was gritting her teeth and counting time between contractions. He’d pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then dashed out into the fray, ready to defend his home and family through one more terrible night. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I should go—”

“No, stay,” Deet calls, even as he pushes off the doorframe. He’s changed clothes, he’s not the muddy and bloody visage that’s stumbled in these past few mornings, but still. His movements are stiff, unsteady, and she wonders how badly he was wounded this time. “Do you want to hold him?”

Gurjin nods, but he’s not looking at her -- he’s turned to watch Kylan, who’d curled up in a chair across the room and fallen fast asleep while Deet worked out how to nurse the baby. He hasn’t left Deet’s side once this whole night, and she doesn’t think she can ever thank him enough for that. Neech alights from his perch on Gurjin’s shoulder, gliding across the room to settle into Kylan’s lap -- Kylan stirs, but doesn’t fully wake, exhaustion keeping him under. Gurjin watches him for a few long seconds, before turning back to Deet, and scrubbing a hand over his face. His ruined eye, scarred over and silver, flashes dimly in the moonlight. “Yeah, yes, of course.”

Deet pats the edge of the bed, and then leans down to scoop up the baby, sleeping in the bassinet Rian made for him. Bellanji had taught him how to weave a little basket made of reeds, insisting it was tradition, and shrugging off Rian's gratitude without fuss. Rian had been so proud to make something for their childling, and it brings Deet a small bit of peace to see their son using it. But Rian is gone, now, and Bellanji, too -- he’d been cut down a week before Pemma died. Gurjin’s entire family is in this room, just the same as Deet. Three, but now four, she thinks, as she gathers her son into her arms.

Gurjin sinks down on the right side of the bed, keeping his good eye towards her, one hand bracing his ribs as he gets comfortable. When he’s ready, Deet leans in, and settles the sleeping baby into his arms, guiding Gurjin to help him support his head, and keep him safe and secure. Gurjin’s whole posture changes in a split second. His weariness and tension melt away as he stares down, and a smile -- rare, nowadays, but still a welcome sight -- steals across his features. “He’s tiny,” Gurjin says, finally glancing up at Deet, still smiling. “Are they always this small?”

“He didn’t feel small,” Deet mutters, leaning back into her pillows with a wince, and Gurjin huffs out a laugh. “The healer said he’s perfectly healthy.” 

“And you’re good, too?” Gurjin presses, giving her a concerned look. He must have been worried for her, even when he was out fighting, risking his own life. “Everything went alright? I mean, considering the circumstances?”

Deet nods, warmth blooming in her chest, grateful to be cared for, but smiles wryly. “You mean having a baby in the middle of a storm, in the middle of a Garthim attack?” Gurjin’s watching her, completely earnest, and Deet relents and assures him, “I’ll be fine.”

Gurjin seems satisfied by that, and looks back down. He adjusts his grip, cradling the baby in the crook of his elbow, and brings his other hand up, gentle fingers tracing his smooth skin, like he’s trying to memorize his features. “Does he have a name?”

“Jen,” Deet whispers, and what a strange sensation it is, to finally say that name aloud. One less secret to keep.

Gurjin hums, still hanging on tight, and leaning in a little closer to the baby to whisper, “Welcome to the Sog, Jen. I think you’ll make your fellow Drenchen proud.”

“Drenchen?” Deet asks, tilting her head, a little curious, and Gurjin only chuckles.

“Well, yeah,” he says, motioning to their surroundings. Overhead, she can hear the winds starting to die down as the storm finally breaks. “Born in the Sog -- in the Great Smerth, even. Same place as me and --” He breaks off, and clears his throat, grief flashing in his eyes for just a second, before he gets it under control. “Same place as me. Can’t get more Drenchen that that.”

“Gills would help,” Deet says mildly. She carefully shifts her sore and tired body, pulling her legs in so she can scoot a little closer, and admire her son, resting her head against Gurjin’s shoulder. She needs to sleep, but that can wait. She’ll miss Gurjin fiercely -- she knows he’s come to say goodbye, that he’s already decided that this is the day he returns to Thra -- but she’s not ready for that, not yet. “He just looks like a Stonewood to me.”

“That’s true.” Gurjin blinks, examining Jen closer, and then glancing up and doing the same to Deet, brow furrowed in concentration, before finally deciding, “He’s got your nose.”

Deet peers down at her son, considering Gurjin’s words. It’s clear he favors his father, but Deet supposes she sees a little of herself in Jen, too. He has a full head of dark hair, but there are strands of white mixed in with blue, and Gurjin’s right, that’s definitely her nose. But the rest of him is all Rian -- a face she’ll never see again, except in memories, except in her son. 

In the quiet, and the dark, it feels right to tell Gurjin the whole truth. She thinks it would be cruel not to, to let him die wondering what will become of this baby he’ll give his life for. And so, she gathers herself up, and says, “He’s the one, Gurjin. He’s the one from the Prophecy. The one the Mystics are waiting for.” She reaches out, runs her fingers through Jen’s silky hair, but he sleeps just as soundly, unaware of the world around him, or the fate that’s loomed over him since before he was born. “I wanted you to know.”

“Good.” Gurjin nods once, twice. He lets out a breath, and his tension bleeds out with it. “I hoped-- I’ve been hoping that it would be,” he admits, finally looking up from Jen to meet her eyes. “Thank you, for telling me. That makes this next part even easier.”

“You’re going to go find Rian,” Deet says. It isn’t a question. Even if she hadn’t already seen it in her visions, she’s heard the rumors of the SkekSis’s newest monster, lurking on the edges of the battlefield. She thinks she knows what he was sent here to do. She certainly knows what it will cost Gurjin to stop that from happening.

“I can save him, Deet.”  There’s sorrow in Gurjin’s voice, but there’s also strength, and determination. This is the last thing he can do for his best friend, and he’s made up his mind to do it. “I can save him, and I can save you. I know that Naia--” Here, his breath catches, and it’s a moment before he composes himself, and speaks again, with a wavering voice. “I know that Naia wanted me to live, but-- this seems like something worth dying for.” 

“I think she’d understand.” Deet says. The sound Gurjin makes is just as awful as the one he made when Naia died, the wound just as fresh as it was three trine past -- it’s a wound that never could heal, but he won’t suffer from it much longer. He’ll be part of Thra’s Song before the suns set.

It’s hard to speak, past the lump in her throat, but Deet manages to say, “I don’t know what it’s like for us, after, but-- if you, if you see her, if you can talk to her, will you tell her--” Deet breaks off, and takes a shaky breath, to steady herself. She flashes through every memory, every moment, of her times with her friends, with the people she’s cared for. Kind words and casual teasing, bravery and loyalty and sacrifice, and more love than she thinks she deserved. “Will you tell her I’m sorry? Will you tell them all how sorry I am?”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Deet,” Gurjin says. There are tears in his eyes, but a kind, sad smile on his face. It’s easy to see why so many people loved him, what a loss his death will be, even if he makes sure it means something. “You did your best. That’s all anyone can do. But, yeah.” He nods, and reaches out with his free hand, giving hers a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, I’ll tell them.”

Deet lays her head on his shoulder once more. They sit in silence for a while, after that, watching Jen sleep until the suns rise on the last day of the Resistance.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

PART FOUR

-+-

It is all that Deet can do to put one foot in front of the other, to focus on Kylan as they travel north. He’s just ahead of her, picking out the safest path -- now he’s at her elbow, helping her navigate the swamp’s rough terrain -- and now he’s a hand at her back, a voice in her ear, cajoling, begging her to take just one more step, and then another, every time she thinks she can go no further. He carries their packs, and he offers to carry Jen, too, but Deet’s afraid if she doesn’t hold her son in her arms, she’ll forget her reason to keep moving. She needs his warm weight, his soft breathing. She needs a purpose. 

Her body aches, pushed to its limits, and beyond them. Her mind is no better -- scattered into a thousand pieces, exploring a thousand possibilities, as she lets her thoughts branch out. Tonight, there are too many dangers to rely on fate alone. A legion of Garthim descended on the heart of the Drenchen clan, but more roam these woods, and there are countless ways their journey could end here in the jungle. A stumble, a mis-step, a baby’s cry--

“Not that way,” Deet gasps, bunching her fingers in Kylan's shirt, and planting her feet as she drags them both to a halt. Her thoughts stutter and skip, and a vision washes over her-- a Garthim, rearing up out of the darkness. It cuts Kylan down with one claw, and drags Deet away with the other, but Jen is left to--

The next thing Deet is really aware of is Kylan, pressing his palm to hers, lacing their fingers together. His dreamfast washes over her, calming her panic with a gentle melody. She’s heard him play many nights these past few trine, listened to the high, clear notes of his firca and his lilting voice, boosting morale on the eve of battle, or bringing peace after devastating losses. This is something else-- a song he played for her once before, in a clearing outside Stone-in-the-Wood, when the Darkening still held her tight in its grip. It’s a song about their journey, about their friends. It wasn’t finished, then. It isn’t finished yet.

Another vision presses in on her, from a different path entirely-- with familiar parts and players, but so far removed from the life she knows that Deet barely recognizes it. She imagines she’s only seeing it because she’s left her mind open and unguarded to the swirling possibilities. She sees Kylan, but not quite as she knows him. He’s standing at the base of the Sanctuary Tree, with his firca pressed to his lips, and petals on the wind, spreading a song, a story, a truth to every corner of Thra. He holds himself with a confidence she’s only glimpsed from him before, one she’s not sure he’s fully found in this life, on this path. She hopes, for his sake, that he finds it soon.

Deet blinks, and finds herself staring into her Kylan’s eyes, just a few inches away. There’s mud splashed up to her knees and her boots are soaked through, and she feels like she’s been turned inside out, and Rian left her, and then he died, and died again-- but Jen is still safely tucked against her chest, sound asleep. On this path, the truth is that she can’t save anyone, not even herself, but she can save him. She will do anything -- anything -- to make that happen. There isn’t room for anything else -- not for guilt, not for regrets, not for the looming dread of her own end. Not now that Jen is real and warm, no longer an ideal but a living, breathing childling. Her childling. All that matters in this moment, and all the moments to come, is protecting him.

“Deet--” Kylan starts, but she shakes her head, and takes a deep breath.

“East,” she says, with a decisive nod, as she pieces together a path that will keep all three of them breathing, for at least a little while longer. “We’ll go east, for about an hour, and then head north again.”

“Alright,” Kylan says, squeezing her hand once before letting it drop. He reaches out, tracing careful fingers across Jen’s cheek, and Deet realizes that maybe he needs a purpose, too. “Let’s go.”

-+-

It is a week before Kylan asks her the question that’s been haunting him since they left home. It’s a question that Deet’s been waiting for, and one that she’s been dreading. 

“Will you show me how it happened?” he says, in the dead of night, in their little room above a podling tavern. Deet hardly remembers their arrival, wrung out and spent as she was, and she hardly remembers the days since. She’s quickly fallen into a cycle of keeping Jen clean and warm and fed, and sleeping as much as she can manage in between. Finding sleep is easy enough-- she hadn’t even begun to recover from the ordeal of childbirth before they were running for their lives, and caring for her childling, settling into her new role of mother, takes all the energy she has left -- it’s staying asleep that’s proving to be a problem. She and Kylan have been taking turns waking each other and the baby and half the inn with their nightmares almost every night this week.

“No,” Deet tells him, her voice kind, but firm, as she rocks Jen. He’s wide awake despite her efforts to soothe him, his little face scrunched up as he fusses. “You don’t need to see him like that.”

“It can’t be worse than what I’m imagining,” Kylan says, still sitting on the bed, with his feet on the floor and his face in his hands. His scar from the Darkening shines purple through his splayed fingers. “Please, Deet. I need to know.”

Deet frowns, remembering what Kylan said to her about Gurjin, about not wanting to be another thing that breaks him. She thinks maybe Kylan didn’t consider that he might be the one that ended up broken— or worse, that he knew that he would be, and accepted it as his lot. She sighs, and asks, “Are you sure?” Kylan nods, once, and so Deet sits down beside him on the bed, and takes his hand.

Afterwards, after she’s shown him the fight in the swamp that ended with both of their husbands dead, Deet carefully wipes away the blood trickling from Kylan’s nose. Even a dreamfasted vision, it seems, is too much for someone without her abilities to bear entirely without consequence. She imagines the effects would have been much worse, and possibly even permanent, if she showed him too much at once, or if she showed him a path that was still uncertain. Kylan sits quietly, and Deet lets him be, as she starts her routine of changing and nursing Jen. He would have woken up hungry soon enough, so it seems like the simplest way to settle him back down.

In the dark, with her son dozing off as she feeds him, it’s easy for Deet’s exhausted mind to drift. She thinks about Kylan’s grief, and her own. She’s doing her best to be grateful that some part of Rian lives on, instead of being haunted every time she looks her son in the eyes, but it isn’t easy. She thinks of Amri, and the vision she saw of him drowning all alone in the Silver Sea, the night the last Sifan ships sank. He’d held his breath for as long as he could, until he just couldn’t do it anymore, until the water filled his lungs. Deet’s grief feels like that. It feels like drowning.

There were moments, in those two weeks before Jen, and after Rian -- the darkest days of her life -- when she was almost jealous of Amri, sinking like a stone to the ocean floor. She’d lie awake at night, and wish for the crushing weight of the waves above, wish that they could press her into nothing. How quiet it must be, down there, how peaceful.

Having Jen changed things for her, although it didn’t make the dark thoughts go away— she still thinks of it, the silent darkness at the bottom of the sea— and it didn’t mend the hole Rian left in her heart, in her life. It did give her something else to think about, a task so all-encompassing that she finds it hard to focus on anything else, on anything other than her son. At least she has him, even though she knows their time together is doomed to be temporary. It’s more than Kylan has-- Gurjin is just gone, leaving Kylan with nothing but memories and one last request-- one that he will honor every moment until his very last breath.

It’s a little too quiet in their tiny room, and her thoughts weigh a little too heavy, so Deet hums a lullaby as Jen finishes nursing and falls fully asleep. She settles him into the place she’s made for him in the middle of the bed, before laying back down in her own spot and carefully curling around her sleeping childling. Still humming, she presses a light kiss to his smooth cheek, and takes comfort from his soft breathing, the warmth of his skin.                          

Deet’s nearly drifted off by the time Kylan shifts, and lays back down, bracketing Jen on the other side of the bed. His eyes shine with unshed tears, but he doesn’t speak, and she doesn’t ask him to. Instead, she reaches across Jen, takes Kylan’s hand in her own, and holds on tight.

-+-

It is three days later, when they leave the cozy little inn behind, and travel by Landstrider through the rolling yellow grasses of the Spriton Plains. Deet’s had another vision, of a place they can be safe, and they’re determined to find it. Kylan guides their mount, and Deet just hangs on tight. Jen is snug against her chest, safely tucked in a sling one of the podling women helped her fashion, and he sleeps straight through their journey. 

She feels it long before she sees it. As the afternoon turns into evening, and the treeline of the Dark Woods looms nearer, another feeling presses in on the image of safety from her vision. It’s a call she’s gotten better at ignoring, over the course of her pregnancy, when there was nothing she could do about it— it’s the call of something desperate, dying, darkened , and it’s stronger than she ever felt before. Something is very sick, on the southern edge of the woods, and Deet has a quiet, creeping feeling that she knows what’s causing it.

It’s another hour before they reach the edge of the forest, and by then the call is almost too much to bear, ringing in her ears, thrumming in her veins. She doesn’t wait for Kylan to dismount, barely waits for the landstrider to stop, before she unfurls her wings, and flutters to the ground. 

“Deet?” Kylan calls, his voice tight with concern as he hurries to follow her. She hears his feet hit the ground as he slips down, hears his sharp intake of breath as he sees what she sees. “Oh, no.”

Since their journey began, Deet has seen the Darkening wreak havoc on Thra, on its plants and its creatures. She has seen the destruction, the devastation that it has caused, felt its influence, and buried a friend because of it. She has seen the ancient trees wither and die from this corruption of the very planet beneath her feet. She has never seen anything like this.

Here, on the edge of the woods, all the trees have blackened, twisted, died, with sap like black ichor oozing from glowing purple sores. The sickness spreads as tendrils creep into the plains, and the tall yellow grass has dried out and curled in on itself. The tendrils thrum and pulse, and Deet can feel it, she can almost hear it, like a heartbeat. Most noticeable is the wall-- right on the edge of the plains, separating the forest and the grasslands, a mass of vines twist and climb, all spotted and shining with the Darkening. The top is almost domed, and it's clear that what lies inside is the center of this infection. 

“Is it getting worse?” Kylan asks, eyeing the Darkening as it spreads, even now. They both watch as it creeps a little closer-- a slow, but noticeable advance, as if it has sensed their presence, and it wants to take them, too. “Have you ever seen it like this?”

Jen stirs, and makes an unhappy sound, burrowing a little closer to her chest. Deet wonders if he feels it, the way she does, and responds to Kylan’s question with one of her own. “Do you know where we are?”

There’s a moment, before it clicks, and then Kylan’s eyes go wide, and his face goes slack. The scar on his face thrums in time with the tendrils that twist and writhe all around them. “Deet. Are you saying that this is--?”

“--It’s Naia,” Deet says, as gently as she can. Kylan falls still, and she sees his grief flickering to the front of his mind, before he fights to get it back under control. She’s not sure how well he’ll be able to hold it back, especially not here. Either way, she takes advantage of his momentary distraction to carefully wrestle Jen free, and press him into Kylan’s arms, as she says, “You two stay here until it’s safe, alright?”

“Deet, what--?” Kylan shakes his head and adjusts his grip on Jen, even as Deet shrugs out of the sling and passes it to him. “What are you going to do?” She hears the question he’s really asking. What can you do for her?  

Deet hesitates, searching for the right answer. She’s going to right a terrible wrong, far too late. She’s going to do what she wishes she could have done for Naia three trine past. She’s going to answer a question Gurjin asked, heartsick and broken, the night his sister died. She doesn’t know how to say any of that, though, and she thinks if she tried the words would choke her, like so much seawater, like the darkness at the bottom of the ocean. Instead she just looks back at Kylan and tells him, “I’m going to help.”

She doesn’t wait for Kylan to gather his thoughts, she just presses a kiss to Jen’s hair, and turns towards the wall. The vines and tendrils react to her touch, as she unwinds the bandage wrapped around her hand, and presses her palm to the infected foliage. All at once, the wall splits down the middle like a seam, just wide enough for her to enter. She looks back, sees Kylan hold Jen a little tighter, and then nod. Deet nods in return, and then steps inside.

-+-

It is dark, beyond the wall. Not dark like the caves, but dark like dying . For just a moment, Deet feels like she’s back in that sad, secret place inside her own mind, the place she retreated to when the Darkening overtook her, when it nearly took her life. She put up walls then, too, to keep the others out, to keep them safe. She thinks whatever they planted when they buried Naia put up these walls to keep her out, to keep her from doing what she’s come here to do.

It’s dark, but Deet was made for the darkness. She casts her eyes about, until she can discern shapes and movement as the earth itself seems to writhe. The tendrils are tangled, grasping, reaching for her only to shy back at the last second. The Darkening can’t touch her, not anymore, not as long as she lives. She traces the tendrils back to their origin, at the very heart of this little grove, and there she sees it -- a fissure in the ground, right over the place where they buried Naia. There were trees here, she remembers laying her hand on the trunk of the tallest one, staring up at the branches as Rian and Kylan coaxed Gurjin into letting them help him dig. The trees are gone now, this is just a dead and darkened clearing, but not for much longer. Deet steps up to the very edge of the fissure, stares down at the bubbling purple energy, and takes a breath.

“Hello, Naia,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the buzzing and thrumming of the Darkening. There’s nothing left of her friend here that can listen, but Deet feels compelled to speak all the same. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. So much has happened since you-- since you. Gurjin’s told you all about it, I’m sure. He--” 

She breaks off, and takes a breath to steady herself before pressing on. She thinks of Gurjin, who loved all of his friends so fiercely, who held her up in her darkest moments-- who saved her and Jen from a terrible ending, who decided that he’d gone as far as he could with half a heart, and would go no further. “Please don’t be too upset with him, I know he chose to leave, but-- he tried, you have to know that he tried. I think he wanted to be happy, and he really did love Kylan. He just-- he couldn’t love anyone more than he missed you.”

She senses that the Darkening is getting impatient, the tendrils reaching down now from the top of the wall, determined to ensnare her, the thrumming falling into rhythm with her own heartbeat. She’s running out of time, in more ways than one. There’s one last thing she can do for Naia, but she has to do it now.

“Anyway,” she says, and she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out the seed Amri gave her, the last remnant of the Sanctuary Tree. The Caves of Grot might not have been Naia’s home, but it feels fitting that to pass Amri’s gift on to Naia, considering what they could have, should have been, in another life. Deet holds the seed in her right hand, wrapping her fingers around it tight. She kneels down before the fissure, on the soft earth of Naia’s grave, and says “I hope this helps you rest a little easier.”

It’s been the better part of a trine since she used her abilities, letting the world and her family get sicker and sicker to protect her son -- but as Deet presses her hands and the seed into the soil, as she feels the Darkening buzzing all around her, her powers burst free, springing up like a beast that’s been coiled, waiting. Every inch of her essence reaches out, burrowing deep into the earth, creeping up vines and tendrils, burying hooks into the Darkening and pulling it in, so she can make it clean, make it better, make it new. This is more than she’s ever taken on at once before. Her vision goes dark and her mind is filled with static, but she isn’t afraid, she is focused, she is powerful, and--

--and for just a second, she is lying on the beach, curled on her side where she crashed, what must have been a lifetime ago. She feels sand beneath her cheek. She feels the surf lapping at her feet. She feels real, for the first time in as long as she can remember. She is real, and she isn’t alone. She looks up, and she sees--

-+-

It is quiet, on the edge of the woods, after Deet’s work is done. Her head is spinning but her heart is a little lighter, to see what she’s accomplished. Kylan is still holding Jen tight against his chest, the sling draped uselessly over his arm, as he and Deet stare up into the flowering canopy overhead. The tree that towers above them is nowhere near the massive size of its parent, but it looks to have stood for fifty trine or more, although it was but a seed only a moment ago. Sunlight filters down through the soft pink petals, and the Darkening is gone, taking the humming in the back of Deet’s mind with it. Every trace of poison has been channeled into new life and growth-- not just the tree, but patches of moss and grass and tiny white flowers that have spread to cover the barren ground -- leaving this place, leaving Naia, free of its influence.

“I wish I could have given her an apeknot tree,” Deet says, breaking the silence that’s fallen over them. Kylan doesn’t answer, rocking Jen absentmindedly as he looks up at the tree, and then down at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Deet’s not sure if he’s stunned, or upset, but either way, she continues, “That way she could have had a little piece of home, but-- this was the only seed I had, so--”

She breaks off as Kylan reaches out and pulls her into a hug. His grip is tight, almost crushing, but he’s still careful with Jen, holding him safely between them. Kylan clings to her like that for a long moment, his shoulders trembling as he cries, for the first time since they fled the Sog over a week ago. Finally, he lets loose the grief he’s been holding back since Gurjin died, since a decision he made and came to regret, since he was a childling and his world was torn apart for the first time, but not the last.

Later, after they’ve made camp at the base of Naia’s tree, after Deet has nursed Jen and he’s fallen asleep in her arms, Kylan finds his words, and asks another question that she’s been dreading.

“How much have you seen, Deet?” His voice is hoarse and hollow, though his tears have dried up. “How much do you know?” Her mouth goes dry and her stomach twists as she realizes where this conversation is going, what she will have to confess, because she doesn’t think she can bear any more lies. Kylan must sense her apprehension, because he says, “I know you don’t like talking about it, but we have to-- we have to finish this, or it was all for nothing. They all died, for nothing.” He stops, and takes a moment, seeming to choose his words with care before he says, “I promised Gurjin I would help you keep Jen safe, and I meant it. But in order to do that, I have to know what’s coming.” 

“You already know what’s coming, Kylan,” she tells him, shaking her head. “You saw it in Onica’s lights. You saw it in Ha’Rar.” The images flash through her mind-- she remembers a tree that used to be a Garthim. She remembers Hup, loyal as ever. She remembers Kylan, swaying on his feet, with blood on his face, battered mentally and physically from the strength of the visions that only Deet could safely sustain. He’d seen too much, he’d seen a future that was uncertain then, though it is certain now, and it had hurt him. It’s still hurting him, she can read the anguish in his face because he knows how his story is going to end, and she knows the weight of that knowledge, knows how it eats away at her insides, no matter how hard she tries to bury it. Even then, it’s still not as heavy as the weight of knowing all the rest.

“I’m not asking about myself, Deet,” Kylan says, his voice gentle, and sad. He’s not asking because he knows. Deet wonders if it haunts him, or if he’s accepted it, as he’s accepted so much else. “But, do we need to get Jen to the Mystics? What about the second Gelfling? You told us there were two, at the end.” He pauses, and then, asks, a little quieter, “And what about you?”

“The Mystics will come for him, when it’s time,” Deet says. Just dredging up those words leaves her exhausted, and there’s so much more to say. There’s so much. “We don’t have to worry about Kira, she’s Brea’s to keep safe. And the podlings will take care of her, once Brea can’t anymore. After the Garthim catch her.” And then, because there really is no point in keeping secrets, because her friends deserved the truth, and Kylan’s the only one left to hear it, she says, “They catch me, too. They take me to the Castle, and, well--” She breaks off, and stares down at Jen, still sleeping peacefully. “You can guess the rest.”

Kylan nods, processing this new information. He reaches out and takes her hand, and holds it tight. For just a moment, a dreamfast presses at her mind, those same notes he’s played before, the song he hasn’t got quite right, just yet. It fades almost as quickly as it begins, and then he says, “I’m sorry, Deet. You deserve a better ending than that.” His voice is so heavy, and Deet hears what he isn’t saying -- as far as Kylan is concerned, she doesn’t doesn’t deserve her fate, but he does. For once, Deet sees past her own guilt, sees the weight that rests on his shoulders, that rested on Rian’s, on Gurjin’s. All of them, carrying their decisions around like stones. It had been so easy to share their burdens before. When had that changed? When did they truly lose each other?

“You’re wrong,” Deet whispers. She pulls her hand away from Kylan, and shrinks in a little on herself, under the weight of it all. “You asked how much I knew, how much I saw?” Her voice sounds hollow even to her own ears, as she confesses the very worst of her secrets. “I saw that my fathers and brother would die if they left, and I let them go anyway. I saw what the SkekSis would do to Rian, and I didn’t try hard enough to stop him. I’ve seen --” She breaks off with a wrenching sob, and has to fight for composure before she can continue. “Kylan, I’ve seen the look on Jen’s face when the Garthim drag me away from him, and I’m still doing this.” She’s crying in earnest now, her words coming through great gasping sobs as she asks, “Why am I doing this? Why am I letting these things happen?”

“Because it’s the only way to save Thra.” Kylan sounds sure, but he looks terrified. Onica’s words echo back to her through the trine. The only way to guarantee our world’s survival is to abandon your quest, and play your part in the Prophecy. It only took twenty-five words to send the Gelfling to ruin. It only took the six of them, making a decision for an entire people, an entire planet. “It’s the only way to save Jen.”

“It didn’t have to be” Deet says, reaching down, and stroking Jen’s hair as he sleeps, unburdened by prophecy or fate, unaware of what the world will make of him. He’s only a baby, her baby, and she doomed him before he was even born. She mourns the life he could have had. She thinks of the vision she just saw, of a different choice, one that could have saved the people she loved-- a choice that was never hers to make. It doesn’t lessen her guilt, doesn’t make those stones any lighter, but she supposes she’s glad to know it all the same. “Do you think he can ever forgive us?”

“I hope so, Deet,” Kylan says, and Jen may not know the weight of the future, but Kylan certainly does. “I hope so.”

-+-

PART FIVE

-+-

It is nearly half a trine before they find the place that Deet’s been dreaming of. It’s a little cottage on the edge of a meadow, rundown but sturdy, still standing despite the steady march of time, and a forest that’s bent on reclaiming it. As she finally lays eyes on this place from her visions, a humming need in the back of her mind goes quiet. Deet closes her eyes, and opens her mind, feeling along every possible path until she is certain -- they will be safe and secure here, for a little more than a trine. In this moment, that is all she needs to know.

It’s just the three of them now, but it hasn’t always been that way, in the time they’ve spent wandering the Dark Woods. They’ve found shelter with the podlings on more than one occasion, in little inns like the one on the edge of the plains, and a few times, with families who ushered them out of the rain and cold, and into their homes. There are other Gelfling out here, too, carving out a harried, haggard existence in the forest, constantly on the run from monsters made to destroy them. From time to time, Deet and Kylan travel with them, hoping for safety in numbers. 

Unfortunately, they haven’t always been welcomed with open arms. Many Gelfling look at Kylan with fear, their eyes locked on his scar from the Darkening-- stubbornly covering half of his face, no matter how much of the sickness Deet manages to pull away. Once, they were turned away by a group who was afraid of Jen, and the dangers that a crying childling might bring down upon them. The way they said it, the way they looked at her, and her childling, told a story-- one Deet saw in a vision, as Kylan argued with them, angrier than she’d ever seen him. This very same group, debating over the body of a slain Gelfling, and ultimately leaving the sobbing infant in her arms to the same fate as her mother. The end of the world, it seemed, had brought out the very best in some, and the very worst in others. Deet drags Kylan away, tells him that they’re better off on their own, and leaves it at that.

There are no permanent settlements in the Dark Woods, not for the last refugees of the Gelfling race. The Garthim patrol Stone-in-the-Wood, as well as the smaller villages nearby, all empty and barren and dead. She and Kylan had combed through one of the tiny settlements once, looking for winter clothes for Jen as the nights got colder, but it isn’t safe to stay in one place for very long. Or at least, it hasn’t been, until now.

“This is the place?” Kylan asks, and there’s something odd in his tone. Deet glances over at him, and sees that he’s shaking. At first she thinks it’s from the cold-- these last few weeks of fall have been bitingly chilly, and while Jen is bundled up tight in his sling against her chest, Deet and Kylan both could use a few more layers. 

“Yes,” Deet says carefully, still watching Kylan. There’s this hollow, haunted look in his eyes, and she’s not sure what it means. Unless-- “Kylan? Have you been here before?”

“I, uhm--” Kylan breaks off, and scrubs a hand over his eyes. An early winter wind whispers through the meadow, and Deet shivers, and hugs Jen a little tighter. “I was born here, actually. My father built this place, after he and my mother left their clans. This was-- this was my home.”

For a moment, Deet sees them, her visions peering back through time and memory. She sees a handsome young Stonewood man, who spends his days writing poems to woo the kind and gentle daughter of a traveling Spriton merchant. She sees the two of them kiss, far from the prying eyes of their disapproving families. She sees him arguing with another Gelfling -- his brother, who Deet realizes with a sudden shock that she’s seen before, though older, and sadder, and scarred. And then, she sees Kylan’s parents once more, standing where she and Kylan are standing now, in front of a place where they built a life of their own, where they were safe, for a time, where they were happy.

Kylan clears his throat, and Deet blinks back into the present as he admits, “It’s smaller than I remember.” Deet’s heart aches for him, because there was so much love in this house-- love that made him, love that he remembers-- but he remembers the grief, more. It was darkness that forged Kylan into who he is today, just as much as the light. 

“We don’t have to stay,” she offers, already opening her mind back up to the possibilities. It’s not impossible for them to survive the next trine on the run, though it will be difficult. Keeping her mind open to the lurking dangers and tangled paths will leave her frayed and weary, but if it keeps her son alive, she’ll manage.

“We’ll be safe here?” Kylan asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the house, to look at her, to look at Jen, who is entertaining himself by curling tiny fingers in Deet’s hair, oblivious to the moments and memories around him. 

“For a while, yes,” Deet agrees. She shivers again, not just from the cold, but from the thought of what will come after , once this place isn’t safe anymore. 

Kylan takes a breath, and turns back to the house that was once his home, that will be his home once more. He takes a breath, takes her hand, and says, “Then we’ll stay.”

-+-

It is hard work, putting the house back together, making it into a home-- but they make it happen, bit by bit, over the next several weeks. The structure has held up well, considering the time and circumstances. Deet uses her abilities to repair the worst of the physical damage, siphoning as much Darkening as she can from Kylan, and using it to grow a lattice of thick and sturdy vines to patch the hole in the center of the roof. The cleaning and clearing away they do by hand, pulling up weeds that have grown through the floorboards, carefully chasing away crawlies, discarding anything too broken to be salvaged. They make a few more trips to a nearby settlement, and come back with linens and clothing, as well as food and supplies that their previous owners won’t be needing anymore. Deet finds it easier not to think about the reasons why, and only to think about the good these items will do for her family.

Jen has changed too, these past unum, learning and growing every day. To Deet, there is no sweeter sound than his happy babbling, no greater sight than the wonder in his eyes as he starts to explore and experience the world -- mostly by putting things in his mouth, usually faster than she or Kylan can stop him. He’s getting stronger, too-- he sits up on his own, and Deet thinks it won’t be long before he works out crawling. When he smiles, he looks so much like Rian that her heart breaks all over again. Still, she loves her son more fully and completely than she thought it was possible to love anyone, and the strength of that love is enough to get her through most days.

As the house changes, and her son changes, Deet wonders if she might be changing, too. A calm has settled over her, since finding this place-- not the calm she imagined she would find at the bottom of the Silver Sea, but the calm she feels when she nurses Jen late at night, feeling like it’s only the two of them in the whole wide world. She feels it as Kylan piles logs in the fireplace to keep them warm, when he takes over for her when Jen refuses to sleep, and firmly sends her back to bed, she feels it every night when they bundle up in quilts to stave off the creeping winter cold, with Jen safe and cozy between them. 

She knows they can be safe here, the way Kylan’s parents were, for a little while. Maybe it’s not too much to ask that they can be happy, too. Still, she can’t think of Kylan’s parents without thinking of how they ended, in the maw of monster. She knows how her story is going to end, knows the monsters will take her too, that she must allow them to take her, if she’s going to save her son, but still. She has time before that terrible day comes, and she’s determined to make the most of it.

-+-

It is the middle of winter when they find the lyre, gingerly wrapped and at the bottom of the last trunk they have to sort through. Kylan holds it reverently, his voice barely more than a whisper as he explains, “It was my mother’s. My father had it made, and gave it to her when he proposed.”

“It’s beautiful,” Deet says, as Jen reaches up from his spot in her lap, curious about the new discovery. She admires the frame-- made of bone, and intricately carved. “Can you play it?”

“Ah, not without new strings,” he confesses, his smile fading a little. “But, I’m glad I found it, all the same. She played for us, every night,” he adds, and Deet scoots herself and Jen a little closer, eager for a story. “And my father would tell his favorite songs, about the hero Jarra-Jen.” Jen gasps and smiles at the sound of his name. Kylan laughs and leans in to drop a kiss atop the baby’s head, and says, “Yes, you .”

“Well then,” Deet says, her heart light, her smile real and genuine, peace settling over her like a heavy quilt against the winter chill. “I’m sure he'd be proud that you named your son after his hero.”

In an instant, Kylan goes still. He opens his mouth, closes it, and tries once more before he manages to say, “Deet--”

“If you want him to be, that is,” she says, all in a rush, wincing as she realizes that she may have spoken out of turn -- maybe she was wrong to assume that Kylan feels the same calm and clarity that she’s found, that she’s trying to find. Maybe he’s only here because he knows where his path will lead, locked in a self-fulfilling prophecy, unwilling or unable to break free from it. “It’s just, you helped me the night he was born, and you really did name him, and-- and you’re so good with him, you’re the only father he’s ever known, and--”

“Deet,” Kylan says again, a little louder this time, and she stops talking. His expression is solemn, but there’s a smile at the corner of his lips. “I’d be honored to call myself his father. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she says, holding his gaze, relieved and grateful all at once. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Kylan huffs out a nervous laugh and mumbles, “Oh, I’m sure you’d manage.” He looks down at the lyre in his lap, running careful fingers along the curve of its frame. “I’m not strong, Deet. I can’t protect you and Jen, not like Rian could have, or Naia. Or Gurjin.” She doesn’t miss the shiver that runs down his spine at the mention of his lost love, she doesn’t miss the hollow look of loss that flashes in his eyes. “Out of all of us, I’m sorry you got stuck with me, but I’ll do my best for both of you.”

“Kylan!” she admonishes, her voice stern, but only because she wishes he was better to himself. He ducks his head, and she reaches out and lays a hand on his knee. “Don’t say that! We’re very lucky to have you. I know it’s hard for you to believe that,” she adds, when Kylan’s shoulders only slump further, “But it’s true. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, the way Jen sees you. I wish you knew how much you matter.” Kylan’s still staring down, and so she reaches out, and cups his chin in her hand, feeling the Darkening spark beneath her thumb as she tilts his face up to look at her, and says, “I’m glad I’m not alone in this, Kylan. But, even more than that, I’m glad I’m with you .”

Kylan sniffs, his eyes watering with tears, but he manages a nod, and a hoarse, “Thank you, Deet. I’m glad I’m here, too.” She thinks of everyone who isn’t here, everyone they’ve lost, and it only makes her appreciate Kylan all the more. 

“Alright,” Deet says brightly, scrubbing away her own tears with the back of her hand, and then shifting Jen, pressing him into Kylan’s lap as she says, “I think your Papa could use a hug right about now.” Jen burbles happily, and Kylan laughs, wrapping his arms around Jen, and tucking him under his chin as he holds him close. Deet carefully picks up the lyre, admiring the carvings, the polished surface, and says, “We could find new strings, I bet. The next time we go out searching.”

“Oh, it’s really alright, Deet,” Kylan says, still hugging Jen tight, even as he reaches up and tugs at Kylan’s braids. “No need to waste the effort--”

“--Would it make you happy?” Deet cuts in, before Kylan can start talking badly about himself again. Kylan hesitates only a moment, before nodding, once, and that’s good enough for Deet. “Then it’s not a waste, is it?” Kylan nods again, a little more certain this time, and Deet smiles, satisfied, and says, “Now, can you tell us about these carvings? There must be a story behind them.” 

Kylan brightens at the chance to share a tale, as she knew he would, and they pass a lazy afternoon in their cozy little home, warmed by the crackling fire, and a good story, and the love of the family they’ve made, even in the darkest of times.

-+-

It is a relief, when spring comes, and the world wakes up, green and growing once more. The winter was long and lean, but they made it through, somehow. They’d foraged what food they could in the dying days of fall, and gathered a little more in their trips to nearby abandoned settlements. It’s not quite enough to keep the hunger at bay, but it does keep them alive through the long, biting winter-- the first true winter Deet has seen in her time overground, after three trine living in the southern swamps.

Kylan often goes without to make sure that Deet gets enough-- and she hates that she can’t even argue with him for giving her his share, because she has to eat in order for the baby to eat. Of the three of them, only Jen reaches spring plump and healthy. Kylan’s cheekbones jut a little too sharply, and Deet feels hollow and empty always. 

Once the snows melt, they make another trip-- this time, all the way to Stone-in-the-Wood, on a day Deet is certain the Garthim are distracted, and much further east. There isn’t much left of the once bustling town-- the homes are little more than rubble and ruin, and cleanly picked over. They do find an untouched cellar, with enough preserved foods to keep them a little longer-- as well as new strings for the lyre, in the remains of what was once a beautiful workshop. Kylan’s eyes well up with tears at the discovery, but his smile is huge, and Deet can practically hear the music he will make for them, echoing from all the long and lazy summer nights to come. 

-+-

It is summer, just a few weeks after Jen’s first birthday, and it’s a good day -- the kind of day where Deet can nearly forget all that awaits them. She doesn’t think about the looming shadow of their future, the weight of the destiny that hangs heavy on her son’s shoulders, she doesn’t stare at his tiny hands and hear the words of the Prophecy ringing in her ears. On days like this, she can lean against Kylan, and rest her head on his shoulder, without worrying about the Darkening that crawls down his neck, now, a poison that’s spreading further every day.

Instead, she watches while Jen toddles around on unsteady legs, clutching the toy she made for him -- a nurloc, or at least, the impression of one. She’s no great seamstress, and in the end it’s not much more than a tube with some frayed and spindly legs. Jen doesn’t seem to mind, and carries it everywhere. He’s holding it now, as he drops into his father’s lap, and reaches for the firca hanging around Kylan’s neck. As always, Jen wants a song.

“Yea, here comes our hero, our brave Jarra-Jen,” Kylan sings, his voice filtering through their little meadow just as the daylight filters down through the canopy, bathing them all in a warm glow. Deet loves him, in a way she didn’t expect, in a way she can’t define -- but maybe she doesn’t have to. Maybe all that matters is loving another person, and loving the life she has, no matter the choices that led her here, no matter how it’s meant to end. “Traveled the whole world and back again.”

It’s a silly little tune about fizzgigs, but it’s Jen’s favorite, and he hangs on Kylan’s every word. His eyes are wide and his smile is bright as he listens, babbling along happily, clapping his hands out of rhythm. He’s much too small to remember any of this clearly, but Deet knows his love of music is something he will carry with him always. Kylan might not have made Jen, at least, not the way she and Rian did, but he is shaping their son into the person he will become. He pours so much love into every moment they have with Jen, every moment the three of them have together, just the same as Deet does -- and she knows that just like her, he hopes that it will be enough. It has to be enough.

-+-

It is a beautiful autumn evening, the sort of night where it’s easy for Deet to think of what she has, rather than dwell on things that she’s lost, or broken, or given away. Kylan is sitting with his back against the front of their home, and his mother’s lyre in his lap. He plucks the strings of his absentmindedly at first, but quickly picks up a cheerful tune. Deet stands barefoot in the grass with a drowsy Jen on her hip, rocking him in time with the music.

“Kylan,” she calls, as Jen yawns, and snuggles in a little closer. “Come dance with us.”

“If I’m dancing, who’s playing the music?” Kylan asks. He’s a little too quick to point out the flaw in her plan, but Deet isn’t taking no for an answer. With her free hand, she gestures to the woods all around them, the rustling of the leaves in the trees, the chirping of evening creatures, the whisper of the wind. Deet gives him a pointed look, and Kylan sighs, and continues idly plucking a tune. “I don’t know--”

“What do you think, Jen?” Deet asks, interrupting before Kylan can talk himself out of it. “Should Papa dance with us?”

“Papa!” Jen says, perking up his sleepy head to reach for Kylan, and in that moment Deet knows that she’s won. Neither of them can say no to Jen, both wholly and hopelessly in love, and subject to his every whim.

“I think that’s a yes,” she teases. Kylan sighs, but Deet catches a grin as he sets aside the lyre, and pushes himself to stand. It only takes a few steps for him to close the distance between them. He lays one hand at Deet’s waist, and takes Jen’s hand with the other -- and then he spins them around, earning a peal of excited laughter from Jen, and a wide smile from Deet. Without hesitation, Kylan guides the three of them around the meadow, in a stumbling sort of two-step, and for a moment it feels like there is only this, only the three of them in all the world. At times like these, Deet knows it’s best if she doesn’t look forward, and doesn’t look back, and so she sinks into this moment, with the two people she has left, the two people she loves best. 

“Do you ever feel like we’re just pretending?” Kylan asks, a little later. The moons have risen and Jen is fast asleep on a blanket, but Deet’s not ready to go inside, and she’s not ready to stop dancing. She’s not ready.

Deet frowns, and considers Kylan’s question. She considers his hands on her hips and her hands on his shoulders, she considers the secrets the forest might keep. “Maybe,” she admits, as they sway to a melody that neither of them can hear, that they’ll never be a part of. “But, I’d like to pretend a little longer, if that’s alright with you.”

“Alright,” Kylan says, as he lifts one hand and twirls her, only to pull her in close, and hold her a little tighter than before. Deet lays her head on his chest, and he says, “I think I can do that.”

-+-

It is another frigid, biting winter, but they learned their lesson, after last time. All summer and fall they stock up food and supplies, enough to outlast the cold, enough to make it to one last spring. When the snow comes, they wrap themselves in quilts and warmth and stories, and they don’t count the days they have left. 

-+-

PART SIX

-+-

It is Kylan who wakes her in the dead of the night, early that next spring. Deet opens her eyes to find his hands on her shoulders, his expression pale and anxious. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, going from groggy and sleep muddled to awake and alert in an instant. She hasn’t sensed any Garthim, or any Darkening besides the fragment Kylan carries with him. They’re safe, they should be safe.

“I think,” Kylan starts, and then he stops and frowns, like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. He stares down at Jen, still sound asleep between them, and then back up at Deet before he says, “I think I had a vision.”

“Alright,” Deet says, sitting up. Kylan is still shaking his head in disbelief, but it sounds reasonable enough to Deet. She’s not the first person to have a vision, and she won’t be the last. If Thra has a purpose for Kylan, he’ll get the message, one way or another. “What did you see?”

Kylan glances down at Jen once more, and reaches for him, only to hesitate at the last second, his fingertips hovering just above Jen’s back. “There’s something I have to do. For him.”

Fear prickles at the back of Deet’s neck. She’s not ready, it’s too soon. Her voice breaks when she tries to speak. “Kylan--”

“Not that,” Kylan rushes to say, and he takes her hands in his own, twining their fingers together. “Not yet.” He sounds sure of himself, which is rare, and that’s how she knows he means it. He doesn’t let go of her, and says, “Jen’s going to find the Prophecy, isn’t he? Etched into a wall?” Deet nods, slowly -- Kylan hasn’t asked her much about Jen’s future, and she hasn’t offered. She certainly never mentioned that part. Kylan nods in return, and then says, “I think I’m supposed to write it.”

“Oh.” It takes Deet a long moment to process as this missing puzzle piece slots into place. She supposes she always thought it was the Mystics who left the Prophecy for Jen to find, but maybe this is more fitting. One last gift, a father’s guidance, leading Jen down the path he was always meant to travel. “Do you have to go alone?”

“I don’t think so?” Kylan says, a little less certain, and then, “No, but -- I have to leave now.”

“Give us a minute to get ready,” Deet replies, climbing out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb Jen until she’s already packed. “We’ll go together, then.”

It hits her a little later, when she’s standing in the middle of the room. Their packs are ready, and she’s helping a grumbling and groggy Jen into his sling on Kylan’s back. He’s nearly two now and would much rather walk, but he won’t be able to keep up on the kind of journey they’re about to take -- the kind of journey, she realizes, with a sudden sorrow, that they won’t be coming back from.

“Deet?” Kylan asks, glancing over his shoulder, and then turning to face her. “What’s the matter? What did you see?” Deet shakes her head, her eyes welling with tears as she takes it all in, for the very last time -- the hearth that kept them warm, the walls that gave them shelter, the bed where they curled up on cold winter days. Even after only a trine here, this place is what she thinks of when she thinks of home, and it hurts to know that she’ll never see it again.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. There’s this look in Kylan’s eyes as it clicks, as he reads the loss that must be plain on her features. This is the first of their final loses-- and the other two are soon to follow. Kylan shoulders slump, and his scar flickers, and then he reaches up and cups her chin in his hand. “It’s alright, Deet. We always knew this wasn’t forever. I’m just glad it lasted as long as it did.”

Deet sniffs, holding back her tears, and trying to hold onto this time, and this place, in her memories, so that she can keep it with her always. And then, because it is their very last moment here, because their time together is dwindling and she can’t handle any more regrets, she stands up on her tiptoes, leans in close to Kylan, and kisses him -- quickly, before she can lose her nerve, just a brush of her lips against his, just enough for it to count.

“I’m sorry,” she says, almost as soon as she breaks away. “I know that’s not really what we are, I just thought we should do it at least once, before--”

She stops talking when Kylan closes the distance and kisses her back, cupping one hand at the base of her skull, burrowing his fingers in her hair, and laying his other hand on her waist. It’s not the same as kissing Rian -- it’s not even the same as she imagined kissing Kylan would be, when she dared to imagine it. It’s sweeter than she thought, and sadder, and she’s all at once glad they never did this before, and glad that they’re doing it now, and glad they won’t ever do it again.

“I’ve thought about doing it, too,” Kylan admits, a little sheepish, after he’s pulled away, after things are back to the way they’ve always been between them. There are so many things Deet regrets, so many things she wishes she could take back, but she doesn’t regret her time with Kylan. “Just once.”

Deet laughs through her tears. She reaches over and brushes Jen hair out of his eyes, earning a half-asleep grumble, and then grabs Kylan’s hand and holds on tight. “Are you ready?”

Kylan takes one last look around his home, their home, and nods. “I am.” He presses another kiss to the side of her head, and says, “Let’s go.”

-+-

It is a cold and clear morning that dawns over the ruins of Stone-in-the-Wood. Deet spreads out a blanket, and sits cross-legged on the ground, checking and re-checking that Jen is bundled up tight, as Kylan stands and stares at a wall.

“Are you going to carve it?” Deet asks, fastening the buttons on Jen’s coat, checking the laces on his little boots, even as he tries to squirm away. “Seems like it might take a while.”

“No.” Kylan’s holding his firca, turning it over in his hands. “I have to play a song. It’s meant to be a dream-etching,” he adds, over his shoulder, and Deet nods. “I know what I’m supposed to play, I just-- I didn’t think I was ready to play it, but.” He shrugs, and squares his shoulders. The faint glow of his scar casts dancing purple light on the wall. “I suppose I have to be.”

Satisfied that Jen is warm, and that they are safe enough for now, Deet lets him out of arm's reach. He drags his worn and battered little nurloc as he wanders to the edge of their blanket, and settles down to play. She turns back to Kylan, and his wall, and asks, “What’s it about? Your song?”

“It’s about us,” Kylan tells her, and the melody hums in the back of her mind, the bits and pieces that have slipped through his dreamfasts these past two trine. The song he first played for her, in a meadow not far from here, a song he’s been working on ever since. “It’s about you, and me, and Jen. It’s about Rian.” Deet’s breath catches, but Kylan isn’t done. He turns his back to the wall, and has eyes only for her as she continues. “It’s about Brea and Hup, and Naia, and-- and Gurjin. It’s about all of us. Everything we did, everything we tried to do. It’s about how we loved each other, and what we gained, and what we lost. It’s a song for Jen, to remember us by.”

It takes two tries for Deet to speak past the lump in her throat, and when she does, all she can manage to say is, “That sounds lovely.”

“I hope so,” Kylan says. His eyes are bright with unshed tears, but there’s a confident set to his shoulders that she’s only glimpsed in him before. This is something that he can do, that only he can do. “I hope I do them justice.”

“I’m sure you will,” Deet swears. She hastily scrubs away her tears, and clears her throat, before patting the blanket beside her and calling out, “Jen? Come here. Papa has a song for us.”

“Fizzgig?” Jen asks brightly as he toddles back over, and clambers into her lap. Deet wraps her arms around her son, and hugs him tight. 

“Not this time,” she says, her heart swelling as Jen snuggles in a little closer. There could never be enough of this, of his quiet and happy love, even if she’d had all the time in the world with him. “This song is about you.” As Jen gets comfortable, she looks up at Kylan, and nods once. He puts his firca to his lips, and the music swells around them.

Deet knows what magic feels like, has lived with it thrumming in her veins for nearly five trine, has harnessed powers not meant for one Gelfling body to contain. This magic is something else entirely, something she’s never heard before, and will never hear again. There are no words -- they’re not needed, not for this. It’s the most beautiful song she’s ever heard, though afterwards, she’s not sure she could describe the melody if she tried.

Memories rush over her as Kylan plays, every moment since Thra called to them laid out in story and song. Not just the happy moments, though she seems them, clear as day -- the sad parts are there too, but they’re softened, somehow. Yes, the time of the Gelfling is ending, but they made the world a better place while they were in it, and Thra will live on after they are gone. Yes, her friends and loved ones died, but before that they lived, and they were good and kind and loyal until the end. She wishes they could have had more, they all deserved so much more , but they did the best they could with what they had. She did her best. It was all she could do. And yes, Rian left her -- but before that, he loved her, and he gave her the greatest gift she could have ever asked for, in Jen. 

She sees him in the song, too -- from the moment he was born until now, her sweet and clever boy. And then, she sees him older -- not the ghost from her visions, but the future Kylan has dreamed up for him, in a vision of his own -- their son, with Rian’s smile and Kylan’s quiet soul, with Deet’s gentle nature and a hungry curiosity about a world that’s bigger than the one he knows. She sees him hand in hand with another Gelfling, the two of them healing the world and making it better, making it new, turning an ending into a beginning, the way they were meant to do.

-+-

It is barely an unum later, when Deet has one of her last visions -- a vision that will send Kylan away to a terrible ending, a vision that will break her family once more. For one selfish moment she thinks about keeping it to herself -- but to do so would be to throw away every sacrifice her friends have made, every sacrifice she has made, everything she has done to set Jen up on this path, on the only path that’s left before them. And so, she sits with Kylan one sunny summer afternoon, and asks him to die.

Kylan is quiet as she speaks, giving him the context for a vision he’d only glimpsed so long ago. Rian’s desperate, foolish mistake could have cost them everything, could have ended Jen’s journey before it even began-- but as it turns out, it only cost his life, and Gurjin’s, and Kylan’s. It still feels like far too steep a price to pay.

Since the cottage, since leaving the Prophecy that Jen and Kira will find, many trine from now, they’ve found themselves back among the Gelfling refugees, scraping together a meager life in the Dark Woods. Deet knows that this group is the largest left, with just under two dozen Gelfling. She also knows that they will find themselves just outside the Mystic Valley, one fateful day, at the end of this summer. The day that she’ll die, the day fate will make an orphan of her son. She knows that day is coming, can feel her time winding down with each and every heartbeat, and that knowledge is tearing her up, turning her inside out. It feels like a penance, like her suffering is the only way to atone for all that she has done. She’s not sure she can suffer enough to make up for it all. She’s not sure she’d change a bit of it, even if she could.

“I’m sorry, Kylan,” Deet says, when the story is done, when she’s confessed her very last secret. She feels hollow, she feels empty, with nothing but the truth and her sorrow left in her chest. “You’ve been nothing but good to us, and now I’m asking you to do something terrible.”

Kylan hums to himself, and seems to take a moment to gather his thoughts. Finally, he says, “You know, I don’t think I am. I don’t think I’m sorry, I mean,” he clarifies, when Deet blinks in confusion. “I’m sorry for the choice I made, that morning on Onica’s boat. I let fear rule me, instead of following my heart. Now look where we are.” He sighs, and for a moment Deet can see the weight of the world on his shoulders, as heavy as the Claw Mountains, as the dirt on the graves of the few friends they could bury. And then, he nods, and sits a little straighter, looking her right in the eyes as he says, “But, I’m not sorry for the rest of it. I’m grateful that I could be here for you, when you needed me. I’m grateful I got the chance to be a father.” He cards a hand through tousled hair, with streaks of white and blue, and Jen makes a sleepy noise as he burrows a little closer into Kylan. “I don’t want to leave you, Deet. Either of you. But if this is what I have to do for him-- for everyone --”

“I know.” It takes everything Deet has to keep her voice steady. “I know.”

“I won’t say I’m not afraid. But, it’s alright.” Kylan smiles, and it’s sad, but it’s genuine. “I suppose it’s not such a bad way to go, if you think about it. Saving someone you love.”

“No,” Deet agrees, and now her voice shakes, and now the tears well up and overflow. “No, I suppose it’s not.”

Tomorrow, Kylan will kiss her on the cheek, and press his firca into Jen’s tiny hands, asking him to keep it safe. He and two other Gelfling will travel to the Castle, and slip inside under cover of night. The three of them will find the Crystal shard, and a handful of replicas-- a wrinkle they weren’t expecting, so in the end they take them all. The confusion will cause enough of a delay that Kylan will make the choice he always knew was coming, and allow himself to be captured, to be killed -- a sacrifice that gives his companions time to escape with their prize, that secures Jen’s future, Thra’s future, that makes sure that every other sacrifice that led them to this moment hasn’t been in vain, that the legacy of the Gelfling endures, even after they are gone.

Tonight, though, tonight the three of them will cuddle up in blankets and bedrolls, just the way they used to do, with Jen tucked safely between his parents. It will be a perfect, cloudless night, and the stars will twinkle overhead as Kylan tells every song he can remember. Deet will listen, and hold her boys close, and try not to think about what the morning will bring.

-+-

It is the same question, every night. Jen looks up at her, his eyes wide and wondering even as sleep pulls him under, and asks, “Papa home soon?” 

Every night, Deet gives him the same answer. “Not yet,” she says, smoothing back his bangs, and humming the same lullaby her fathers sang to her as he drifts off to sleep. It’s not quite a lie, and even if it was, it’s one that she doesn’t regret. Jen will know loss, he will be forged and shaped by it -- but for now, he is still hers, and she is still his, for at least a little while longer, and she means to hold onto that for as long as she can.

-+-

It is storming when the Garthim come, for the very last time. The skies are black and the wind is howling. The rain will be here soon, though it isn’t yet, the clouds still hanging heavy above them. Deet brought her son into the world in the midst of one terrible storm-- it seems only fitting that she leave the world in the midst of another. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled the first time she held him, and the last. She hugs him tight against her chest, feels his silky hair brushing her cheek, feels her warm breath against her neck, feels his body tremble in fear.

“Listen to me, Jen,” she says, her voice hollow, desperate. In the distance, she hears screaming as the Garthim descend on their camp. There will only be one survivor tonight, and it’s up to her to see that he makes it. She settles Jen down into a little patch of brambles, making sure that he is hidden, that he is safe. “You have to be good for Mama, alright? You have to be quiet. You can’t make a sound, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

“Mama,” Jen sobs, and he reaches for her. Every instinct she has is screaming at her to swoop back down, to pick him up and hold him close, to comfort her childling as he cries -- but she cant, and so, she doesn’t. Every time, every time she’s ever thought her heart was breaking before, she was wrong , because pulling away from her son shatters her. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, and she does it anyway, because she must. Jen’s eyes are full of tears and his hands are grasping as he begs, “Mama, please .”

“I’m sorry, Jen,” she whispers, pressing a hand to her mouth as she takes one step away from his hiding place, and then another. They can’t find her here, because then they’ll find him , and this will all be for nothing-- not because it will be the end of Thra, but because in her mind, the world’s not worth saving if Jen’s not in it. She can barely speak, barely breathe through her tears, but she gasps out once more, “I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry.” 

She runs.

Deet can divide her life into a series of befores, and afters. There was the time before the Sanctuary Tree sent her on her quest, before she knew of the atrocities of the SkekSis, before she knew about the Darkening. There was the time after she met her friends, after they showed her how much beauty there was to be found in the world outside her caves, and how much love. There was the time after their decision, as she watched them all fall, one by one. There was Kylan, and before him there was Rian, and after them both she and Jen were alone. There is the time before the Garthim take her, and there is after.

Jen’s life can be divided in much the same way. There is before, the best life and all the love that she and Kylan could give him. There is this moment-- his eyes wide, and his hands clamped over his ears. He is good, like she asked him to be, he is quiet, and it saves his life . He doesn’t cry, and he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t make a sound, but he does watch. She hates that he watches, that this is the last he sees of her. He watches as the Garthim’s claw comes down on Deet, tearing through her wings and deep into her back, he watches as they drag her away. There is this moment, that he will remember as his mother dying, though that isn’t quite the truth. There is this moment, and then there is a shape moving in from the east, with four arms, and a long neck, and the second saddest face Jen will ever see-- and then, there is everything after.

-+-

It is dark in the castle. Not dark like the caves, but dark like dying , like the space behind the wall that surrounded Naia’s grave -- like the end of something, like the start of something new. 

“Deet? Deet!” 

That is Brea’s voice calling to her -- Deet recognizes it in an instant, even after many trine apart. Here they are, together again at the very end, just like Deet always knew they would be. Those are Brea’s hands that carefully examine the wound on her back, the wound that Deet wishes had killed her. If she’d died in the Garthim’s attack, she could have returned to Thra, as all Gelfling are meant to do, when their time comes. She could have become a part of the Song, she could have joined Rian and Gurjin, and Naia and Hup and so many others that she’s loved and she’s lost. She could have been with Jen again someday, at the end of a long life -- maybe not the life she wanted for him, but a life all the same. She likes to think she could have held her son there, for one more time, for always.

Brea pulls her hands from Deet’s ruined back. She wipes blood on her skirt before pressing two fingers to her pulse point, counting the irregular rhythm as Deet’s body shuts down. Not fast enough, not fast enough to take her home, before the SkekSis can take her life for their own, and doom her to an eternity where she is lost, disconnected, alone.

“Oh, Deet,” Brea whispers, her voice ragged, miserable. “Maybe it’s better to let you sleep. They’re coming for us soon. I can hear them.” Deet can hear them too, she can hear footsteps echoing from outside their cell, can hear their harsh, howling laughter. She can hear the terror in Brea’s voice, as she accepts that she is truly alone, in the very last moments of her life. Deet can’t do anything for either of them, but she can be Brea’s friend, and tell her the one truth that will give her some comfort as she meets her end. She can do that.

Another vision washes over her then -- it’s the second to last she will ever see, and it answers a question that’s always haunted her -- the question of why Brea would break her vow to protect the Crystal, and give in to Rian’s desperate, foolish gambit. She sees Mother Aughra, coming to Brea in the Orrery, with Seladon’s childling, and five round mirrors of polished desert glass, and making Brea’s decision painfully simple. Deet can’t help but wonder -- was the wise woman trying to help, trying to give them one last chance to save themselves? Or was she only making sure all the pieces fell into place -- clearing the path, like she’d said to Deet, the day she took Rian away? Deet supposes she’ll never know. She supposes it doesn't’ matter anymore. 

Deet opens her eyes to the rough hewn stone ceiling, to her own blood, tacky and drying all around her, and then, to Brea’s face hovering over her, just inches away. “Deet? Are you-- are you awake?” Brea lays a hand on Deet’s shoulder, her touch feather light. “Is -- is your childling--?”

“He’s safe.” Deet’s voice is a ragged croak, and breathing hurts, everything hurts, but she forces herself to speak. “He’s safe, and Kira’s safe. You saved her, Brea. You saved her.”

Brea makes a sound, a choked off sob, but relief floods her features. “What have we done, Deet?” she asks, and Deet sees it all once more, every choice that led them to this point. “How did we get it so wrong?”

Deet weighs Brea’s question, as the footsteps grow closer, along with the sound of jangling keys. Somewhere out there, Deet has a son that will only remember her for how she died, that has to shoulder the burden of a world she couldn’t save. How is it that she could know so much, and still fall so far short of her goal? She had a chance, they all had a chance, and she can’t help but feel that she’s squandered it.

“Maybe,” Deet says, and then she coughs, and tastes blood in the back of her throat, as a key twists in the lock, as metal creaks and their cell door swings open. She wraps a hand around Brea’s wrist, focuses on the Darkening that’s been building in her friend for these past five trine, and pulls. Brea’s eyes go blank for a moment, and Deet tells her, “Maybe there’s a place where we got it right. In another world. Another time.”

Time. They’re out of time. Deet doesn’t try to change the bit of Darkening she managed to pull from Brea, she doesn’t try to make it better and new, she just holds it tight, she lets it fester. One last act of rebellion, of resistance, before the end.

Deet blacks out from the pain when a clawed hand grabs her and pulls her up. The last thing she hears is Brea shouting her name, and then--

--and then she is slumped on the floor of the laboratory. Those are the chairs where they’ve drained so many of her people, where they will drain two more tonight. That is the table where they held Rian down, and cut and cut and cut until he wasn’t Rian anymore. That is Brea, already strapped down, her struggling movements going still, her life fading before Deet’s eyes as her essence is drained away. After a moment, Brea’s head drops to her chest, her eyes go dull and dim. A husk, a shell, with nothing left -- everything that made her Brea is bottled and stoppered and whisked away, to feed the monsters in this castle, to satisfy their gluttony, their greed. 

It is almost perfunctory, ordinary, routine as Brea’s bonds are undone, as her body is tipped unceremoniously into the shaft. The SkekSis in charge wipes his hands, as if he is disgusted -- not by his own horrible actions, but by touching Brea -- Brea who was good and kind and clever, who could have saved the whole world if she’d only had the chance. It makes Deet angry , and the bit of Darkening shudders within her, fueled by her rage.

Deet’s back pulses with pain, and she loses time once more. The next thing she knows, she is already in the chair, and it’s the only thing keeping her upright She doesn’t think about Jen, afraid that if she holds him in her mind, that they’ll take him from her, too. Instead, she just stares into the reflection of the crystal, and she thinks about mirrors. She thinks about what her body will do, once she’s done being in it, after the spark of Darkening she took from Brea has nothing left to keep it in check. Her eyes will go dim, the way Brea’s did, and her body will go lax -- and then, it will rise, breaking her bonds with a strength she didn’t possess in life, and it will make its way through the castle. 

The SkekSis will try to stop her, will try to stop the thing that she becomes. One of them loses a hand, while another is turned entirely to ash as he grabs at her, and the Darkening crackles and sparks across her skin. They can’t stop her, not like that, and so, she wanders through the halls on feet that aren’t hers anymore. If this place wasn’t dead already, she’d drain every bit of life and color away from it.

She is sitting on the throne when the snarling one approaches, with his stump of an arm held to his chest, and a wicked blade in his remaining hand. It’s not until he swings, until he knocks her head from her shoulders that her body finally, finally stops. 

Deet blinks out of that last vision in her very last seconds of life, as the Crystal scrapes and drags and pulls every bit of her essence away. The pain is maddening, all encompassing. Eventually, it overwhelms her, eclipsing every thought she’s ever had, every memory she’s clung to, filling her up until she can’t even sink into that quiet place in her mind where she is safe. She is withering, she is dying, she is nothing and no one, she is sundered and undone and she is--

-+-

--She is lying on the beach, curled on her side where she crashed, what must have been a lifetime ago. 

She feels sand beneath her cheek. She feels the surf lapping at her feet. She feels real, for the first time in as long as she can remember. She is real, and she isn’t alone. 

She looks up, and she sees Naia standing over her-- dripping seawater, her wings iridescent in the moonlight until she folds them against her back. She must have flown as far as she could, before swimming the rest of the distance between Onica’s boat and the shore. Her eyes are hard, her lips pressed into a line, her shoulders set. She reaches down, extending her hand towards Deet, and says, “Show me.”

Deet pushes herself up to sit, and then pauses for one second, for two. It all felt so real, but it wasn’t. Not yet. Her mind is a whirlwind of memories and visions as she comes to terms with everything she’s just seen, everything that can happen, if they make the wrong choice today.

She looks up at Naia, and thinks about Kylan, swaying on the streets of Ha’Rar after a vision he shouldn’t have seen-- and then she thinks of another Kylan, at the base of the Sanctuary Tree, surrounded by pink petals. She knows that there’s another version of Naia out there, on another path-- a girl who can dreamfast with trees and all the creatures of Thra, not just Gelfling. She knows that her Kylan will find his power, before the end. She wonders if Naia can find hers, too. She wonders if maybe this is how she finds it.

Naia is still watching, still waiting, her arm still outstretched. It was always going to come down to one moment, one choice that decided the fate of the Gelfling, of Thra itself. It was always going to be Naia who made the choice -- and it was always going to be Deet, to tell her what she needed to know, in order to make the right one.

Without any more hesitation, Deet reaches up, takes Naia’s hand, and dreamfasts. 

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-TWO

-+-

“Naia?”

Neech perks up at the sound of Gurjin’s voice, muffled on the other side of the heavy wooden door. The first thing Naia did after slinking into the hold was fasten the latch, locking the others -- locking her brother -- out. The second thing she did was rifle through Onica’s provisions until she found the promised cask of nectarwine.

The room is dark, save for a single ever-burning torch set above the door, and the odd purple glow of the Darkening, thrumming under her skin. It’s been an hour since they learned the horrible truth about their quest, and Naia’s not nearly as drunk as she’d like to be. She’s certainly not drunk enough to look her brother, and his grief, in the eyes. The first sips went sour in her mouth, but she’d soldiered through -- only to give up when she realized there wasn’t enough alcohol on this boat to quiet her mind tonight.

“Come on, Naia,” Gurjin calls again. She can picture him, with his forehead pressed to the door, and his hand balled up into a fist as he raps his knuckles against the frame. Naia doesn’t make any move to let him in. She’s tucked herself into the narrow space between two crates, with Neech curled up in her lap. She keeps her right hand firmly at her side, but with her left she runs her fingers down Neech’s smooth, slippery skin. He leans into her touch, but it’s hard to find comfort even in her loyal little companion.

One moment keeps flashing in her mind -- it’s not the gruesome end that waits for her and her friends in the castle if their plan fails, it’s not even Onica’s lights, blinking out one by one as the Gelfling race fades from existence. It’s the look in her brother’s eyes when they learned how little time Naia has left, it’s his hollow, broken voice when he said eight days. He sounds just as wrecked now, as he pleads with her, “Just talk to me. Please.”

“Go away, Gurjin,” she replies. It comes out harsher than she intended, and she feels a pang of regret. The last thing she wants is to hurt him-- but it seems inevitable at this point, considering the poison that’s slowly but surely working its way towards her heart, eating up her essence and leaving only darkness in its place. 

On the other side of the door, Gurjin sighs. There’s a shuffle and a shift, and Naia imagines him sliding down to sit with his back to the door. She hears a light thunk as he tips his head back, and settles in to wait. Naia settles in too, and starts counting down the time she has left, repeating it like a mantra in her head-- eight days, eight days, eight days.

-+-

Onica’s boat never stops moving, constantly buffeted by the rocking waves, even with the anchor holding it fast to the ocean floor. The deck rolls and bobs beneath Kylan’s feet, and it’s a constant struggle for him to keep his footing. He feels off-kilter, off-balance, and not just because of the surroundings. His whole world has been turned upside down, again.

The awful truths they learned tonight chase each other around and around in his mind, until he’s dizzy and sick and so, so afraid. He knows what they have to do-- no, he knows what they should do. For the first time in a very long time, he felt like he belonged somewhere-- not in a place, but with these people, and in this life he’s been building. He should have known better than to think he could have that. He should have known he’d be asked to give it all up.

Knowing what’s coming makes it almost unbearable, his grief compounded by the knowledge that they could prevent this, and they’re not. Just a few hours ago, Kylan couldn’t even imagine making this decision, allowing his friends, and his people, to die. Then again, he didn’t know the extent of that something worse that Onica had implied, when she told him about visions, and regret. It wouldn’t be right, and he knows that. He feels selfish even considering the alternative. His life isn’t worth more than the lives that are to come. His friends, though-- Kylan wishes desperately that there was a way to save them, without risking all of Thra in the process.

Deet was wrong to lie, there is no question of that-- but Kylan understands why she did it, and he truly believes she was trying to protect them. She must have grappled with this same decision. He thinks back to that last night in the Valley, the blank look in Deet’s eyes, her ominous words when she described the fate of the Gelfling. She must have seen then what Onica showed them all tonight-- in fact, she’d told them about it, though she’d spared them the details. She must have carried the weights of that violence all this time, and never breathed a word of it. His heart aches for Deet, in spite of the deception, in spite of how ugly things got tonight. The rest of them are at least alone, together, in the aftermath of that argument. She’s just alone.

For now, though, Kylan feels just as lonely as Deet must be. He is frozen in this moment, peering down into the open hatch in the floor of Onica’s cabin. He knows the twins are down there, and he knows that they are suffering. He knows that he loves them both, more than he has the words to say. He does not know how to make himself climb down that ladder and join them, and he doesn’t know if his presence would be a comfort or an intrusion, even if he could unstick his feet from the floor and make himself move. 

Footsteps approach from his left, and then Kylan feels a hand on his arm. He turns to see Onica, with a thick woolen shawl draped over her shoulders, and Tavra peeking out from beneath her curls. “We can check on them, if you like,” Onica offers, with a nod down at the open hatch.

“Will you?” Kylan can’t keep the gratitude from his voice. It hurts him to think of Gurjin, sitting there all alone, already mourning the one who makes him whole. And Naia-- just thinking of losing his best friend, his first friend, is too much. Kylan is… accustomed to loss, but this one-- this one is going to hurt. His own death he can stomach, as horrific as he knows it's going to be. It’s the rest of it that makes his skin crawl. His world will end, if he lets his friends and their lights blink out. The whole world might end if he doesn’t. He pushes the thought down, clears his throat, and says, “I don’t think they should be alone right now.”

When Onica looks in his eyes, Kylan can’t help but feel like she is staring right through him. She told him that she saw his future. He wonders what she’s seeing now. “Neither should you,” she says, squeezing his elbow.

“I’m not,” Kylan replies quickly, with a glance over his shoulder at Brea, who has fallen fast asleep. She's lying curled around her open journal, nestled in Onica’s collection of pillows. “Oh. Well--”

“Rian’s outside, watching for Deet,” Onica cuts in smoothly. She leans down, and pulls two heavy quilts from a sturdy wooden chest. The first she unfurls with a flick of her wrist, and before Kylan can protest she has it settled across his shoulders. The second she presses into his arms, still folded. “He could probably use the company. As well as some advice.”

“I’m not sure I’m the one to give it,” Kylan admits.  Mother Aughra had called him wise, so long ago. Kylan can’t say he feels very wise now. In fact, Kylan thinks talking to Rian might bring him some comfort-- Rian, who is brave, who will do what he must for the cause, who understands sacrifice better than any of them. Kylan only hopes he can comfort his friend in turn. “I’ll do what I can.”

Onica’s smile is sad, but her hand is warm as she gives him one last gentle squeeze. “That’s all any of us can do, Kylan. Have faith that it will be enough.”

-+-

When Rian thinks back to his time in the Mystic Valley, his mind is flooded with memories. He thinks of a place that was safe, a shelter and a sanctuary in a time when it was sorely needed. He thinks of kissing Deet for the very first time up on the ridge, under all the stars. He thinks of countless more moments with her, time enough to discover each other, a place for their love to blossom and bloom. He thinks of his friends, the seven of them gathered around a bonfire in celebration, and then again for a decision, and a harsh truth-- but not, as it turned out, the whole truth. He thinks of an untouched room-- sad and empty, waiting for the one meant to save Thra from its ruin, to fulfill the promise that Rian and his friends were never meant to keep.

By Gelfling hand, Rian thinks, and he pictures that room, and he pictures those last two lights from Onica’s vision. Or else by none. If they try Brea’s plan, and they fail, those lights will go out with all the rest. Or maybe, Rian thinks, his mind forming a question that his heart isn’t ready to ask-- maybe they’ll never be lit at all.

“Any sign of her?”

Rian blinks out of his thoughts just as Kylan joins him at the stern of the ship. It’s a cloudless night, and Rian can see him clearly in the bright light of the moons. He has one of Onica’s patchwork quilts draped across his shoulders to ward off the chill of the night air, and he presses another bundle into Rian’s hand with a meaningful glance.

“Thank you,” Rian says, with a nod. He unfurls the blanket and wraps it around himself, but it doesn’t do much. He has a feeling that the chill creeping down his spine isn’t caused by the northern climate, but his dread at what they’ve learned tonight, and what the morning will bring. “And, no-- Hup said she went east, towards the shore, but he lost sight of her after that.” 

“Where is Hup?” Kylan asks, casting a glance around the deck, searching for their podling friend. Rian nods up into the rigging, directing Kylan’s gaze to a small platform near the top of the mast, where Hup’s huddled form is perched. Kylan nods and says, “I didn’t think he cared for heights.”

“He doesn’t, but-- he doesn’t care much for us right now, either.” Rian thinks of his brief conversation with Hup, shortly after Deet left them. Mostly, Hup had just hurled insults at Rian-- all in Podling, but Rian found the tone and hand gestures transcended meaning. Onica had swooped in and diffused the situation, much to Rian’s relief. She’d given Hup a spyglass, which was surely useless in the dead of night, and set him on watch. For Rian, all she had was a soft hand on his shoulder and a knowing glance out towards the sea, before returning to her cabin. Now, he glances back up at Hup and amends, “At least, he doesn’t care much for me.”

“Because of what we said back there?” Kylan asks. “Or because we let Deet go?” When Rian only shrugs, Kylan sighs, and peers out into the darkness, the eerie purple glow of his scar faintly thrumming. Rian swears he can feel the scar across his own chest pulsing in time-- the marks of another difficult choice, one that ties them all together, even now when it feels like they’re being pulled apart. “Is she coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Rian admits. He leans a little more into the railing, ignoring an ache of protest from his nearly-healed side, and runs through that moment again. Deet, turning away from them, leaving them all behind-- and himself, just letting her go. “Onica says she’ll be back by sunrise, and then--” Rian breaks off, and shivers again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the possible futures unspooling before them, “--and then, we’ll have to choose.”

“Earlier it seemed you’d already made up your mind,” Kylan points out, finally turning towards Rian, and studying him carefully. A patch of clouds rolls by, briefly cloaking the brightest moon, and for a few seconds Rian can only see Kylan’s scar-- fractured purple lines, like cracks in the ice. “Has that changed?”

We can’t risk it. I can’t risk it. It was the last thing Rian said to Deet before she’d turned away. He’d meant it then. He thinks he still means it now. “Risking all of Thra so that the Gelfling might survive?” Rian finally counters. Their chances of success are slim to none, according to Onica, to Mother Aughra-- according to Deet herself, or else she wouldn’t have lied. If they try, and fail, the Crystal will never be healed, and Thra will wither and die. Deet knew this, she knew the risk, she knew what she was leading them to. She knew, and she was willing to do it anyway, without warning them what could happen, or giving them the chance to make the decision themselves. Emotion bubbles up in his chest at the thought of her deception, and for the first time since he met her, Rian is angry at Deet. It’s an anger born of hurt, of betrayal by someone he loves, someone he pictured himself building a life with-- but it’s anger all the same. “It’s not much of a choice, is it?” Rian finally says, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his tone.

“That’s not much of an answer,” Kylan replies mildly. Rian tilts his head towards Kylan, more than a little surprised by the brazen response, but the Song Teller keeps his expression neutral. 

“Well, what do you think?” Rian asks, returning Kylan’s intense stare. “You were pretty quiet back there.” That’s one way of putting it, anyway-- it seemed Kylan was suffering from shock, in the aftermath of those terrible visions, the images of their deaths in the belly of the castle. Rian can’t say that he blames him for that. He’s trying not to think about it, but he just keeps seeing Kylan’s blank eyes, and he keeps hearing the sickening crack of Gurjin’s skull, and Deet’s scream. Just the memory of those visions makes Rian’s stomach twist and threaten to revolt. He wants to forget it all. He’s not sure he ever can.

Rian would do anything to save his friends from such terrible fates, except-- except what is he saving them from? What would he be saving them for? Even in the vision that led to the Prophecy, to Thra’s salvation, their lights all blinked out so quickly. None of them will even make it close to the Great Conjunction, and some of them won’t make it much farther at all. Rian thinks of Naia’s stubborn resolve, and the hollow grief in Gurjin’s eyes, and wonders-- can he really ask his friends to do this? To set aside this quest, this chance, to lay down their very lives? And it’s not just them-- to make this choice is to seal the fate of every Gelfling, to send them quietly into memory, their lives fading like lights going dim. Who gave him the right to make that choice, Rian wonders, and is there any way to give it back?

“I think,” Kylan says, and Rian focuses on him as he sighs, his shoulders sinking, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond them, around them. “I think it would be selfish to weigh the lives of the Gelfling against our entire world-- against every life that would ever call Thra home.”

Rian’s heart sinks, because that’s what it boils down to. What are the Gelfling, when stacked against the sum total of the whole world? Unbidden, the Chamberlain’s words echo in his mind, the same ones he spoke that day in the carriage. What if Rian could save all the rest? He can’t save his friends, and he can’t save his people, but he can save the rest of Thra. Even so--

“Mother Aughra said we were meant to save our world.” Rian remembers that first meeting in the dreamspace-- brought together by destiny, but connected and tethered by their words and their bonds. No matter how this ends, he is grateful to have met these people, to know them and love them. “She said Thra chose us.”

“Maybe this is what we were chosen for,” Kylan points out, and Rian reminds himself that Kylan knows loss, has lived with it since he was very small, while Rian is still learning the shape of it. He does his best to lean into Kylan’s wisdom, to take comfort from his quiet certainty. It’s not easy, but he tries. “Maybe we were chosen to bear the burden of this choice, so others don’t have to.”

“Yeah, well.” Rian sighs, and slumps forward against the railing, staring sullenly into the inky depths. “It’s some destiny.” Kylan hums, and the two of them lapse into silence, staring down into the waves below.

-+-

It is dark, down beneath the deck of the ship, dark and quiet and lonely. Gurjin sits with his back to a heavy wooden door, waiting in silence. The still-healing wound in his shoulder throbs dully, a reminder of a battle that feels like a lifetime ago now, though it’s only been a day. It doesn’t hurt as badly as the hollow ache that pulses in his chest as he thinks about what they’ve learned tonight.

He thinks back to that conversation with Deet, before they sat down with Onica and finally found out the truth. She had burst into tears -- he thought it was fear, but now he thinks it must have been guilt. The thought of Deet, of all people -- gentle and kind, with a heart big enough to love everyone she met -- the thought of her lying to them is too much for him to wrap his mind around. But she did, she lied, and she almost led them to--

--to that awful scene in the castle, where Gurjin’s friends, the people he loves, fell one by one. Kylan, with a hole in his chest and his blood on the floor. Naia, caught. Naia, drained. The thought of that happening to anyone, to his sister, makes him sick, makes his hands shake and his breathing shallow.

Here in the dark, and the quiet, Gurjin thinks about something else, something he doesn’t often let himself remember -- the lab, the chair, the Crystal. He can still feel it, the pulling. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t turn his eyes away. He remembers watching his own reflection warp and shift, until a monster stared back at him-- a Garthim, though he didn’t know that at the time. And then, he saw Naia. He was hurt, and then she healed him. He remembers blood on his face, down the back of his throat, and half his vision gone dark. He remembers dirt underneath his fingernails. He remembers digging.

“Gurjin?”

He snaps to attention instantly, but instead of Naia, finally come out of hiding, it’s Onica staring down at him. There’s a movement on her shoulder, a shifting shadow -- Tavra. Gurjin’s shoulders are heaving and he can’t quite catch his breath, his nails are digging into his palms because he saw-- he thinks he saw--

Onica clicks her tongue, and pats his arm sympathetically. She’s kneeling in front of him now, but Gurjin didn’t see her move. A headache throbs just behind his left eye as the vision fades-- because that’s what it was, what it had to be, a vision of what will happen eight days from now, of how Naia’s light goes out.

“It won’t be enough to stop her,” Onica says, her eyes searching his, as he fights to get his breathing back under control. “Even if you tell her what you saw. She’d regret the rest, if she could, but she won’t regret saving you.”

“I know, but--” Gurjin rubs at his forehead with the heel of his hand, but the pressure doesn’t help much. Deet shouldn’t have lied, shouldn’t have taken away their choice, and he doesn’t know how to forgive her for that, not yet-- but knowing what he knows, he realizes it’s not much of a choice at all. At least, not for him. “We have to try,” he tells Onica, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I have to try.”

“Alright then,” Onica says, her voice quiet, but steady. She takes Gurjin by the elbow, and tugs him to his feet. She’s strong, despite her small stature, and in just a moment she’s guiding him away from the hold. His shoulder throbs and his head is pounding, and he still can’t calm his frantic nerves, but he puts one foot in front of the other. In his haze, he barely registers that Tavra is gone, as Onica guides him towards the upper decks, and the rest of his friends above.

-+-

Neech is the first to notice her-- his whole body goes tense as he alerts, his eyes locked onto something Naia can’t see yet. She remembers long, lazy nights in the Sog, watching Neech and the other muski swooping over the warm waters, snatching firebugs right out of the air. It hurts to think of home, to wonder if she’ll ever see the swamps again, and so she banishes the thought. Instead she sighs, and snaps her fingers, motioning for Neech to stand down. The muski lets out a disappointed little trill but relents, and settles back into her lap. 

“Vapran,” Naia says, once she’s confident Neech isn’t going to eat one of their hosts. A glance to the right shows her the door still firmly bolted shut-- but there are surely plenty of ways for small creatures to slip into closed places.

“Drenchen.” There’s a subtle shift to the darkness, and then Naia finally makes out Tavra’s new Threader shape. She’s peering down at Naia from the top of a crate, backlit by the glow of the lantern. “Is this really what you’re going to do with the rest of your time? Sit here in the dark?”

“I’m not sure I should be taking advice from you,” Naia shoots back. There’s no heat behind their barbs-- it’s almost comforting, to slip so easily back into antagonizing each other even now, after so much has changed. “Didn’t I tell you not to get yourself killed?”

“You did,” Tavra agrees. Her voice is distant and distorted, but recognizable. Naia thinks back to the last time she saw Tavra alive, down in the catacombs. Three Gelfling went into the castle that night, and three came out, and Tavra was left to this. “I should have listened to you.”

“That’s generally a good idea.” Naia scratches Neech under his chin, earning a low, rumbling purr. “I wish my brother felt the same.” She pauses again, running the pad of her thumb along the ridge of Neech’s snout. “Is he still out there?”

“Onica took him upstairs to wait with the others,” Tavra explains, and Naia nods. “It’s just us down here.”

Naia hears the offer in Tavra’s words-- a chance for a private conversation. There are things she ought to say to Tavra, not that the words are going to come easy, or make what happened to the Vapran princess right. They definitely aren’t going to lessen the quiet guilt that Naia carries for her part in all of this, for essentially trading Tavra’s life for Gurjin’s. She is certain that they would have not escaped that night if Tavra hadn’t been keeping the SkekSis busy. She doesn’t need to be a prophet to know that is the truth.

Still, she doesn’t regret the choice she made that night -- she can’t regret it, because her brother is here, and as safe as she can keep him. The guilt remains though, and the anger -- burning and boiling in her veins, consuming her, just like the Darkening. Nearly all of her rage is for the SkekSis who did this, who are killing her people, her world. But there’s an ember burning for Deet, too, for someone she considered a friend, someone who didn’t even hesitate to take away Naia’s choice, and her control -- one of the only things she could cling to, in a world that was crumbling all around her. That small spark is festering, contaminating all the rest, burning up the fuel that normally feeds her anger at the SkekSis. Naia knows that it’s clouding her judgment, but she can’t help it. Of course the SkekSis do awful things, because they are evil, but Deet is -- was -- her friend, and her betrayal hurts worse than Naia wants to admit.

“What’s on your mind, Naia?” Tavra asks, her voice calm, and curious. It’s not just privacy that Tavra is offering-- it’s a listening ear, a chance for Naia to give her anger a voice, instead of keeping it coiled, instead of letting it fester like the Darkening that’s sapping her life away. Naia is so used to keeping things bottled up inside-- it’s how she’s spent her whole life. She’s not sure it’s how she wants to spend her last eight days.

-+-

“How are you so calm about this?” Rian asks, breaking the silence as the waves lap against the hull of the ship, the water inky black and seemingly bottomless. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“I’m terrified,” Kylan replies, his voice open and honest. Rian can see it in his eyes-- the quiet fear and creeping doubt fighting for control of his senses, despite his steady demeanor. “I’m afraid of what happens to us if we try, and we fail. I’m afraid of what happens to me if we don’t try at all, and I’m afraid of what might happen to all of you.”

There’s a tightness in Rian’s chest as he remembers what Kylan told him, what he saw when he glimpsed Deet’s vision. That wasn’t Kylan’s fate on the path Onica showed them-- Rian shudders at the memory of blank eyes and pooling blood-- so it must be what awaits him if they submit to the Prophecy. A truly awful ending, and no way for his essence to return to Thra, as all Gelfling are meant to do. Rian accepted long ago that this quest could end in his death-- and he is more than willing to die for the cause, for peace, for the people he loves. Still, the thought of that sends an icy chill down his spine. No matter what it takes, Rian is determined never to end up in that chair. He’ll end his own life before he lets it come to that.

Kylan continues, his gaze turned toward the ocean once more. “But to be honest, I’m more afraid of the whole world coming to ruin because I was afraid, because I wasn’t brave enough to do what needed to be done. If Naia--” Just saying her name causes Kylan to pause, to take a breath and steady himself before pressing on. “If Naia can face her fate, then so can I.”

Rian glances over Kylan’s shoulder, towards the door to Onica’s cabin, and the interior of the ship. “Have you spoken to her?”

“She’s locked herself in the hold,” Kylan explains, and Rian nods miserably as he thinks of how his friends are suffering. Eight days. “I don’t think she wants to talk to anyone.”

“Not even Gurjin?” Rian asks, taken aback. It’s not surprising that Naia would shut them out, but her brother--

“Especially not Gurjin,” Kylan says with a grimace, and Rian’s heart twists again. He thinks of what Onica told Kylan earlier, that they would know they were doing the right thing, but regret it all the same-- Gurjin most of all. Isn’t it enough that they have to pay for this -- for the SkekSis’s crimes -- with their lives? Why are they being asked to surrender what peace and happiness they have left in the meantime? It doesn’t feel fair. Kylan taps his fingers on the railing, his frown deepening as he says, “She knows what she’s asking of him. What she’s asking of all of us.”

It’s a long moment before Rian can put his thoughts in order, and can put a name to the feeling rolling in his chest. Normally he would go to Deet for counsel-- except she’s gone, and even if she was here, Rian can't help but feel like learning the truth has broken something between them, and he has no idea to repair it.

“I don’t want to stop fighting,” he finally tells Kylan, and then he amends, “I don’t know how to stop fighting. It doesn’t feel right, just letting them win.”

“I don’t think we have to stop,” Kylan says thoughtfully. “I don’t think we can stop. The people we love are still counting on us to protect them, for as long as we can. I think we owe them that.” Kylan takes another breath and nods. He looks a little more sure of himself, or at least, he hides his fear a little better, tucks it away somewhere that Rian cannot see. “We’ll live what’s left of our lives, and we’ll do as much good as we can, for as long as we can. And we’ll hope that the world survives, even after we’re gone.”

-+-

Brea doesn’t mean to doze off, but it is late, and she is still recovering from her injury, and the pillows in Onica’s cabin really are very soft. She stares at her journal, checking and rechecking her calculations for what must be the thousandth time, and feels her eyelids growing heavy.

She wakes to murmuring voices, and the feeling of someone tugging her blanket up to her shoulder before gently prying her journal out of her grasp. When she opens her eyes, she finds Gurjin kneeling in front of her.

“Sorry,” he whispers, wincing as Brea blinks awake. He carefully closes her journal, and sets it aside, but still within her reach. She glances over his shoulder and sees Onica, bustling about by her hearth, and then looks back up at Gurjin as he softly says, “Go back to sleep, Brea. You need the rest.”

“I could say the same to you,” Brea replies, her voice still hoarse and gravely. She sits up carefully, letting the blanket pool in her lap, and takes in her friend’s haggard state. Gurjin looks about as run-down as she feels-- he’s holding his wounded arm carefully, and there’s a defeated slump to his posture. Out of everything they saw and heard tonight, Brea can guess what’s hanging heaviest on his shoulders. “How’s Naia?”

“She won’t talk to me,” Gurjin replies, sullen and anxious. Brea takes in the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of tension in his face, and his hollow, haunted look. He’s facing a loss that Brea knows unfortunately all too well, and it is eating him up inside. “And if she won’t talk to me, I can’t talk her out of this.”

“Talk her out of it?” Brea repeats, thinking back to the end of the argument that seemed to tear their group apart. “You told Rian it’s over. I thought you agreed with the others, that we should go along with the Prophecy?”

“Yeah, well.” Gurjin shifts, and settles a little more into the pillows. “Then I thought about a world without my sister, and decided that’s not really, uh.” He shifts again, and glances to the side, almost uncomfortable. “That’s not really a world I’m interested in.”

“Oh.” Brea blinks, processing Gurjin’s words, and his implication. The fear and grief lining his features tells a story, just as plainly as the words in her books. They’re on a precipice, the whole world hanging in the balance, and his decision has come down to just one person. “You still want to try? Even knowing what we know?”

Gurjin doesn’t get to answer, because Onica glides over to them, carrying an ornate tray with a kettle and two wooden cups. “It’s a little bitter,” she warns, passing the first cup to Gurjin, “but it’ll calm your nerves. And Brea,” she adds, pressing a cup into her hands. Brea can feel the heat warming her palms, and smells a sweet scent wafting up with the steam, like honey and chamomile. “This will help your throat, but what you really need to do is rest your voice.”

“That’s the nicest I’ve ever heard someone say to shut up,” Gurjin comments over the rim of his cup. Brea glares, and lightly kicks him in the shin. He only snorts out a laugh and rolls his eyes, before setting his cup aside and asking directly, “Why didn’t you tell us Deet was lying?”

“Because she asked me not to,” Brea answers, looking down and picking at a frayed thread on her pillow, studiously avoiding his gaze. “She said she was going to tell everyone, she just needed time to figure out how.”

Gurjin nods, seeming to accept her answer, and then follows with, “Did you know about Naia? About how much time she has left?” 

How much, Brea thinks. How little. “No, Gurjin. I didn’t know.”

“Would you have told her, if you had?” Gurjin is watching her carefully, with a sharpness that Brea’s not used to seeing in him. She imagines that either way, the Gurjin they’re all going to get to know these next eight days is very different from the one they’re known all along.

Honesty is the only thing Brea has left, and it’s what her friends deserve, so she just sighs and says, “I’m not sure.”

Gurjin takes a breath, holds it, and releases it slowly. “Alright. Alright then.” He studies her a moment longer, and then decides, “We’re okay, Brea. You and me.” Brea takes a sharp little breath, surprised at how relieved it makes her feel, that forgiveness for her part in this. “And yeah, I still want to try. If the world ends then, well.” He shrugs. “Everything ends eventually, right?”

“I suppose so,” Brea concedes. She peers over Gurjin’s shoulder again, and sees Onica back by the hearth, lighting sticks of incense, and then shaking her hand to put out the match. She isn’t sure how Onica will feel about what she has to say -- she didn’t seem to react to Gurjin so calmly suggesting they end the world. Brea drops her voice just in case, as she tells Gurjin, “But, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think it will end. I think we can do this.” 

Gurjin sits up a little straighter, and leans in a little closer. “What are you saying?”

Brea hesitates, deliberating over her words before she speaks. She knows the others are still grappling with their decision, but she’s made her choice. She made it that first night in the Orrery, when she put the pieces together and realized what Deet wasn’t telling them. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, but Brea’s rewritten the rules in her own hand, and challenged a prophecy that has stood for a thousand trine. She’s confident in her work, of course she is-- but more than that, she’s confident in her friends. This can work, she knows this can work. 

“I’m not ready to give up,” Brea finally says. Gurjin’s shoulders sink with relief, and that’s when Brea knows she’s making the right choice. She knows what they’re risking, if they go through with their plan. She also knows what it’s like to bury a sister. She won’t let what’s happened to her family happen to her friends, not if there’s a chance she can stop it. “I’m still willing to try, if you are.”

“Thank you, Brea,” Gurjin says gratefully, and she nods. He takes another sip of his tea, and grimaces at the bitter taste. “Do you think we can convince the others?”

“I really don’t know,” Brea admits, setting her own cup aside, and reaching for her journal. “But we can certainly try.”

-+-

“We trusted her. I trusted her.” Naia can’t sit still anymore, instead pacing the length of the hold. Now that she’s talking, she can’t quite stop. It’s a relief, to give her rage a voice-- not the relief of a tender moment with her brother, or quiet softness of caring for her sisters, but the relief that comes with battle, when her aim is true or her blade meets its mark, and the monsters that hunt her people lie twitching and dying. “I would have followed her into that castle.”

“I believe you,” Tavra replies mildly. She has been as calm and patient as Naia has been animated, casting glances between Naia as she paces, and Neech, who is perched on a barrel opposite Tavra’s crate. The muski chirps in anxiety every time Naia comes near, and then goes right back to tracking Tavra’s small form. “You’ve done it before.” 

“But I knew what I was walking into,” Naia points out. “Rian showed us everything he saw, and I was prepared for the risk. So was Kylan. So were you,” she adds, and Tavra dips her head in acknowledgment. “Deet should have told us everything. She should have let us decide for ourselves how much we wanted to risk. Instead she lied, and made the choice for all of us.”

“You feel betrayed,” Tavra says, and Naia manages a jerky nod. “She took something from you, something you value -- control, the ability to make your own choices. She broke your trust.”

“And nearly broke the whole world in the process.” Naia takes a deep, heaving breath, and finally stills her pacing, dropping to sit on a crate catty-corner to Tavra’s. She clenches and unclenches her right fist, and tries to remember how it felt to feel. 

They never would have known, is the worst part. If they’d died in the castle, their stories would have ended long before the world did, and none of them would have been any wiser. Or at least, Naia wouldn’t have been. In that vision, she met the very end she saved Gurjin from, one that would see her torn asunder, forever disconnected from the Song. She wonders which of the SkekSis would have consumed her essence. She hopes they would have choked on it.

“May I ask you a question?” Tavra says, and Naia waves a hand for her to continue. “Your anger at Deet-- how much of this comes from what you gave up for her? Brea told me what you all did, taking on the Darkening to save your friend's life.”

Naia’s already shaking her head before Tavra’s even finished speaking, because that answer, at least, is clear. “It’s not that,” she insists, and she means it, even with the poison thrumming through her veins, even with what’s left of her very short life ticking down with every passing second. “Saving Deet was the right thing to do, and I’d do it all over again. No question.”

“Even though it’s killing you?” Tavra asks. Naia only hums, and Tavra nods and says, “You’re a good friend, Naia. I hope you know that.”

“How can you say that?” Naia scoffs. She stares at Tavra’s strange new form, and tries her best to picture her the way she looked before, tall and proud. The exact details are out of her reach-- how strange it is, Naia thinks, that someone she barely knew left such a mark on her life. “Kylan wanted to wait for you. It was my decision to leave.” 

“I’m glad you left,” Tavra says, with such conviction that Naia is taken aback. “I’m glad you saved your brother. I’m glad someone made it out of the castle that night.” Now Naia can see her, now the memories are clear, of Tavra as she was. She can almost see her here in the hold, silver hair flashing in the dim lantern light, in her fine Vapran armor, a sword at her side, the image as clear as a dreamfast. Tavra holds her gaze, and says, “You have your own burdens to bear, Naia. Let me carry my own.”

Naia thinks of Tavra’s burdens, the weight she has to carry, and asks, “What does it feel like?” It’s a foolish question, and Naia regrets the words the moment she speaks -- she sounds scared, she sounds like a childing, and she hates it -- but it’s too late to take them back.

“Dying?” Tavra asks, and Naia nods. “I imagine that depends on how it happens.” Tavra taps her foremost leg on the edge of the crate, and seems to consider her words before she speaks. “It hurt. Even when things were going dark, the pain was--” Her small form shudders. “I thought it might go numb, but it never really stopped hurting. Not until it was over. I can’t say I’d recommend it,” she adds wryly, and Naia manages a harsh laugh. 

“I can handle it,” Naia tells her, with conviction. She’s handling it already-- the hollow, pulsing ache, the burning cold. She wonders how much worse it will get, before the end. She supposes she’ll find out soon enough.

“I don’t doubt that.” Tavra shifts a little closer, until she’s staring Naia right in the eyes. “Do you know what hurt worse than the dying?” Naia shakes her head, but something twists in her gut at Tavra’s tone, and she thinks she can guess what’s coming next. “What hurt worse was when the Ascendancy fell. When we felt everyone we were connected to suffer, and die. That loss still hurts, even now-- the ache of something missing. I don’t think it’s ever going to go away, not as long as we live.”

Naia takes a beat, takes a breath, to make sure her voice is steady when she speaks. “He can handle it,” she says, and she hopes that it’s the truth. “He won’t be alone.” He has their family, and Rian, and Kylan now, too. Naia knows it will take all of their love to keep Gurjin moving forward, after-- after she is gone. The thought rattles her, but Naia swallows her fear, and her sorrow, because it doesn’t compare to the sorrow of a whole world, coming to an end, because it’s easier to let her anger flare and drown it all out.

“Wouldn’t you spare him from it, if you could?” Tavra presses on, edging a little closer to the edge of the crate, unavoidable, unescapable. “My sisters had to bury me, Naia. Would you ask Gurjin to do the same for you?”

“What choice do I have?” Naia demands, and with her anger comes a pulse of pain. It shoots up her infected arm, burrows hooks beneath her collarbone, threatens to steal her breath-- it’s a reminder of the reality she’s been facing ever since that night in the Valley, a debt that must still be paid. “I’m dying, Tavra. I didn’t know when, not until Deet told me, but I knew it was coming.”

Tavra stands, her small form rising to its full height, levels Naia with a piercing glare, and says, “But you’re not dead yet.” There’s an intensity to her tone that almost makes Naia falter, but she keeps her composure, even as Tavra says, “Take it from someone who is. Don’t choose this, Naia. Death comes for us all, in time. There's no need to seek it out.”

For a long moment Naia just stares, holding Tavra’s gaze. “You saying I should risk the whole world?” she finally asks, not bothering to hide her disbelief. Tavra may never have been the heir, but she’s a daughter of a Maudra, just as Naia is. Surely she was raised to make difficult choices, to consider what was best for the clan, not to weigh wants of the few over the needs of the many. Although, Naia thinks, the decision she is entertaining tonight goes against everything her mother taught her. Yes, it is important to think of the clan as a whole -- but a clan is only as strong as its people. People who were as deeply ingrained into the world, as deeply connected, as the apeknot trees and the flowing waters. Yes, the Prophecy guaranteed a way to save the world -- a world that the Gelfling are a crucial part of, that they deserve to be a part of. Yes, the world might survive after them, but Naia can’t help but wonder how much better the world would be, with the Gelfling still in it-- with the people she loves still in it.

“I think you want to try,” Tavra says, her voice quiet, but thoughtful. Naia buries her face in her hands, and tries not to let Tavra’s words in, but they’re chipping away at her. “And I think if you took a moment to think, to really think about it, you’d realize it’s worth the risk. That the Gelfling are worth the risk. That you are worth the risk. You’re just too angry to see it clearly.”

“Of course I’m angry,” Naia returns, shooting a nasty glare at Tavra, because it’s all she has left, as Tavra so ruthlessly burrows through her defenses. “You should be angry, too. Look what they did to you, Tavra. Look what they’re doing to our people.” Naia takes a breath, only to press on. The terrible truths bitter in her mouth, but she can’t stop them from pouring out. “And then this Prophecy-- in order to save the world, every Gelfling has to lie down and die? We’re not the ones who are killing this world, but we have to pay for it? We should all be angry.”

“Who are you angry at, Naia?” Tavra asks, still calm, still watching her carefully. “Is it Deet? Or is it the SkekSis?”

Naia rolls her eyes, and ignores a burning heat behind her eyes. “Why can’t it be both?”

“I suppose it can be,” Tavra muses. She sinks down again, folding her legs carefully as she sits. “You’re meant to be a Maudra. Your friends look to you for guidance, and strength -- and they are right to do so, just as you are right to be angry. But it seems that instead of laying your anger at the feet of those who are killing our people, instead of holding them accountable, you are blaming the one person who could help you stop them. Is that what you want, Naia?"

“No,” Naia admits, her voice hoarse, her heartbeat thundering. She wants the truth. She wants to know what Deet saw, what led her to lie to them all, to decide that it was worth risking everything. She wants to stop the monsters who are killing her people, and her world. She wants to live. “No, it’s not.”

Tavra nods, and dips her head. Somehow, Naia knows that she’s smiling as she asks, “Then what are you going to do about it?”

-+-

“We’ll talk to the others,” Gurjin says, nodding to himself, and finishing off the last of his tea. He seems bolstered by Brea’s promise to help, but his expression darkens only a moment later. “I’ll talk to Kylan, I should have talked to him already, he--” Gurjin breaks off, and shakes his head, his frown deepening. “He loves her, too, this can’t be easy for him.”

“You’re worried about your sister,” Brea points out, firm but kind. She has a hazy memory of Kylan, staring down into the hold, but not moving a muscle. “He was probably just trying to give you two space.”

“I know, but.” Gurjin rubs at his eye with the heel of his hand. “Me and him are, you know.” He waves his hand vaguely, and Brea nods. “I shouldn’t have left him alone. I should have been worrying about him, too.” 

“I’m sure he understands,” Brea insists, offering him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. Gurjin nods, and then he nods again, his movements sluggish, confused. He blinks, long and slow, staring down into his cup, and Brea’s concern spikes. “Gurjin?” she calls, reaching out and laying a hand on his knee. He sways once, and then topples sideways, slumping down into the pillows, his eyelids fluttering closed. Brea’s heart leaps into her throat. “Gurjin!”

In a matter of seconds Brea has two fingers pressed to Gurjin's throat, feeling for his pulse. His heartbeat is strong and steady, and his breathing is even, and he’s -- he’s snoring, loud and thundering, the sound quickly filling the small room. Asleep, then, and not unconscious. Brea eyes the cup that tumbled from his grasp when he fell, her suspicion only growing. She picks it up with her thumb and forefinger, and carefully sniffs it.

“Moonberry,” Onica supplies, her voice surprisingly cheerful for someone who just slipped a powerful sedative into her guest’s drink. “He’ll be fine.”

“You drugged him?” Brea demands. She sets Gurjin’s cup aside, and glances suspiciously at her own, still half finished. “Why?”

Onica bustles by, collecting Gurjin’s empty cup, as well as Brea’s, still half full. She sets them back on the tray with the kettle, and carries it away. “So he doesn’t try to follow her,” she answers smoothly. “She has to go alone.”

“Follow who?” Brea asks, trying to wrap her tired, whirling mind around Onica’s words. “Deet?”

“Of course not,” Onica says, as the hatch in the floor slams open. Brea catches sight of a purple glow in the darkness before she sees Naia, scrambling up the ladder into the cabin. She looks fierce and determined, with Neech puffed up on one shoulder, and Tavra perched on the other. Brea just stares, her mouth hanging slightly open, as Naia makes a beeline for the door, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of Gurjin.

“Is he alright?” she asks, concern coloring her words. She turns, almost on instinct, one hand already reaching for her brother’s still form.

“He’s fine.” Onica brushes past, and reaches out to scoop Tavra from Naia’s shoulder. “We’ve got him, don’t worry.” When Naia still doesn’t move, Onica lays a hand on her arm, and sighs. “Go, Naia. She’s waiting for you.”

“Right.” Naia squares her shoulders, sparing one last glance at Gurjin, and nodding at Brea before marching out the door, and into the night.

A moment passes in silence, and then another. “Onica,” Brea finally manages to ask, a thousand questions rattling around in her mind. “What in Thra’s name is going on?”

“It’s alright, Brea,” Onica says demurely, draping a blanket over Gurjin, and then resting a comforting hand on Brea’s shoulder. Her eyes are bright and her smile is small but knowing, as she leans in close and says, “You and your friends are going to save the world.”

-+-

It’s colder than she expected, back out on the deck, a wind whispering over the tops of the waves, whipping Naia’s hair. The temperature dropped rapidly after sunset, and Neech burrows a little closer to her neck, seeking her warmth. Thinking of the muski gives her pause -- Naia’s honestly not sure Neech can go where she’s going. She casts her eyes about, and finds two shapes wrapped in quilts, standing near the stern of the ship. Her eyes slide right over Rian, and settle on Kylan. Perfect.

“Naia?” Kylan’s voice is startled, his eyes wide as she approaches. “What are you-- are you alright?” he asks, searching her face desperately. There’s a deep and heavy sorrow in his face, and it tugs at something in her heart, but she doesn’t have time for that. “Where’s Gurjin?”

Rian moves with Kylan, and Naia stops before them both, forming a loose triangle. It feels important, in a way she can’t explain, the three of them standing on the deck of this ship, with the weight of the world on their shoulders, and the fate of their people in their hands. Looking in their eyes, she knows without a doubt that they’ve both made up their minds. She can guess what they’ve decided, that they’ve made the same choice that she was so certain of, until she wasn’t. She stares up into the mast of the ship, and asks, “Which way did Deet go?”

Kylan glances out to the east, and then takes a step closer, reaching out for her. His voice is low and concerned as he asks,  “Naia, what’s going on?”

“I need a favor,” she replies, looking back down and focusing on him, even as she reaches up and pulls Neech from her shoulders, the muski pooling into her hands a little reluctantly. Kylan barely has time to nod in agreement, before Naia is pressing Neech’s slippery form into his hands. “Will you watch him?”

Kylan is too busy trying to keep his grasp on a squirming, confused muski, yelping with surprise as Neech claws his way up to his shoulders. He’s more than a little preoccupied, so it’s Rian that asks, “Why?”

“Because he’s a freshwater eel, Rian. And I wasn’t asking you.” Naia rolls her eyes at him, before turning back to Kylan, and clasping him on the shoulder. She opens her mouth, but can’t find the words to tell him how she feels, to give him the peace she knows he needs as he grapples with the decision laid before them all. Instead she leans in and presses her forehead to his, just as she would with Gurjin, or their sisters. Kylan goes stiff with shock, but then he relaxes, and for one moment, they both just breathe. A moment after that she pulls away, reaches for the mast, and climbs.

She can hear Rian and Kylan calling out in alarm, but Naia ignores them both. She’s spent half her life in the apeknot trees, scaling the trunks, racing her brother through the canopies, her feet sure and her hands steady. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever see her home again, but she hopes that she will. She hopes that the swamps she loves will be loved by Gelfling long after she is gone, that her people will live and thrive, that the drums will echo through the Sog like a heartbeat for many trine to come.

It is that hope that keeps her moving forward, burning brighter than the anger that still smolders in her heart. She’s not ready to let go of her rage, and that’s alright. She has a feeling she’s going to need it, before this is all done. Soon, she’ll have to make a choice, but before that she needs to know the truth, and all of it. Before she can choose, though, she has to understand. Maybe she’ll reach the same conclusion once more-- but even so, Naia knows that her decision will be the right one, as long as she has considered her options from every angle, rather than making a choice in a moment of passion. And there is only one person who can give her the answers she seeks.

The rigging is slick from sea spray, but Naia manages all the same, and in a matter of moments, her feet touch down on the platform resting high above the deck. Hup jerks away, half-asleep and huddled in a little pile of blankets. He squawks indignantly as Naia steps over him, already staring out across the waves, towards the shore beyond. Too far for her wings to carry her, too far to swim -- but Naia knows she can make it, if she does both. She glances down at Hup, who’s staring up at Naia with concern. She only grins, feeling wild and manic up here, so high above the world, with the boat rocking beneath her feet, and a choice lying before her. She doesn’t hesitate any longer -- she just offers Hup a little salute, unfurls her wings, and leaps.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-THREE

-+-

In the darkness, Gurjin drifts, and dreams-- no, he doesn’t dream. He remembers .

He remembers how miserable he was, those first few weeks at the Castle, in his new life as a sworn guard for the SkekSis Lords. The air was too dry and his feet ached against the flagstones and he missed his family so fiercely that he almost couldn’t stand it. Then, there were the other guards to worry about. He wasn’t sure which was worse-- the fact that none of the others looked like him, or the way they all looked at him. After a lifetime of connection and family and love, of bonds that could never be broken, he was truly and completely alone.

His fast friendship with Rian and Mira was the only thing that made any of it bearable. They were the first to accept him, happily inviting him along on their schemes and antics. He remembers sneaking out with the two of them for the very first time-- to the cellar, to pilfer two bottles of nectarwine-- and waking up hungover and hazy, for sure, but also happy for the first time since leaving home.

The memory fades, and the darkness shifts by degrees, from the blackest black to a soft gray. Even before he opens his eyes, Gurjin recognizes the telltale signs of another hangover-- a pounding headache, and an awful, bitter taste in his mouth.

Voices filter in next. He hears one, two, three people, all talking quietly. One is right by his side, a steady presence crouched beside him, while the other two are a little further away. His memories are the last to settle and take shape-- he was with Brea, in Onica’s cabin. They were drinking tea and talking about the end of the world. Brea promised to keep fighting, and Gurjin felt the weight on his shoulders lessen just a fraction. With her help, he wouldn’t be so alone in this fight to save their world, to save his sister--

Opening his eyes is a mistake, as even the flickering candlelight of the cabin is too much for him at the moment. Sitting up is even worse, but he moves before he really thinks it through. He immediately regrets both choices, slamming his eyes shut tight as his headache spikes. The world seems to tilt, like the ship itself is in rough waters, and his stomach flips. A hand finds his shoulder, and he tries to let that ground him.

“Easy,” says the closest voice, as Gurjin groans and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He feels the grip on his shoulder tighten, and he swallows his nausea and tries opening his eyes again. The room isn’t spinning so badly this time, which is good. The person kneeling beside him is Kylan, which is even better. Rian is close by too, crouched on Gurjin’s other side, and Brea is just a bit behind the boys, sitting cross-legged in a nest of pillows. Kylan’s eyes scan his, carefully assessing him, and then he says, “You’re fine, just take it slow, alright?”

“Alright,” Gurjin manages, dropping his palms from his face, and then reaching out for Kylan’s free hand, and holding it tight. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing he left Kylan to suffer with the his sorrow and their decision for far too long. He’d meant to seek him out before-- before he-- Gurjin frowns, struggling to piece together the gaps in his memory. “Anyone mind telling me what’s going on?”

“You fainted,” Brea supplies, peering between Rian and Kylan. One hand reaches up and tugs at the bandage still wound about her throat, while the other rests on the open journal in her lap.

Rian shoots Brea a suspicious glance over his shoulder, then turns back to Gurjin and explains, “Onica put something in your drink.”

“Right, yes,” Brea says, a little too brightly, her voice cheerful despite the harsh and gravely tone she’s left with, until her throat is fully healed. “You fainted because Onica put moonberry in your drink-- but, she only did that because she didn’t want you jumping off the boat after Naia. She was just looking out for you, really.”

Kylan squeezes his hand a little tighter, and Gurjin realizes that Neech is perched on his shoulders, his bright eyes staring from beneath Kylan’s braids. That’s not-- that isn’t right. The room is still spinning in lazy circles around him, and he can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, each pulse sending another spike from the place between his eyes to the base of his skull. It is for that reason, and that reason only, that he is silent for about ten seconds before he says, “Naia did what?”

-+-

Naia is very quiet, for a very long time, after the dreamfast finally ends. She sits next to Deet in the sand, with her legs folded and her hands resting in her lap. The Darkening pulses and glows beneath her skin, and Deet can feel the sickness radiating off of her, can feel her time ticking down second by second. 

The longer Naia is silent, the more Deet’s afraid that she shared too much, that dreamfasting those vision-memories has done terrible harm to her friend after all. She showed Naia everything, from the fateful vote waiting for them at dawn, to Deet’s own brutal end in the castle, five trine from now. There is blood on Naia’s face, trickling down from her nose, but her eyes are clear, and her expression is thoughtful. Deet reminds herself of the powers Naia doesn’t know she possesses, thrumming just below the surface. If any of her friends can withstand the strange magic of her visions, it’s Naia. Deet’s sure of it.

She’s not sure how long the visions held her in their grasp, or how much time passed while she and Naia were dreamfasting. urSu taught her the basics, but she still can’t quite tell time based on the passage of the moons, or navigate by the stars shining overhead. She just knows that the night sky is beautiful. She could sit here and stare up at it forever, imagining all the other worlds that must be spinning around out there, just like the whirling clockwork of Mother Aughra’s Orrery. She wonders how many lives must be unfolding, lives just like her own-- the one she is living now, and the one she just glimpsed in her visions. There are more lives than that, more paths, spilling and spiraling out from every moment, every choice-- innumerable, just like the stars in the sky.

Naia takes a deep breath, and blinks her eyes slowly, like she’s waking from a trance. She doesn’t turn towards Deet, staring instead at the waves as they break against the shore, but she clears her throat and asks, “How long have you known?”

“Which part?” Deet asks, running through it all in her mind again. The happier moments spark and flare, pinpricks of joy and peace in so much darkness-- but it’s hard not to let the anger and hurt and futility pull her under. There was so much, and all of it felt so real. She stares down at her hands, and remembers holding Rian’s, holding Kylan’s, holding Jen’s. It takes everything she has not to look for him, not to reach for him, not to wonder why her childling is so far from her-- because he isn’t here, he isn’t hers. Not yet.

Naia sniffs, and wipes the blood from her face with the back of her hand. “All of it. Any of it.”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Deet says, considering her words carefully. “Something happened to me when the Sanctuary Tree gave me their powers. Well, urSu thought maybe everything happened to me, but I’m not even sure he really understood--”

“--Deet,” Naia cuts in, sounding more tired than angry. The Darkening’s glow ebbs and flows with Naia’s breathing, the tendrils that creep up her arm pulsing with the waves as they crash and recede. “I didn’t come all the way out here for more riddles.”

“Where do you want me to start?” Deet asks, her voice and heart heavy. Her stomach twists at the memories, the premonitions, of what waits for them all on that path. She thinks of all the pain and suffering that is to come, if she can’t convince Naia to fight. It makes her want to scream, to lash out, to tear apart the world that would so readily rend her and her loved ones into pieces. She’s not sure she can survive it all a second time. She’s not sure she wants to.

“How about the beginning?” Naia suggests. “From your first visions, to what you saw tonight. I want to know everything you know, everything you’ve seen, and I want to know when you saw it.”

Naia’s tone is light, but there’s an edge to it, an undercurrent of warning. Deet knows she only has so much patience-- but, it’s more than Naia ever offered her on that other path. In her visions, Naia did not give her a second chance, and did not seek to understand. Instead, she reacted in anger, and doomed them all. This is different, this conversation never happened before. Deet just hopes that it’s enough to change things. But still--

“What if it’s about your future?” she asks, thinking of the conversation they had sailing down the Black River, on their way to Ha’Rar. It was just a few days ago, but it feels like another life, every experience from her visions stacking up and stretching out her time. In that moment on the raft, she’d gotten a glimpse of Naia’s childling, and one of her own-- a glimpse of the happy, beautiful life that was to come. “You said you didn’t want to know about that.”

Naia pauses, and seems to weigh Deet’s question. “Is it a good future?” she finally asks, still staring out at the crashing waves. “One where we win?”

Images flash in Deet’s mind, memories of things that haven’t happened yet. She sees Naia at her absolute fiercest, and a pair of wide, black eyes. “Yes,” she answers with confidence, once the flickering visions fade, once she’s certain that all will be well, in the end. “It’s good.”

“Then, no. I don’t want to know about it,” Naia says, nodding decisively. “But I want to know everything else,” she adds, her gaze pointed and piercing. “So you better start talking.”

-+-

When Naia held out her hand to Deet, when she said, “Show me,” she wasn’t sure what to expect. She was hoping for the truth. She was hoping for some explanation, something that would help her understand why Deet was willing to let the world burn on such narrow odds, why she lied to them all, why she didn’t trust the people who had put their own lives on the line for her, who were all slowly dying, for her. 

It doesn’t matter what Naia expected, because nothing could have prepared her for what she sees. The finer details are hazy-- some of the images shift and blur, and sometimes the sounds are little more than garbled voices. She sees enough to piece together a bigger picture-- a tale of sorrow and suffering that devours everyone she cares about, one by one, that ravages the world and the people she loves so much. It is dizzying, and terrifying, and the reality of it is so much worse than she could have imagined.

While many of the dreamfasted visions are fuzzy, others are clear and vibrant. The very worst moments of that path stand out in stark contrast to the soft purple haze of the rest. Hup falls in battle against the Garthim, as do her parents, and her little sisters, and so many of her fellow Drenchen. Three more of her friends are captured and drained, their essence stolen to feed the greedy monsters that prey on them all. Kylan meets his fate with peace and calm, Brea with grief and resignation, and Deet with a bitterness and rage that Naia knows all too well, can feel building in her own chest as these awful truths are laid before her. 

Naia’s own death does not rattle her, the way the others do. It isn’t easy to watch, but she can bear it. She almost prefers it this way, finds comfort in knowing she chose to give her life, rather than waiting for the Darkening to rot and decay her on its own time. And if she was going to give her life for anyone, she’s glad it was Gurjin, glad that what was left of her life went to him. It’s everything that came after that makes her blood run cold, that steals her breath away and leaves her hollow.

There are three moments that strike her, images that she thinks will haunt her every time she closes her eyes. 

First, there is Rian. Her instinct is to be angry with him-- because he left Deet when she was at her most vulnerable, because walked into that Castle and to his death of his own volition-- because he practically handed the SkekSis the shard, because his foolish actions cost not only his life, but the lives of two people Naia holds dear. Her anger doesn’t fade, exactly, but it is eclipsed by her grief and horror at what awaits Rian down in that laboratory. She didn’t think it was possible to hate the SkekSis more than she already did, but her rage swells and grows-- she feels the Darkening swell within her as well, but she doesn’t care. It is just another tally on a growing list of crimes that she cannot, will not forgive. 

The second is Gurjin, and the relief that flickered in his eyes when what was left of Rian plunged a blade deep into his chest. Naia thinks of what Tavra told her about the Ascendancy falling, about the sort of pain that never fades. She doesn’t want to imagine a world where she loses her brother-- but she knows, in her heart, that she would survive it. It would break her, and she would bury her heart with him, but she would survive. The same, it seems, is not true for Gurjin-- or at least, it wasn’t, not on the path Deet saw, the path that leads to the Prophecy. Naia understands what Gurjin did for Rian, knows that it was an act of mercy as well as a chance for the others to escape-- but he could have ended that fight without ending his own life. He at least could have tried. Instead, Gurjin ended Rian’s suffering and his own all at once, and the thought of her brother at that point terrifies Naia more than anything else Deet showed her.

Third is someone Naia has never met, but with all of Deet’s memories and emotions swirling in her mind, it’s impossible not to think of him. She sees a childling-- Deet and Rian’s childling, and apparently the key to all of this. She sees him brand new and in his mother’s arms for the very first time, and all the moments in between. So many memories, but still, not enough. He is barely more than two the day the Garthim come. He is crouched and hidden, with his hands clamped over his ears, and his eyes wide and terrified as his mother is cut down right in front of him. Somehow, this is worse than Rian’s butchering, than Gurjin’s surrender. Naia’s been so worried about what she can control, but here is someone with absolutely no control at all, expected to lose everything before he can even comprehend loss, and then expected to clean up the mess that monsters who ruined his world left behind. 

“Naia?” Deet calls, her words careful, and cautious. After the dreamfast ended, Naia had demanded the whole truth, and Deet had given her exactly that-- accounts of every vision, every flash of knowledge, that she’d gotten since first realizing her powers, until now. Naia’s not sure that she learned much more-- if anything, it seems those brief glimpses were just building up to what Deet saw on this beach, tonight. As promised, Deet had left out any visions of their hopeful future, and Naia just had to trust that she hadn’t left out anything else. “You’re not saying anything. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” Naia says, speaking slowly. There’s a throbbing headache behind her eyes and she feels on the verge of another nosebleed, and the biting cold of the Darkening threatens to steal her breath-- but she can handle it. If this is the price for the truth, for the certainty she needs to make her decision, she’ll pay it, gladly. Even with all of these horrible images, she tries to take a moment, to sort through her roiling emotions. She doesn’t want to make this decision out of anger, either. “I think everything went downhill the moment I let you all out of my sight.”

Deet makes a hollow sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re not wrong,” she says, her voice wavering. She shivers, but Naia’s not sure if it’s from the chilly ocean breeze, or the horrors she’s seen tonight. “It wasn’t just Gurjin, you know. We were all lost without you.”

“Of course you were.” Naia’s surprised to hear the emotion in her own voice-- not surprised that it’s there, but surprised she’s letting any part of it show. She squares her shoulders, and gets her composure back in check. “Apparently I’m the only reasonable one around here.” She leans back, pressing her palms down into the sand, feeling the grit between her fingers, and says, “You shouldn’t have lied to us.”

“I know.” Deet sighs, and traces lines in the sand with her finger. Three letters-- Naia can’t read them, but she can make a guess. “I was afraid of what you would do, if you knew the truth. I’m not making excuses,” Deet adds quickly, with a sideways glance at Naia, who nods. “You’re all so good and kind and selfless. I knew it’d be hard for you to risk so many lives. To risk our whole world.” 

Naia considers Deet’s words, and her deception. She considers what measure of control she still has over a rapidly devolving situation. In her mind she knows that it is foolish to risk the entire world, when such a clear path to Thra’s survival lies before them. But her heart cannot accept the suffering that she’s just seen, cannot handle knowing of these atrocities, and doing nothing to stop them. Naia can’t help but feel that if she knows, and allows it to happen, then she is complicit-- just like the Mystics, and just like Mother Aughra, who all know so much and have done so little to stop it. There is so much that she can’t control-- but this is one thing that she does have the power to change. At the very least, she has the power to try. 

“What happened to you in Onica’s vision,” Naia says, recalling those horrible images of yet another terrible ending, and recalling Kylan’s warning, and his fears about what could happen to Deet, if the Crystal overwhelms her. “How do you know that won’t happen again? Have you seen yourself healing the Crystal?” 

“Well,” Deet says, dragging out the word. “No, not exactly.” Naia takes a sharp breath, but before she can interrupt, Deet hurries to say, “Naia, it’s alright, I know I can do it, because I’ve seen what happens afterwards. I can show you!” She offers her hand and Naia takes it, clasping their palms together. 

The dreamfast is brief and brilliant. Naia sees herself, on her feet in the Crystal Chamber, with Rian sitting on the ground beside her. They are both staring up at towering, luminous creatures, the likes of which Naia has never seen before. They’re beyond anything she can imagine, and there’s a light shining behind them, pure and bright and cleansing. The creatures speak, though it’s not quite words, and she doesn’t hear it, but instead she feels it, reverberating in her mind, in her soul, in every fiber of her essence and--

--and the dreamfast ends. Naia doesn’t remember standing, but finds that she’s on her feet here, too. Her breaths are coming in ragged gasps, and her eyes are wet. She reaches up to scrub at her face, expecting blood, but instead finds herself wiping away tears. Deet’s standing too, watching Naia with tears of her own, though she makes no move to brush them away. 

Naia can’t quite speak as the echo of that vision fades, but Deet fills the silence for her. “I know this plan is dangerous. I know what we’re risking, and I know the chances are slim.” Deet holds Naia’s hands again, this time not offering dreamfast, just a connection. “But we can do this, Naia. We can save the world, not just for ourselves, but for our people. I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me-- but that’s what I’m asking you to do.” Deet takes a breath, and squeezes Naia’s hands, and she doesn’t break eye contact. “I’m asking you to trust me, Naia, and I’m asking you to trust yourself, and our friends. I’m asking you to try.”

Naia has to clear her throat before she can find her voice. “I’ll tell you what you don’t deserve, Deet,” she finally manages. The images from Deet’s visions, of that terrible, lonely path, flash again-- except this time, they falter. It almost feels like that life itself is crumbling as she speaks, like every moment she spends considering another direction chips away at it, until there is nothing left. Naia swallows her doubt, and presses on. “You don’t deserve what the world would make of you, if we follow the Prophecy. You don’t deserve to have those monsters drag you away from your childling, to be strapped into that chair, and--” Naia has to break off, as the anger burns within her, and the Darkening pulses and hums. It takes her a moment to figure for composure, and in that time, Deet’s eyes go impossibly wide-- fear flickers for a moment, and then settles, as Deet seems to realize that Naia’s anger isn’t directed at her, not anymore. Naia tries again. “You made some mistakes, Deet. Some really big mistakes, and you have work to do if you want to make them right. But you don’t deserve any of that, and it’s not going to happen. Not to you, not to anyone. Never again.”

Deet takes a deep, steadying breath and asks, “Are you saying--?”

“I’m saying,” Naia answers, her voice strong, her eyes locked on Deet's. She sees hope flickering there, and feels it stirring in her own chest. “That if we try, and we fail, you and I are going to have another hard talk.”

“Well,” Deet says, dropping Naia’s hands. She smooths a wrinkle in her skirt, and picks at a thread in her sleeve at her sleeve. “If we fail, I think I’ll turn into a big angry blob of Darkening, so. Do your worst, I suppose.”

Naia can’t help it-- a laugh bubbles out of her chest, real and ragged. It’s a release of emotion more than anything, and the wild, jarring realization that she really is going to do this, she’s going to risk the entire world on a longshot. It’s foolish and foolhardy and yet she’s not sure how to live with herself if she does anything else, considering the things she’s seen tonight. It would have been wrong, to make this decision out of anger. She’d much rather make it out of love, for the people who matter most.

Deet laughs too, though it’s a nervous sound, and just as quickly it warbles and shifts. The tears spill first, and then her shoulders heave with sobs as they tear from her chest. Naia’s not sure if it’s a reaction to this moment, or to the lifetime of moments that Deet witnessed in her visions tonight. She wonders if it’s relief that Deet’s feeling, or sorrow, or fear, or some other emotion that Naia can’t quite put into words, or all of that all at once.

Whatever it is, Deet is hurting-- not in a way that Naia’s used to healing, but standing here and just watching her friend break down leaves her with a helpless, squirming anxiety that she hates. Before she can talk herself out of it, Naia steps forward and wraps her arms around Deet, pulling her into a tight embrace. Gurjin would be better for this, she thinks absently, and tries to put as much of that crushing, all encompassing love as she can muster into the gesture-- and then just as quickly, she steps back, holding Deet at arm’s length. Deet’s shocked into silence, but she’s also stopped crying, which was the point of the whole thing, so Naia counts it as a win.

“I’m still upset about your lying,” Naia feels compelled to say, and Deet nods automatically. “And there’s more we need to about, later. But you looked like you needed that, and anyway,” she nods to the empty beach, and the Onica’s ship resting on the horizon. “There weren’t any witnesses.”

Deet lets out a little hiccupping laugh, and then nods. She hastily wipes away her tears before speaking again. “Thank you, Naia.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Naia sighs, and drops her hands from Deet’s, and then studies the ship again. The sails are full, and she thinks it’s getting closer, like Onica’s bringing it into shore. It’s almost time for them to leave this place. “Thank me after we win.”

“Alright,” Deet agrees. She hesitates a moment longer, and follows Naia’s gaze to the approaching ship. “Do you think the others will listen?”

Naia thinks back to the vote, the morning Deet showed her-- this morning, she realizes, as she notices the barest hints of light on the horizon. Soon, the first sun will rise, and the group will make their decision. Naia’s at peace with the choice that she’s made. “It’s just Rian and Kylan left, isn’t it? We’ll get them there, don’t worry.” 

She pauses, and then thinks of something else that Deet showed her, that she’d caught the barest glimpse of-- a vision within a vision. Kylan’s father, talking to his brother Ordon, shortly before leaving his clan for good. Naia had only met Rian’s father once, but the resemblance in the vision was unmistakable-- to the Ordon she met, to Rian, even to Jen, who looked so much like his father and grandfather-- though Kylan, it seems, certainly took after his Spriton mother. Naia frowns, and asks, “Do they know?”

“That they’re cousins?” Deet frowns, and worries at the stained bandage around her hand, while the waves lap at her feet. “I’m sure it would have come up by now, if they did. Neither of them has any other family left.” She pauses again, nodding to herself. “We should tell them.”

“Eh, let’s save it for tomorrow,” Naia says, as another wave crashes into the shore, washing away the lines the Deet traced in the sand. “Kylan’s already had enough bad news for one day.”

“Naia!” Deet admonishes, with a sputtering sound that’s almost a real laugh. Almost. Naia can’t help the small smile that creeps across her own face, in spite of everything that’s happened tonight, in spite of the terrible truths and all the weight on her shoulders.

“I stand by it,” Naia says, with a smirk. There’s something lighter about her, too. Her feelings might still be hurt, and it might be some time yet before she’s ready to move on from that, but she feels good. This feels like progress. It feels like a chance. They’re going to try, and Naia has faith that they’re going to get it right.

-+-

“Four hours,” Gurjin repeats, with his face buried in his hands, shaking his head slowly. He’d tried to force his way past them and out of the cabin twice already, only to waver and stumble. Rian had stopped him both times, planting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back to sit, and Gurjin hasn’t tried a third time-- yet. Brea has a sneaking suspicion that he’s only biding his time, even with a heavy dose of moonberry slowing him down. “She’s been gone for four hours, and none of you did anything about it?”

“Well, what were we supposed to do?” Rian shoots back. He’s still hovering near Gurjin, in case he makes another break for it. He motions to Kylan, who’s at Gurjin’s side plying him with water, and adds, “It’s not like either of us could have stopped her.”

“That’s fair,” Gurjin concedes. He scrubs at his face again, and then blinks up at the rest of them. He still looks a little disoriented, and Brea wonders how long it will take for it to wear off. She’d like to know exactly how much Onica gave him-- enough to knock someone like Gurjin out for hours, and leave him dealing with effects long after the fact. She’s already scribbled down a few observations, but she’ll have to ask Onica about the dosage--

“This is Naia we’re talking about,” Kylan reminds them all, jolting Brea out of her calculations. Neech is still perched on his shoulder, tugging at one of his braids playfully. Kylan winces, but doesn’t try to shoo him off. “She’ll be alright.”

“No, she won’t,” Gurjin answers flatly, his eyes flashing in the candlelight as he stares Kylan down. “She’s dying.”

The grief on Gurjin’s face is echoed on Kylan’s, and he ducks his head-- even Rian winces and turns away. Their reactions tells Brea everything she needs to know about where they stand, and what path they plan to take moving forward. She glances between all three boys, clears her throat, and chimes in, “Well, not today.”

Rian shoots her a warning glare, but Gurjin only scrubs his hands over his face and scowls. “Thank you for that reminder, Brea. That’s very helpful.”

“Isn’t it?” Brea challenges, hating the way her voice cracks and breaks. Onica was right, she really shouldn’t be talking, but that’s an impossible task, at least for her. “If we know when it’s happening, then we also know when it’s not happening.”

Kylan hums thoughtfully, Rian frowns, and Gurjin just stares at her. He opens his mouth to speak, but then--

--there’s a loud thump from out on the deck, followed by several voices. If Brea had to guess, she’d say it was the sound of two Gelfling coming in for a landing. Gurjin lurches to his feet, this time faster than Rian can stop him. He’s unsteady and wobbling, but he’s the first to the door all the same, staggering outside with the others right on his heels.

-+-

Kylan’s eyes fall on Naia first, already moving with purpose towards the cabin. The second he sees her, Neech launches himself from Kylan’s shoulders. He digs in his claws one last time as he takes off, gliding into Naia’s arms with a chorus of cheerful trills. Kylan finds Deet next-- she’s giving their group a wide berth as she hurries up to the helm, where Onica and Tavra are waiting. Brea heads for the helm as well, and Hup scrambles down from the mast-- he throws his arms around Deet’s waist, and she returns the embrace. Kylan turns his attention back to the twins, satisfied that Deet’s in good hands.

Gurjin’s still not quite steady on his feet, but he stumbles his way over to Naia, meeting her in the middle of the deck. He reaches out, cupping her face in both of his hands, his eyes searching hers. Neech has clambered up to Naia’s shoulder, purring as he presses in close, happy to be reunited at last, and not paying any mind to Gurjin as he checks his sister over.

“Are you hurt?” Gurjin demands, and Kylan feels a jolt of alarm as he notices the blood down Naia’s front, though her eyes and face are clear, and her scar from the Darkening doesn’t look any worse than it was when she left. His own head throbs with remembered pain, as he thinks of what he glimpsed in Deet’s terrible vision, barely more than a day ago. What did Naia see, he wonders? What did Deet show her? Gurjin’s still holding on to Naia, still in a panic, as he asks, “What happened?”

Naia allows his touch for a few seconds, before narrowing her eyes and shrugging out of his grip. She shoves him roughly in his uninjured shoulder, and practically hisses, “You.” She tears her eyes away from Gurjin, only to level Rian with a glare as he joins them, and says, “And you. Both of you. Not you,” she adds, with a glance at Kylan, who can only nod, completely bewildered. She swivels back to Gurjin and Rian, and continues, “I leave the two of you alone for a second and look what you get yourselves into--”

“--Naia,” Gurjin cuts in, not bothering to mask his panic. He reaches for Naia again, and this time manages to grip her shoulder before she shakes him off. “You’re not making any sense. What’s going on?”

“You’re about to find out,” she tells him, just as Deet breaks away from Onica, and hesitantly steps closer to their group. Hup sticks right at her side, unwilling to part from her, and Brea trails just behind them. It’s dark, but in the moonlight Kylan can see the sorrow on Deet's face, and he can hear the soft sounds of her hitching, sniffling breaths.

For a moment, it’s just quiet, except for the creaking of the boat as it rocks in the waves, and the ruffling sails as they flap in the gentle breeze. Kylan feels Gurjin reach out and grab his hand, while Brea steps up on his right. Naia moves backwards, to stand beside Deet, and Rian takes her place at Gurjin’s side. None of them say anything. None of them know what to say.

“Deet,” Kylan calls, torn between holding his ground, holding this line, and reaching for her-- Gurjin’s hand is in his, and he’s angry. He has a right to be angry-- they all do, after Deet lied to them and risked their lives, and the lives of everyone who would ever call Thra home. But, Deet is crying. There are tears down her cheeks and her shoulders are shaking and out of all the things Kylan thinks he can let come to pass, he doesn’t know how to stand here and watch Deet cry. “Deet, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says, sniffing and wiping at her face with her sleeve. Hup reaches up, grabs one of her hands, and holds on tight, so at least she’s not entirely alone in this moment. Naia doesn’t reach for her, but she does hold her ground at Deet’s side. Deet makes another sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and says, “It’s just so good to see you all again.”

“It hasn’t been that long, has it?” Gurjin asks, glancing from Rian to Deet, somewhere between skeptical and confused. “Only a couple of hours.”

“Not for her,” Naia murmurs, and Kylan turns to her, as do the rest of them. Naia takes a breath, and tells them, “Deet has some things to say to you all. You’re going to listen to her, and then we’ll plan our next steps.”

“Is it about what Onica showed us?” Brea asks, from Kylan’s right. Out of them all, she looks almost as uneasy as Deet, as if she’s still well aware of her role in all of this.

“It’s more about what she didn’t show us,” Deet admits. She holds one arm across her chest, and takes a breath. Hup squeezes her hand, and she glances down and gives him the ghost of a smile, but it seems to bolster her resolve all the same. She continues, “I can’t show you all of it, not without hurting you.” Kylan’s eyes flick once more to the blood on Naia’s shirt, and his mind returns to the streets of Ha’Rar. “But there’s some things that Onica’s seen in her far-dreaming that she hasn’t shown us yet. After that, I’ll fill in the gaps, as best I can.”

“Why now?” Rian asks, breaking his silence. Out of them all, he should have gone to Deet’s side, but he hasn’t-- if anything, Kylan thinks he’s keeping the greatest distance, half a step behind Gurjin. His expression is closed off, and the look in his eyes is distant, reserved. He was hurt by Deet’s deception, more than he’s letting on. Kylan hopes there’s a path forward for them, in spite of everything.

Deet meets Rian’s gaze, and her expression falls even further before she steadies herself again. “Because I can’t go back and tell you sooner,” she says, and Rian nods, his lips still pressed into a thin line, his eyes still hard. Deet turns from him, looking at each of them in turn. “I was wrong to keep the truth from you. You're my friends, and I love you all. Please let me try to make this right.”

“We’ll hear you out,” Kylan promises. He’s not sure that it will change anything, not compared with the fate of the whole world-- but he’s already feeling that resolve waver as he looks at Naia, and at the first sun rising in the distance, bringing her death even closer. It was different, when she seemed so certain herself-- but to see her here, at Deet’s side, after everything-- doubt creeps in to Kylan’s chest, taking root in its old familiar places. “Whatever you have to say, the least we can do is listen.”

“Thank you,” Deet breathes, before looking back to Rian, and holding his gaze. “Before that though, Rian-- we need to talk. Alone.” 

All their eyes shift again, this time falling on Rian, whose own eyes have gone wide. “Alright,” he manages, a moment later. His stance relaxes, and he motions towards the cabin. “Lead the way.” 

On any other night, Kylan knows Rian would have taken Deet’s hand-- but this isn’t any other night, and so instead he keeps a few paces behind, his expression still stony as he follows Deet inside. As soon as the door closes behind him, Gurjin lets out a wondering noise, and sways once on his feet-- Kylan tightens his grip, and Naia’s eyes narrow in alarm.

“I’m fine” he says, waving them off, even as he drops to sit on one crates lashed down to the deck. He waves towards the closed cabin door and asks, “What was all that about?”

Naia tilts Gurjin’s chin up, pressing two fingers to his pulse point, and then looking into his eyes. “They’re destined to make a magic baby that saves the world.”

“Oh,” Gurjin says, as Naia finishes her assessment, and lets her hand linger on Gurjin’s shoulder for just a moment before pulling her hand away. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“If only I was,” Naia drawls. Kylan sees the vision he glimpsed again, and the secret he’s kept from the others, every time he told the story-- Deet and her dark haired childling. He thinks of the last two lights in Onica’s vision, and a missing puzzle piece slots into place. Of course.  

“Are they--?” Gurjin frowns, casting a glance at the closed cabin door. “Are they doing that now, or--?” 

“Alright,” Brea says, looking absolutely scandalized, already putting distance between herself and the cabin. “I’m going to go see if Onica needs any help. Why don’t you all let me know when they’re...done?” She doesn’t wait for a response, her face wrinkled up as she hurries back up towards the helm with Hup on her heels. 

“Let’s just save the questions until Deet gets back,” Naia suggests, dropping down to sit beside her brother. She pats the space beside her on the crate, and Kylan only hesitates a moment before taking a seat. “Believe me, she’s got a lot to show you, and you’re not going to like any of it.”

“How exciting,” Gurjin deadpans. Naia snorts out a laugh, and leans her head against his shoulder, and takes Kylan’s hand. Guilt twists in his gut as he thinks of the choice that lies before him, the choice he thinks he’s already made. For now, though, he pushes those thoughts aside, content to lapse into comfortable silence with the twins, and wait. 

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-FOUR

-+-

“Rian?” Deet asks, in the silence that falls in the wake of her secret. Her voice is soft, but he can hear the hesitation creeping in, the longer he is quiet. She doesn’t move any closer, keeping to her seat in Onica’s nest of pillows, while Rian lingers near the hearth, staring into the dying flames. He’s grateful that she’s keeping her distance. It’s hard enough to look at her, in light of everything that’s happened tonight.  “Are you alright?”

He considers her question, and realizes he has no idea how to answer. She hadn’t shown him anything, hadn’t shared any visions or memories, but she’d told him plenty of the future, and what was to come. Who was to come. The Gelfling from the Prophecy, the one she was willing to burn down the whole world to protect. Her childling. Their childling. 

It’s hard to look at her, but Rian finds it’s even harder not to. It’s hard not to imagine the life he’s been picturing for them both, a story he’s been writing in his head since that first kiss under the stars, since the morning she told him three. He still wants that, even after the lies. He still wants it, even though he knows he has to give it up, in order for the rest of the world to live. It’s the wanting, that makes it hurt, that makes it almost unbearable-- but he can take it, if that’s what is required of him, if that’s the sacrifice he has to make to serve a greater good, a greater purpose.

“Am I alright?” Rian finally manages. He presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, only to drop his hands and shake his head. “How am I supposed to be alright, Deet? First I find out that you’ve been lying all along, and that you would have let us end the world? That I almost doomed everyone I have left to die in that Castle? And now you tell me--” He breaks off and takes a breath to steady himself, to shake his head and wonder when, exactly, his life got so complicated. A few thousand trine past, he supposes, when the SkekSis and Mystics first set foot on this world. “Now you tell me there’s a baby wrapped up in this mess?”

“Jen,” Deet says, and Rian runs his fingers through his hair, just to have something to do with his hands as his heart constricts. Seems fitting, he supposes, that this childling shares a name with a fabled Stonewood hero. A heavy legacy, a heavy burden, on someone who hasn’t even been born yet. “His name is Jen. Or, it’s going to be.”

“Right.” Rian drops his hands, and drums his fingertips against the brick hearth. He thinks of the last time he and Deet were together, that night outside the Orrery. Not much time has passed since then-- but there were many long, quiet nights in the Valley, just the two of them. They’d always taken precautions, and besides, Deet’s visions often showed her things many trine from now. There’s no reason for him to think that this is happening now. Still, he can’t help but wonder, and he can’t help but doubt. “Deet, when is this going to--” He stops, and then looks down at Deet, really looks at her for the first time since this all fell apart, and just asks, “Are you pregnant?”

“No,” Deet answers quickly-- too quickly? Rian’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything, at the moment. He’s not sure which is worse-- their childling dying in the Castle along with the rest of them, or never existing at all. A light blinking out, or a light that never had the chance to shine. Either way, he’s not sure it’s right, bringing a childling into a world that’s ending. He’s not sure if he believes her.

“Would you tell me if you were?” he asks. Hurt flashes in Deet’s eyes at the question, and guilt twists in his gut. Gurjin would call it hard talk. To Rian, it tastes like an accusation. He can't take it back though, can’t retract the wavering doubt he showed when he didn’t defend her from Naia earlier this evening, and again when he let her fly away, and again just a bit ago, when he held his ground instead of reaching for her the moment she returned to the ship. He’s not sure he wants to take it back, not sure why she shouldn’t hurt, the way she hurt him. He thinks he’s angry for more than just the lies-- he’s angry that she let him hope for this perfect life, when she should have realized it wasn’t something they could have. “Or would it just be another secret?” 

Silence steals over the room. Rian listens to the creaking of the ship, to the ever-present sound of waves lapping against the hull, to the quiet voices of their friends outside. He loves Deet, and he hates this darkness between them. He thinks the lies would be easier to stomach, if he didn’t love her with every piece of his heart. The betrayal hurts because he loves her, because he leans on her, and now that foundation is shaken-- and here he is, shaking it even further, lashing out, causing her pain. He hates himself for it, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he finally sighs. Is it still a loss, he wonders, if it was never his to begin with? If his only option was to give it all up? “It just makes what we have to do worse. I don’t even--” he breaks off, regretting the words before he says them, but saying them anyway. “I don’t even know why you told me, Deet. If you were trying to hurt me, then-- then I guess we’re even now.”

Deet sits quietly, and seems to stew over his words, warring emotions flickering in her dark eyes. It’s a long moment before she lets out her breath, standing and smoothing out her skirt . “I just thought you should hear it from me,” she finally tells him, and Rian nods absently. He’s tired, worn out from his own rage and the sorrow clawing at his chest. Deet’s wringing her hands, her eyes darting to the door, clearly desperate to leave. He wishes she would go. He wishes he wanted her to stay. “I wanted to tell you before Onica shows us, I mean. You’ll know, as soon as you see him,” she adds, risking a glance up at him. “He looks just like you.”

The guilt twists again, a sharp, sick feeling, and it’s too much. He can’t stand it, can’t stand to see her hurting, can’t stand to be the one that’s hurting her. “Deet--”

“--You never met him,” she cuts in, and he snaps his mouth shut, shocked once more into silence. “In that other life. You died before he was born. You left us.” Something changes in her eyes, something sparks and shifts, something she was hiding before. Rian realizes, with a sudden jolt, that he’s not the only one who’s angry. Deet holds his gaze, fury and grief both burning in her eyes, and tells him, “I hope you get to meet him in this one.”

Just like before, Deet turns for the door without another word, hastily wiping away tears as she goes-- and just like before, Rian makes no move to stop her. 

-+-

“What did he take?” Naia asks, keeping a careful eye on her brother as he blinks long and slow, half-dozing even though he’s sitting upright on a crate. Every few seconds he’ll shake his head and jerk awake, only to flag a moment later, docile and drowsy. Neech has abandoned Naia to curl up in Gurjin’s lap, and every time he stirs, the muski lets out a little trill of annoyance. The sight would make her smile, except it doesn’t sit right, seeing her brother in this state-- it reminds her too much of the way he looked after his imprisonment. Just the thought is enough to get her angry, and she feels the Darkening pulse beneath her skin-- but she doesn’t have room for that, not now. Right now she needs to focus on moving this group, and their mission, forward, before what happened to her brother can happen to anyone else.

“Moonberry,” Kylan offers, and Naia swivels to face him, eyes wide. “And take might be...putting it lightly.”

“I see.” Naia can put the pieces together easily enough. She lets her eyes wander, settling on the rest of their companions, gathered up at the bow of the ship. Onica is tracing symbols on the deck with chalk, and Brea is scribbling down notes in her journal with Tavra on her shoulder, but Hup catches her gaze, and starts moving towards them. “Do we trust her?” she asks Kylan, not taking her eyes off Onica as she works. She was already on the fence about the sooth-sayer, to be honest. She could have given a lot more information up front than she did, instead of putting on her lightshow. Then again, they didn’t ask for more than that, and she felt Onica’s hand guiding her this evening, ensuring she had the clarity she needed to make a decision that would shape the course of the world-- a decision that Naia knows, in her heart, that she had to make for herself.

“Do we have a choice?” Kylan asks, and there’s a bitterness to his voice that she’s not used to, not from him. 

It wasn’t wrong, deciding not to risk the whole world on such narrow odds. But none of them did it for the right reasons. Naia was blinded by her own anger. Rian was determined to be a martyr. And Kylan has only ever put himself last. Three dissenters, with the guilt of a world on their shoulders, and an impossible choice at their feet. Naia knows, with absolute certainty, that once they know the truth as she knows it, they’ll make the same choice she’s making now.

Naia turns to him then, studies him carefully, and says, “There’s always a choice, Kylan." She thinks of the choice Kylan is weighing, the vote he’ll cast at sunrise, if left to his own devices. She doesn’t blame him for what he’s chosen-- she can’t, because just a little while ago, she was ready to make the same decision. She squeezes his hand, and holds his gaze, and says, “And one of these days, we’re going to teach you how to choose yourself.”

Kylan takes a breath, and lets it out. “Naia--”

It’s just her name, but he says it like an apology, like a confession. Naia squeezes his hand, and shakes her head once. No point talking about it now, not until they’ve heard what Onica and Deet have to say-- and anyway, she’s not sure she can bear to hear all the reasons he thinks he doesn’t matter. Not tonight. Instead, she turns towards Hup as he approaches, nods to the group up on the bow, and asks, “What’s she drawing?”

Hup considers, seeming to search for the word. “Heavy?” he finally tries, and then he points to a length of rope, and mimes throwing something over the edge of the ship.

“Anchor?” Kylan guesses, and Hup nods emphatically. “For her ritual? Or for--?”

The cabin door opens before Kylan can finish his sentence, and Deet comes rushing out. Naia catches her scrubbing at her eyes, and it instantly gets her hackles up. Maybe it’s the guilt humming in the back of her mind as she remembers those visions, and how efficiently her last words to Deet on that path destroyed her. Naia’s seen it now, witnessed how her rage and anger continued to grow long after her death, wreaking havoc not only on her friends and family, but on the world around her in the shape of the Darkening. She’s not angry at herself for something she hasn’t done yet-- something she is not going to do, now that she knows better. And she’s not angry at Rian for things he hasn’t done, no matter how deeply they hurt all the people she loves best. She thinks of them anyway, some of the worst moments of that other life-- Deet, lost in grief and rage and loneliness. Gurjin, with a blade in his chest and relief in his eyes. Kylan, walking into the Castle with no intention of walking back out. All of it, because of Rian, and the mistakes they cannot allow him to make, not again. He’ll do better this time, Naia thinks, as he slips out of the cabin a moment after Deet, his expression cold and closed off. She’s going to make sure of it. 

-+-

Once more they gather in a tight circle-- this time, on the deck of the ship, rather than the cozy interior of the cabin. Brea can hardly believe it’s only been a few hours since they first sat down with Onica. The time since has seemed to ooze and crawl, stretching out the moments between-- a day ago, they were still in Ha’Rar. A day ago she was dying. Her mind may have forgotten, preoccupied with fates and futures, but her body certainty hasn’t. She feels run down and ragged, even though she slept for most of the day, and on and off all evening. She can feel sleep tugging at her again, feels the dull throb of her wounded throat, but this is too important. Sleep will just have to wait.

The atmosphere has shifted, cold and tense and apprehensive, rather than the anxious curiosity they all felt earlier tonight. Their group has shifted, too-- Brea can’t help but notice Rian taking a seat directly across from Deet, rather than at her side. Whatever they were up to in Onica’s cabin doesn’t seem to have changed much, or softened Rian’s icy demeanor for the girl that he loves. Brea wishes Deet had taken her advice and told the truth when she had the chance-- but then again, maybe that just would have brought them to this breaking point sooner. There’s really no way to know, and anyway, they can’t change the past. All that matters now is trying to shape the future.

If Rian is cold, Naia is burning, her eyes narrowed with disdain as she stares him down. Brea’s not sure if Naia’s only angry at Rian’s dismissal and disregard for Deet, or if she’s fueled by something she saw in those visions. Either way, Naia shoots one last glare in Rian’s direction before taking a seat on Deet’s right, and nodding at Kylan to sit on Deet’s left, the two of them bracketing her. Gurjin’s still a bit unsteady, dropping gracelessly to sit between his sister and Rian, putting a much-needed buffer between them. Brea takes the only open spot left, between Rian and Onica, who is once more at the head of the circle, with Tavra perched on her shoulder. Hup presses in closer than he did last time, hovering protectively over Deet’s shoulder, and eyeing Rian just as warily as Naia is. Brea’s heart drops to see the rifts that have formed between them all, growing deeper and deeper.

As fractured and fearful as they are, the seven of them link hands without hesitation. The ocean breeze whispers by, and for just a moment Brea swears the moons and stars shine a little brighter-- and then they blink, like a million watchful eyes, and then they’re gone, and she is lost in darkness.

There are no bonds this time, no tethers holding her to Thra or to her friends, and fear creeps into her heart. She’s not afraid of the darkness, she’s afraid of how easily those bonds were broken, she’s afraid they might never be mended. Still, she’s not quite alone in this space-- there are voices, snippets of conversation and emotions, of half-remembered moments that flicker on the fringes of her mind. None of it settles or sticks, there’s nothing she can make any sense of, no matter how hard she tries. 

She has no idea how long she’s in the darkness, buffeted by memory and song, before she realizes that it isn’t darkness at all, but a heavy fog. The clouds are thick and cloying, and so dense she could reach out and grab them by the handfuls. She tries, but as soon as she realizes this, as soon as she recognizes and names it, the fog lifts, and she sees--

--she sees a girl. A childling, no older than a trine, with wispy blonde hair, and a face so familiar that something in Brea’s chest aches at the sight of her. This is the girl from Onica’s far-dreaming, the one Tavra told her about. This is Seladon’s daughter-- Brea is sure of it, as sure as she’s ever been of anything. She sees her sister in the shape of the childling’s lips, in the furrow of her brow as she presses chubby hands to smooth glass, confused and delighted by her own reflection in a round, polished mirror. 

There is movement behind the girl-- great swooping shapes swing past, accompanied by the sound of whirring clockwork. The Orrery, Brea thinks, and in an instant her surroundings snap into place. She sees the high, domed ceiling, the massive models of the suns and outer worlds. It is as beautiful and miraculous in this vision as it was when Brea first saw it. It is sadder, somehow, because now she looks at it and only sees all the worlds she’ll never understand, if they can’t find a way to save this one. She looks up and hears the clicking and ticking of the miniature cosmos, and then she hears her own voice, echoing through the vision.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, and Brea looks down from the Orrery to the two Gelfling standing at its base, only a few feet away from the childling, who is still distracted by the mirrors. She sees herself, drawn up to her full height, and she sees Rian. She’s not sure how much time will pass between the moment she’s glimpsing and the one she’s living now, but Rian looks infinitely older, holding Brea’s gaze as she stares him down. “She’s about to have your baby, Rian, how could you leave her like that?”

“How could I leave her?” Rian repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. “Brea, how could I stay ? How could I look at her every day and know I was too much of a coward to fight for her?” Hollow heartbreak flashes in his eyes, and she can feel his regret even here, even now. “How could I look my childling in the eyes and tell them that I’m willing to let their mother die?” In the vision, Brea blanches, grief flashing in her eyes as she glances to the girl, still wrapped up in her play. Rian reaches for her hand, and holds it tight as they both go still, lost in a dreamfast that the vision doesn’t show her. When it ends, Rian keeps a firm hold on Brea’s hand and says, “If there’s a way to live with this, Brea, then tell me. Please. Because I don’t know how to do it.” 

Brea watches her own face shift, watches the emotions flicker through in rapid succession as she makes the choice she always wanted to make-- she is heartbroken for the little girl her sister left behind, she is guilt-stricken by the burden these children will inherit, she is too stubborn not to give her carefully crafted plan a chance, now that she has one. She turns to Rian and--

--and the vision flickers and shifts. Brea and Rian fade, the Orrery and the five round mirrors fade. Only the girl stays, except she’s a little older now-- maybe three, if Brea had to guess. Her happy curiosity is gone, replaced with absolute terror as she watches the monsters scuttling and clicking through the woods. One of them is dragging another Gelfling away, and Brea sees a silent scream etched onto her own face. The girl reaches for her, and--

--and now she is safe and warm, and a Podling woman cares for her, nurtures her, mothers her. The scenes change almost too fast for even Brea’s quick mind to keep up, as the girl ages before her very eyes. She is seven, and she’s hiding again, but this time she is not afraid-- she is focused, with one hand on a bola and her eyes on a dark, swooping shape. She is fifteen, kicking up her heels and dancing in the middle of a tavern, light and free. She is nineteen, and she is curious once more, reaching out a hand to the first Gelfling she’s seen since she was a childling. He is young, like her, and sprawled in the mud. He has Rian’s face, Brea thinks, and his eyes, but there’s something in his expression that is unmistakably Deet's.  When he reaches up for the girl, he looks at her with the same wonder that Deet views the world with, like every new sight is the most marvelous thing she’s ever seen, and--

Rian drops her hand like he’s been burned, and the dreamfast shivers and shatters. Brea finds herself back on the deck of the ship, buffeted by the ocean waves with her friends all around her, and the faces of the last two Gelfling burned into her memory. 

“Sorry,” Rian manages a moment later, running his hands through his hair. Not much time passed while they were under, there’s still just the faintest bit of light in the sky. The first sun’s rise is still a while off, by her count-- for now, they are still lit by the moons and the stars. No one says anything-- Brea doesn’t know what to say, and looking into her friends’ eyes shows her they are feeling just the same-- even Hup, who can’t share in their dreamfast, is watching them all with concern.

“We can return, if you’re ready,” Onica says smoothly, before the shock and grief in Rian’s eyes can settle into words. “I’m sure you know who those Gelfling were. I can show you their path, and where it leads.”

“No.” Deet shakes her head. She’s speaking to Onica, but her eyes are locked on Rian. There’s something tired in her tone, something old and resigned. “That doesn’t matter. It’s not going to change anything.”

Naia takes a sharp breath, and then lets it out slowly. When she speaks, her voice is low and venomous, and just like Deet, her eyes are locked on Rian. “You told her he doesn’t matter?”

“Naia, please,” Deet says, staring once more at the symbols on the deck. “There’s no use arguing with him right now. You know what he needs to see-- what they all need to see.”

Rian’s eyes go a little wider at her words, and his face goes a little paler, and Brea’s curiosity piques. Naia said they weren’t going to like anything from this possible future-- Brea’s stomach twists at the thought of her own end, snatched up by the Garthim in the dark of the night. She wonders what fates are in store for the rest of them. She supposes she’s about to find out.

“That’s fine,” Naia says, curling her lip as she stares Rian down. Up on her shoulder, Neech lets out a disdainful little chirp, followed by a rumbling growl. “I can wait.” She links hands once more with Deet and her brother. Rian bristles, but before he can argue Brea grabs for his hand, and on his other side, Gurjin does the same. As soon as they’re all connected again, the stars blink out once more, and they all plummet into darkness.

-+-

It should be an easy decision, Kylan thinks to himself, as they all float in the ethereal darkness of the dreamspace. For a while, time just drifts and pools, and he finds himself with a quiet moment to think, to ponder, to decide.

It shouldn’t be a decision at all-- this shouldn’t be a question, but a calculation. Brea’s plan is unlikely to succeed, and that failure looks like the whole world ending. Submitting to the Prophecy ensures Thra’s survival, and only the Gelfling have to pay the price. It’s a steep price, to be sure-- and it felt a little steeper, when he looked Naia in the eyes and let himself wonder how the world would look without her in it. It feels steeper still, now that he knows the faces of those last two Gelfling. He can help but wonder-- how long were they alone? How much did they see?

He thinks about Deet, and the lies she told, and all that she was willing to do to make her ideas into a reality. Who was she trying to protect? The rest of them, from a noble self-sacrifice? All the little lights of the Gelfling race? Or was it only for her son? Was she afraid of a world where he never came to be? Or was she afraid of the world they might leave to him? Even if that’s all it was, Kylan still doesn’t blame her. He can’t help but think of his own mother, who died not knowing if she’d kept him safe, or if the Hunter would claim him, too. What they’re asking Deet to leave her childling to is worse, the thinks-- a whole world of monsters, and a Prophecy meant just to eat everyone up. 

Except-- except how many other children will suffer, if they get this wrong, and ruin everything in their recklessness? How many people will fall, praying with their last breath that they’ve done enough to save the ones they love-- only to have it all be for naught, as the world chokes and dies in the Darkening’s grip? Kylan’s choking too, wracked with guilt and doubt and fear as he grapples with the weight of it all.

The thing is-- the thing is he wants to try. He wants to fight, the desire burns in his chest like an ember that he can’t quite extinguish. It’s not easy for him to want things for himself. It doesn’t come naturally to him. He’s been practicing-- he wants to want, he wants to reach for things and claim them as his own-- but still, it’s so much easier to want better for someone else. He wants better for those last two Gelfling-- Deet’s son, and a girl that reminded him of Brea. Just the thought of them is almost enough to shatter his resolve-- after all, he knows what it’s like to be alone. He knows what it’s like to see. It feels selfish, to risk the whole world for a slim chance to save it-- but at the same time, it’s not as if he’s doing this for himself. Maybe it’s alright to take the risk, he thinks, because he’s doing it for someone else. Maybe that would make it alright.

There’s a lurch, like a cord tied around his middle pulled taut, as Kylan drops into Onica’s vision. He finds himself standing on the southern edge of the Dark Woods. He can see the fading light of the sunset, he can hear creatures chattering in the trees and the wind rustling the branches overhead. He can see Naia’s body, cold and still, lying quietly in a shallow grave. He can see something else, an outline flickering on the edge of his vision, on the edge of the woods. He can feel raindrops, fat and heavy as they land on his shoulders. That’s strange, he thinks to himself as he peers up. He could have sworn the sky was clear.

There’s a peal of thunder, so loud it rattles Kylan’s very bones. He realizes that his feet aren’t sinking into soft earth, and instead are steady and solid on the deck of a ship-- or at least, as steady as they can be as the boat careens through the waves. The rain is pelting him now, it feels sharp enough to cut, hits hard enough to bruise. A storm rages overhead, black clouds crackling with bolts of sick purple energy as the Darkening grows and swells. They’re sailing into the storm-- Onica’s sailing into the storm. Kylan can see her now, her feet planted, her body braced as she clings to the rigging. There’s something manic in her eyes and a spider on her shoulder as she drives the ship forward, headlong into a wave taller than the mast. In the moment before the wave crests and crashes, Kylan sees that outline again-- the silhouette is unmistakably Gelfling, with its face hidden in shadow, watching him watch Onica. Kylan feels his stomach twist, feels a chill run down his spine.

He takes a step to try and get closer, to try and understand, only to find himself on another ship, on another night, in another storm. Onica is gone, and Tavra, and the Darkening. Instead, Kylan finds himself shoulder to shoulder with Amri, his hair loose in the wind. He sees something reflected in the Grottan’s wide, black eyes-- something rising up out of the waves. For one wild moment Kylan thinks it's another ship, and then he recognizes it as a beast-- something monstrous, something ancient and terrible and sad. It is horrifying to behold, but Amri doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t falter. He tightens his grip on a coil of rope and holds his ground. From the corner of his eye, Kylan catches sight of that shadow-Gelfling flanking Amri on his other side, just out of view. He can hear it breathing, rattling gasps that sound harsh, that sound painful and labored. 

Whatever it is, Kylan realizes, tracking the Gelfling shape from the corner of his eye, even as the monster bears down on the ship-- it’s following him. He sees it again in the next scene, lurking in the corner of his vision as he sinks into another memory. Its shoulders are slumped, and its hands-- there’s something wrong with its hands, they're--

Kylan doesn’t have time to worry about it, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of coexisting, of being and unbeing. He is in the Great Smerth with Gurjin, and he is in the Scientist’s laboratory all alone. He feels Gurjin’s kiss just as surely as he feels shackles on his wrists, feels his heart breaking with the weight of an impossible goodbye, just as he feels his very soul scraped and hollowed out. He hears a chorus of howls, as Garthim advance on the Great Smerth. In the lab, staring into the reflection of the Crystal, he hears silence, and in that silence, he finally sees the shadow that’s been flitting through the memories, just the same as him. It’s standing before him now, between him and the Crystal reflector, but it doesn’t stop the pain, and it doesn’t stop the pulling. He realizes, in a flash of sudden clarity, that this creature, this entity, is not in just one vision, but in all of them, imprinted on every moment of this path that Onica’s laying out for them. He’s not sure why it took him so long to realize that. He’s not sure why it took him so long to recognize Rian.

Kylan flickers and fades, and the vision does, too. He can feel reality pressing in close, rushing up to meet him, like he’s falling from a great height, leaving him just enough time to look at his friend, to look at what’s left of him. His arms are gone below the elbows, and in their place are two blades-- one straight, one slightly curved, both grafted to bone with expert precision. He is undeniably, unmistakably dead, with sallow skin and sunken cheeks. His eyes glow with that dull purple light like the Garthim, a sign of the strange, corrupted magic that keeps him moving around. He locks those eyes on Kylan, shoulders heaving with the effort of just existing. Kylan would run, if he could, except his hands and feet are bound, except he thinks he’s dead, too. He’s hollow, he’s drained. There’s nothing left in him to run. There’s nothing left to be afraid, but he’s afraid all the same, as Rian takes one lurching step forward, and then another, as slack jaw falls open, and he screams--

-+-

“I’m sorry,” Onica says, once the dreamfast has faded, and they’re all of them back on the deck of the ship. Gurjin can’t get the echoes of that scream out of his ears, he can’t stop seeing it, seeing everyone he loves most dead, or dying, or worse. His friends aren’t faring any better-- Rian, Kylan, and Brea all look devastated, struggling to process all that they witnessed. Deet is sunken in on herself, shoulders heavy with grief, and Hup stands at her shoulder, bristling with energy and, but with nowhere for it to go. Naia’s the only one who looks even close to composed, though her teeth are clenched and he can feel the tension pouring off of her. Onica’s voice is calm, quiet, and Gurjin has no idea how she’s managing it, not with all of that rattling around in her head, but she manages it all the same. “That’s all that I’ve seen. Deet will have to show you the rest.”

“There’s more?” Gurjin gasps, his voice hoarse even to his own ears, like it was him who was screaming. Maybe it was. Maybe they all were. He wants to scream now, thinking of Naia in the ground, of Kylan in that chair, of Rian-- of Rian-- 

“It’s going to hurt.” Deet cuts in, before his thoughts can spiral out of control. She sounds like she’s apologizing, like she’s asking for their forgiveness. She said the same thing to them once before, the night they came for her in the dreamspace, and took the Darkening away. The night they traded their futures for her life. Now here they are, at the beginning, at the end. He’s not sure which it is, just yet. He’s afraid to find out. 

“They can handle it,” Naia says, sounding certain and sure, even as she reaches out for Deet’s hand, and for Gurjin’s, and holds on tight. He’s not sure anything can hurt worse than this. “You said it yourself. They have to know. You have to show them, or else it’s all going to happen again.”

Deet takes a sharp breath, and sits up a little straighter. Her expression settles into something steadier, something full of purpose and resolve. Kylan doesn’t respond until Deet grabs his hand and squeezes it hard. He makes a choked off sound, still lost in his grief and confusion, but reaches out for Onica all the same. The circle continues, one by one until the connection is solid once more-- and for the third time tonight, they sink.

-+-

“I wouldn’t,” Rian gasps, as another of Deet’s visions fades, leaving him with a splitting headache, and the warm rush of blood on his face. The pain is nothing compared to what he felt in the vision, what he glimpsed of the future before him. This one started with him strapped down to a table, his voice reduced to broken sobs as the Scientist cut and cut and cut. It ended with him-- or something like him, or what was left of him-- on his feet in the swamp, with a blade buried in Gurjin’s chest. It takes him two more tries to speak again, and when he does, his words are harsh, his voice clipped and broken. “Gurjin, I swear. I would never--”

“I know,” Gurjin tells him, reaching out without hesitation, and pulling Rian into a crushing hug. His pupils are blown wide, and there’s blood trickling down from the corner of his left eye-- the same one he lost in a different vision, another of the horrible images that Deet’s shown them tonight. Through the haze of pain and memory, Rian focuses on Gurjin’s hands as his best friend pulls away, only to hold him at arm's length. “That wasn’t you.”

Deet was right-- her visions do hurt. They do it in short bursts-- it’s the only way they can even survive it, just a few minutes a time. Even those brief and fragmented scenes leave them all battered and bloody. Naia’s sitting them out, since she’s already seen it all, but she stays by their sides-- at the moment, she’s tilting up Kylan’s chin, staring into his eyes and assessing him even as he wipes blood from his face with his sleeve. Brea is sitting sullenly on a crate near the circle, scribbling furiously in her open journal. Naia had put her foot down, and forbidden Brea from participating after the first few visions-- considering her near death in Ha’Rar, the Vapran princess certainly didn't need to lose any more blood. Onica, Tavra, and Hup slipped inside the cabin to put together breakfast and still haven’t returned, and Deet-- Deet just watches them in between, her sorrow and anxiety growing as she lays bare all that she’s held in her mind, these secrets she’s carried all this time.

“It was you,” Naia corrects. Her earlier rage is gone, or at least she’s packed it away-- even Neech has gone quiet, subdued on his perch on her shoulder. Rian thinks Naia’s anger might come back later. He thinks he deserves it, as harsh as he was to Deet. He’d lashed out in hurt and retaliation, angry about her lies without really considering why she lied to them in the first place. This is the price she’s been paying to try and keep them all safe, the true cost of her pact with the Sanctuary Tree? This is the horror her visions bring her? It makes Rian’s stomach twist, it makes him sick, it makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He forces that down, and forces himself to look Naia in the eyes as she tells him, “That was you, Rian. You have to face it. We all have to face it, so we can do better.”

Do better, Rian thinks. He certainly couldn’t have done much worse. He thinks of it all again, everything Deet showed them. He practically handed the Crystal Shard to the SkekSis, walked right into his own awful fate down in the laboratory. They made him into a monster-- the monster that killed Gurjin, sinking a blade into his chest with no hesitation and no remorse. He thinks of Kylan, stepping up to raise the baby that Rian left behind, and sacrificing himself to right Rian’s last mistake. And then he thinks of Deet, who he left alone when she needed him most. Deet, cut down by the Garthim and dragged away from her childling. Deet, strapped into that chair, and-- he can’t bear to think of it, not if it’s her. Just the thought is enough to make him scream, except he thinks he’d never be able to stop once he started.

“That boy. Your son.” Kylan’s voice is rough and ragged too, as he squirms out of Naia’s grip and turns back towards Deet. “He saw the Garthim take you.” Deet’s face falls, and she nods once, her hands clenched into fists. “Will he remember?”

“Yes,” Deet answers, her voice barely more than a whisper on the wind. “He’ll remember all of it.”

Kylan takes a breath, and squares his shoulders. “I will go to the Castle with you,” he says. A jolt rings through Rian at the words, like a dull tone that’s growing louder and louder, a humming building in the back of his mind. “Naia’s right. We have to do better.” 

Deet doesn’t speak, she just launches herself at Kylan, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face to his chest, her shoulders heaving with muffled sobs. Kylan blanches, but winds his arms around her, and holds on tight, the way Rian wishes he could do, right now, if he wasn’t staring up from the bottom of the hole he dug himself. He digs that hole a little deeper as looks at Naia and asks, “What if we fail?”

“Then at least we put up a fight,” Naia tells him. That ferocity that earned her name creeps into her voice. She is as fierce as ever, but Rian doesn’t feel very brave. “Then at least we didn’t make it easy for them. You think the best you can do is keep cutting off pieces of yourself and offering them up to this cause. You’ve shared your pain, you’ve spilled your blood, you’ve lost people that you love, but it’s not enough. You can’t save our people that way, Rian. I’m sorry, but you don’t have enough to give.” It is harsh, and Rian knows it, and surely Naia does, too-- but it’s the truth. He hates it, but it’s true. Naia presses on. “Do you know what you can give our people? You can give them a chance. Because Rian--” Rian doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, as Naia reaches for him, and grips his shoulder tight. “Rian, what if we win?”

His own words ring in his ears again, from Onica’s vision in the Orrery. If there’s a way to live with this, then tell me. It feels like a message, just for him, from a version of himself who made the mistake he’s on the brink making now. It feels selfish, to risk the world when such a clear path to peace lies before them. It feels wrong not to try-- especially knowing what he knows now, knowing all the hurt and pain that lies ahead. It was one thing, just to watch some blinking lights. It was another, to watch the people he loves die, some of them at his own hands, to watch so many brave Gelfling give their lives for a war they never had a chance of winning. 

“We should put it to a vote, Brea suggests, her hands still, her journal lying open in her lap, as she looks between Naia and Rian. “That’s what we did before, isn’t it? We voted?”

“It has to be all of us,” Deet chimes in, untangling herself from Kylan and wiping at her eyes. “All of us, or none at all.”

“Right. All in favor of storming the Castle?” Gurjin drawls, raising a hand. Naia rolls her eyes, but releases Rian’s shoulder and raises her hand, too -- so does Brea, and Kylan, and Deet. Their eyes all turn to Rian, but the only ones that matter to him are Deet’s-- wide and dark, full of hope and hurt all at once. He thinks he understands now, why Deet kept this from them-- he doesn’t agree, but he understands-- she was trying to protect them from this moment, from this choice, from the weight of the world on their shoulders. But it’s not a secret any longer, and Rian’s ready to take that weight for himself, to share that burden with her.

He raises his hand.

The second he does, the second they’ve decided, that low humming that started with Kylan crescendos-- a wailing, piercing hum, a reverberation, like metal on stone. The sound comes from everywhere and nowhere, from within and without him, from land and sea, from Thra itself. And just as quickly as it rises, it fades again. It settles into silence, and Rian can hear the waves, lapping against the hull of the boat, and the seabirds cawing with the rising suns, like nothing happened-- but he knows, somehow, that everything has changed.

“What was that?” Brea demands, already reaching for her journal and her pencil, to record the experience. The rest of them shake their heads, but Deet is smiling, wearing a wide grin that reaches her eyes for the first time since their group faltered and nearly shattered. 

“It’s the Crystal!” she explains, clasping her hands together, her eyes wide and alight. “It’s calling everyone home. It’s a sign.” She rises to her feet, and moves towards the side of the ship. “This is the right path,” she tells them all, holding tight to the rail, and grinning out into the coming dawn. “This is how we win.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-FIVE

-+-

“So,” Gurjin says, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Onica’s cabin, with an empty bowl of porridge and an untouched cup of tea. “We’re back to the mirrors, then?”

The thing about storming castles, Brea thinks, mechanically finishing a breakfast she doesn’t have the appetite for, is that it takes time. It also takes planning, and preparation, and it can’t be done from the middle of the ocean. Unfortunately, they don’t have much time, and they don’t have much to go off of. Deet has a handful of relevant visions, and a promise that it can be done. Brea has a notebook full of calculations that won’t mean a thing, if she can’t get what she needs to make her plan a reality. And they all have a very clear-- and very awful-- picture of what happens to them if they fail. For now, they can only take things one step at a time-- and their next step, it seems, is in Cera-Na. Onica had promised to have them in the Sifan settlement by the afternoon. 

“We saw them, in that first vision.” Rian’s stationed himself closest to the door, and farthest from the group, all eyes turn to him when he speaks. All eyes, Brea realizes, except Deet’s. He nods to Brea, and adds, “There were five-- that’s how many you need, isn’t it?”

Brea nods in agreement, but her mind travels elsewhere-- back to the Orrery, to the little blonde girl smiling at her own reflection. It didn’t make sense for Brea to give Rian the Crystal shard, or her blessing, or her aid. It wasn’t rational-- and yet, in that vision, in that other life, she’d done exactly that. Was it the bonds of sisterhood, compelling her to try and save her niece from the burden of fate? Was it the love and grief she’d seen reflected in her own eyes as she watched the girl at play? Had Rian changed her mind, when he showed her that secret dreamfast? Or had she already known, as some part of her knows now, that she is too curious, and too proud, not to put her theory to the test, if given the opportunity. 

“Who was the girl?” Kylan asks. Clearly, she’s not the only one thinking of the childling-- one of two, spared by fate. One of the last. Brea thinks of her, all alone in the hollow of that tree. She thinks of her dancing.

“She was Seladon’s,” Brea says, wincing at her own voice, still hoarse and raspy. She can feel Naia’s eyes assessing her, but she turns to stare at Deet. “Wasn’t she?”
“She was,” Deet agrees. She has her arms wrapped around one of Onica’s cushions, squeezing it tight to her chest. It’s clear that a weight has been lifted from her shoulders with the group’s decision, but there’s still a nervous energy about her that hasn’t faded. Brea thinks maybe it won’t, not until all of this is said and done-- maybe not even after that. Deet shifts a little, and explains, “They came from the desert. The mirrors, and the girl.”

“The desert?” Gurjin echoes, wincing and stretching his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t start.” Naia’s voice is sharp, and the glare she shoots her brother is withering. “You complained enough the last time.”

“I’m not complaining , it’s just--” Gurjin tugs at the collar of his shirt, and motions to the sealed gills on his neck. “--Is there anywhere else, by chance, that we could find them? I mean, just think about Neech!”

The little muski perks up at the sound of his name, draped across Naia’s shoulders, but Naia’s scowl only deepens. “Don’t bring him into this--”

Gurjin says something else, but Brea doesn’t hear it, tuning out the twins and their squabbling as she considers the desert. It’s a logical next step, and one she might have thought of, if she hadn’t been so focused on her equations. She knows about mirrors, after all, about sand and lightning and glass. If they can track down the Dousan, perhaps they can help. It’s the best lead they have-- the only lead they have, so she supposes they’ll just have to follow it.

Brea’s thoughts wander a little farther than that, recounting what she knows about Deet’s visions. She hadn’t been allowed to see many of them-- a point of frustration, though she understood Naia’s reasoning, and felt the weariness of her body, begging for rest. She’d pieced together the overall picture from the others, but as always, she still has so many questions. Deet hadn’t said anything about Seladon’s daughter, not even her name. Brea knows that right now, Seladon is on a boat much like this one, out to sea just like her. She can’t help but wonder about that other life, and what might have brought Seladon across another sea, one of heat and sand. She wonders what Seladon would have found there.

Another world, another time, Brea supposes, forcing herself to file those questions away for the moment. That other life doesn’t matter now. They cannot allow it to matter, not if they’re going to save their people, and heal their world once and for all. 

-+-

Naia’s not sure what wakes her. The creaking of rope and plank and sail, the constant motion that she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to? A nightmare, a remnant of Deet’s awful visions, already fading as she wakes? Or maybe it’s the burning cold of the Darkening creeping further up her chest, a feeling like icy fingertips brushing against her throat-- a reminder that even though they’ve made this choice, that they’re moving forward, her time is still running out.

For now there isn’t much they could do, except rest, and wait. She’s not actually sure how much time has passed, but it feels like they’re still sailing, and Onica and Tavra are nowhere to be seen. Naia takes that to mean they’re not in Cera-Na just yet. She glances through the curtains at the back window, and guesses it can’t have been more than a few hours since they shared a simple breakfast, and a brief argument about whether or not muskis could survive in the desert, before bedding down for some much needed sleep.

It was Deet’s suggestion for them all to stay together-- whether it was because she was unwilling to go back to her bunk with Rian, or because she didn’t want to let her friends out of sight after feeling their losses so acutely, Naia can’t say for certain. If she had to guess, she’d say it was a bit of both. And so, they’d all made a nest of the assorted cushions and pillows and a few heavy quilts, and settled down to sleep as best as they could.

Just a few hours ago, Naia would have guessed that Deet would forgive Rian in a heartbeat, no matter how callously he’d treated her. But then, hearing Deet say it’s no use , hearing someone so optimistic, so focused on finding the good in everyone, giving up on anyone-- especially the person she loved-- only proved how badly he’d hurt her. Naia’s got a clear enough picture of what Rian must have said to Deet in private, and makes her furious. If Deet wasn’t so insistent that victory would take all of them, Naia would be tempted to leave Rian right here in the ocean. If she’s being honest with herself, it’s tempting still. 

Naia’s wide awake now, and so sets aside her daydreams of tossing certain people overboard to take stock of their group in this moment of quiet. Her brother, it seems, has forgiven Deet freely and fully-- he’s got one arm thrown over her waist, and they’re both deeply and peacefully asleep, their faces relaxed and their breathing even. Naia finds Hup next-- he’d started laid out at their feet, putting himself between the rest of them and the door, but at some point he’d wriggled his way between Naia and Deet. Now, he’s pressed close to Deet’s legs, with his hat laid on his stomach, his snores echoing in the cramped cabin. Naia catches sight of Brea’s blonde hair on Gurjin’s other side, curled towards his back, as sound asleep as the rest of them. Good, Naia thinks, nodding a little to herself. Brea needs more rest than they can afford to give her, after what happened in Ha’Rar, and Naia’s glad she’s getting it while she can. Rian is beyond her, with a little bit more space between himself and the group, and his back to them all. That’s also good, Naia decides. He could use some time to stew in his loneliness. 

That only leaves Kylan. Naia shifts and rolls to her side, only to find her friend’s eyes wide open and staring at her. He smiles when he sees her, but it’s sad, and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You need to sleep,” she whispers, careful not to disturb the others, but Kylan only shakes his head.

“I can’t--” Kylan starts, his voice hoarse and his eyes haunted. “I can’t stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes, I--”

“--Kylan,” Naia says, her voice firm as she reaches out, gripping his wrist with her good hand, hoping to ground him. “Look at me.”

Kylan looks. He takes a shallow breath, and scrubs the back of his hand across her eyes. He looks at her, and he says, “I didn’t want you to die.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she insists. Behind her, she can hear one of the others stirring, and drops her voice. “I was ready to make the same choice. But now we’re making a different one, and that’s what matters.”

“I do need to explain,” Kylan tells her. The fractured scar on his face glows a little brighter, as the Darkening eats him up just as sure as his regrets. His voice wavers and threatens to break, but he continues. “It was the worst thing I could imagine, going along with the plan, knowing it meant letting you go. Letting everyone go. But, it felt like all we could do. It felt like all I could do.”

Naia doesn’t have the words to heal the hurt Kylan has carried all this time-- the hurt he seems determined to save Jen from, so he doesn’t have to break the way Kylan was broken. She searches for them anyway, sliding her hand down his wrist until their palms are pressed together, until she can twine her fingers with his, squeeze his hand tight, and dreamfast. She does her best to sort through her memories, to find a way to share the message he needs to hear, the one he’s needed to hear his entire life. In the end, she sends two, and hopes Kylan is ready to listen. First, her words to Deet, last night on the beach. You don’t deserve what the world would make of you. And then, the words Tavra had for her, in the dark of the cabin. You are worth the risk .

She lets the dreamfast drop, and blinks back into the cabin, into Kylan’s eyes and the twisted grief and guilt on his face. Not quite ready to hear it, then. Not just yet. 

Maybe it’s not the words themselves that matter, she thinks. Maybe it’s saying them, and then saying them again, and again, and again, as many times as it takes for Kylan to believe them. They were making progress before, but she’s worried they’ve lost ground tonight. Kylan was left to flounder in his sorrow and doubt for too long, and it’s going to take time to repair it. 

For now though, pressing further will only make the fractures worse, like walking on a broken bone. So instead, she only squeezes his hand once more and says again, “You need to sleep.”

Kylan sniffs, and then his expression settles, obviously grateful for the change in conversation. 

“I know,” he admits, shaking his head and glancing about at the rest of their friends. Naia doesn’t miss the way his eyes settle on Gurjin, the way his frown deepens. She makes a mental note to have words with her brother later, when they’re alone. Finally, his eyes return back to Naia, and he shrugs and says, “I think I’ll just get some fresh air.” 

Naia squeezes his hand once more before letting go, and letting him sit up carefully and quietly. She scoots back a little to give him room, admittedly hogging up more of the blanket once he’s thrown it off. “Kylan?” she finally says, once he’s climbed carefully to his feet, and picked his way across the tangle of their sleeping friends and to the door. He turns towards her, listening, and she says, “We’re doing the right thing.”

“I know,” Kylan answers, before easing the door open and stepping out into the midday light.

-+-

There’s a moment of panic, when Deet wakes and Jen isn’t there. She’s mostly remembered by the time she reaches for him, but she reaches anyway, searching for a toddler and finding only empty space. He’s not snuggled up against her chest, his tiny fingers bunched up in the fabric of her nightdress, like some part of him knew they were fated to lose each other. He’s not blinking awake, sleepy and stubborn, with his hair sticking up in every direction. He’s not her baby, only two but still as old as she’d ever know him. He’s not here.

It only takes a few seconds for reality to settle back in around her, but every one of them hurts . One by one, she focuses on the details of this moment-- the constant motion of the ship, the way the light hits the beads and baubles strung up in the cabin, her friends warm and breathing all around her. She’s tucked between the twins, with Naia’s face just inches from hers, and Gurjin at her back, his arm slung around her waist. Something about that difference, about lying beside someone other than Rian or Kylan, helps the last of the visions fall away. She thinks about Naia, not so subtly arranging their group before they all fell asleep, and is once again fiercely grateful for her friendship.

Deet sits up, carefully wriggling out of Gurjin’s grasp, and realizes that Hup is practically wrapped around her legs. Brea’s here, too, tucked against Gurjin’s other side and sleeping peacefully. Her friends are alive and breathing and they still want her here, after all of it-- even though she lied, even though she would have allowed such terrible things to happen. 

Well, she thinks, her eyes falling on Rian, a ways away from Brea, with his back to the rest of them. They don’t all want her here. Then again, she’s not sure how she feels about Rian at the moment either. The moment after that, she realizes that’s not true at all. She knows exactly how she feels about Rian, she’s just not used to feeling this way. Not here, in this life.

That other Deet died with so much anger in her heart, anger she’d never gotten to feel, not until after she was gone and only the Darkening remained. It was hard to hate a dead man, after all, and instead of trying she threw everything she had into caring for Jen, and building a life as best she could. Deet thinks maybe she brought that anger back with her. She can feel it thrumming in her veins like some kind of sickness, like the Darkening when it held her in its grip. Rian looked her in the eyes and told her It doesn’t matter. He practically handed the SkekSis the Crystal Shard, Thra’s only chance-- Jen’s only chance-- at survival. He said I guess we’re even now , accused her of trying to hurt him when she had only ever tried to help. He left her, alone with his baby in a dying world. He left her without saying goodbye. 

She knows it’s not fair to blame Rian for what he would have done, on that other path-- what he almost did again , despite her efforts to convince him otherwise. But, just like the panic and confusion she felt when she woke, searching for someone who wasn’t there, those feelings remain, and it’s not easy to shake them. And besides, he was callous and cold to her in this life, which hurt even more. Those are the thoughts that haunt her now, his words ringing in her head.

She understood that he was upset with her for lying, and she knew learning about Jen would be a terrible shock. She hadn’t expected him to take the news well, but she hadn’t expected him to react so poorly, either. It was the accusation that stung, when he’d claimed she was only telling him about Jen to hurt him. Stung isn’t even a strong enough word for it-- his words had cut, and they lingered still, like a wound. After everything , how could he say that to her? How could he think she wanted anything but to save him?

Deet shakes her head, and tries to focus again on her surroundings-- not to ground herself in reality, but to pull away from her anger. Another quick scan of the room shows her that while the others are all sound asleep, Kylan is nowhere to be seen. She casts one last glance at Rian, lets the anger and hurt bubble to the surface for just one moment more. She doesn’t know what to do about him, or these feelings, or the hurt he’s caused her. She does know that the one person she wants to talk to right now is the one person that’s not here.

It takes care and caution to make her way across the room without disturbing the others from their slumber, but she manages. As she opens the cabin door, she has to squint for a moment as he eyes adjust to the midday suns. For a moment, she misses her blindfold-- she’s mostly accustomed to the brightness by now, but adjusting from a dark place to the light is still difficult, and she imagines it always will be. She settles for cupping a hand over her eyes and glancing around while the door clicks shut behind her. 

They’re moving quickly-- the salty wind whips her hair, and the sails are full as they speed along. She can see Onica, on the upper deck above the cabin, tugging at the rigging as she manipulates the sails. She’d guess Tavra is up on her shoulder, as usual, although she’s too far away to see someone so small, and the suns have her at a disadvantage, so she can’t say for sure. As her eyes begin to adjust, she can make out their surroundings a little better. The mountains along the shore are smaller than when Deet saw them last, much earlier this morning-- they’re still massive, but not so looming and foreboding. Onica had mentioned a break between mountain ranges, just a little ways inland from Cera-Na. This was their access to the Crystal Desert, and the last steps of their journey, before heading to the Castle and putting their plan into motion.

Deet turns away from Onica and Tavra, from the mountains and plans of the future, and sets about looking for her friend. Kylan is easy enough to spot, leaning against the railing up near the bow of the ship. It makes Deet’s heart a little lighter to see him, and she crosses  the deck with a skip to her step that she hasn’t felt in some time.

As she gets closer, two things happen. First, Kylan turns and puts a finger to his lips, before beckoning her forward. And second, she looks past Kylan, and sees shapes moving in the water. She hurries closer to get a better look.

Deet’s seen many new and marvelous creatures since leaving Grot. She saw many marvelous creatures before she left as well-- the caves were just as full of life and wonder as the world overground. Still, she can safely say she’s never seen anything quite like this. They don’t look like fish, though their bodies are lined with many fins that stir the water as they paddle about. Their necks remind her of Neech’s body, curling up out of the waves and ending in an oblong head with a wide mouth and round, dark eyes, and their winding tails trail gently behind them.

“What are they?” Deet asks, grasping at the railing as she leans forward to stare down and out into the waves, taking in the sight of these strange new creatures. There must be a dozen of them, with their long, graceful necks breaking the surf as they travel alongside the ship. More are farther out to sea, playfully diving in and out of the waves, but a few of the childlings are getting close, making curious clicking sounds as they peer up at her, doing their best to keep pace.

“Dubabubs,” Kylan explains, his elbows on the rail as he nods out at the pod. Already, a few of the adults are giving up the chase, falling back and calling out to the childlings, still caught up in their game. “Onica said they’re a good omen, especially so far from shore.”

“A good omen?” Deet peers down at the smallest one bumps against the hull and lets out a little trill, before diving beneath the waves. “We could use one of those.” 

Kylan sighs, his shoulders slumping, his eyes still fixed on the frollicking creatures. “We certainly could.” There is something different about him, and it takes her a moment to realize what it is. He’s lost that certainty she’d seen in her visions-- or, he hasn’t found it yet. He has faith in their friends, but not in himself. It makes her ache, to see him like this, and in her mind she vows to do everything she can to help him find it again.

For now, Deet just hums, and smiles as the last remaining dubabub steaks along beside the boat, only to surface again a few seconds later. In the distance, another member of the group calls out-- louder now, and more insistent. A mother, calling her child home. “Well, go on then,” Deet says, as the little creature breaches again, letting out another playful chirp. “Don’t keep her waiting.” 

The creature seems to heed her words, stalling in the water as the boat continues on, and then slipping back beneath the waves. Deet keeps watching, until they’re reunited with their family, until the shapes grow smaller and smaller in the distance. She hopes they stay happy. She hopes they stay safe.

“Do you want to talk about him?” Kylan asks, his soft voice stirring Deet from her thoughts. She tears her gaze away from the dubabubs and back to Kylan. He looks a little anxious, a little curious, and a little sad. He clarifies, “Your son. If you want to talk about him, I’m happy to listen.”

Leave it to Kylan, she thinks, to ask the questions Rian had tried so hard to distance himself from. Kylan, who agreed to a plan that terrifies him, for a chance to save a childling he’s never met from a horror he knows all too well. He thought of Jen, even though Deet had shared only a fraction of those memories-- just enough to show that Kylan had stepped in to fill the void Rian had left behind. There was no point in showing the rest-- it was Rian’s mind she was trying to change, after all, and Jen wasn’t going to change it. She had to show him violence. She had to show him regret. 

“Can I--” Deet hesitates, second-guessing her question before she’s ever asked it, and then asking it anyway. “Can I show you?” Kylan blinks, and Deet forges ahead, her words coming out in a rush as she holds up her hand, offering a dreamfast. “I just think you should know about him. I want you to know about him. I know it’s might hurt, but-- I’ll be careful not to show too much, and--”

She breaks off as Kylan presses his hand to hers, his eyes wide and solemn. He nods. 

Deet has to work carefully-- not just because dreamfasting her visions is dangerous, but because these images could hurt Kylan in other ways. Someday, she’ll take him back to his parents’ home, standing quiet and lonely in the Dark Woods. There are things in that house that he needs to find, things he needs to feel. But, he’s not ready for it, not yet. If he saw it now, it would only hurt him, and he’s already hurt enough. 

It’s difficult to keep the cottage out of view, but she does her best, centering the memories on their family instead. She shows him countless little moments-- a nest of blankets in front of a roaring fire, silly songs and lullabies to soothe a crying childling. She shows him what he showed her and Jen-- patience and kindness, devotion and love. She shows him a dance, a kiss, and a goodbye. She shows him everything, and hopes that it’s not too much.

The dreamfast fades. Kylan is quiet for a long moment afterwards, his expression unreadable. His eyes are clear, if a little unfocused, and Deet takes that as a good sign. Maybe the happy memories don’t hurt as badly, maybe the love that pulsed through the visions of their life together kept him safe somehow, kept him grounded. She files that thought away, and waits for his response.

When he finally speaks, his words are measured and precise. “What did Rian say,” he asks, with the same care and attention he shows all things, “When you showed him this?”

“I didn’t show him,” Deet admits. “Rian didn’t need to see that, it wasn’t going to change his mind.” There is a tiny, bitter voice in the back of her mind that thinks, Rian doesn’t get to see it , a part of her that is unwilling to share these memories with someone who gave up on her and Jen once already, someone who almost did it again. She takes a breath to steady herself, to quell the hurt and anger in her chest, and tells Kylan, “Jen was never really his, in that life. He was yours, Kylan. At least, in all the ways that mattered.”

“Oh,” Kylan says, a little breathless, his eyes blown wide and his scar pulsing rapidly as he processes all that he’s just seen. Deet feels a twinge of guilt-- the visions might not have harmed him, but that was still an awful lot to dump on a person-- memory and emotion, and a love and family shared in another life. Still, it wouldn’t have felt right to keep it to herself, to keep it from him. He deserves to know the truth. He deserves to know Jen.

Kylan is silent for a moment, and then another, and finally Deet reaches up and runs her thumb down the fractured lines of his scar-- the one hurt he can’t hide, no matter what he does. She rests her palm on his cheek, closes her eyes, and concentrates on pulling the poison away. Her thoughts retreat for a moment, to that place in her mind where everything is still and quiet.

When she opens her eyes, the tendrils of his scar have grown a little dimmer, and retracted, buying him more time in a life that’s being eaten away. It strikes her then, that even if she hadn’t had to send him to the Castle in that other life, that she would have lost him within the trine, to this . That doesn’t have to happen here -- it’s not going to happen. They’re going to do better. 

She looks down at her right hand, still clutching the railing as a pure white light glows between her fingers. She watches with satisfaction as algae blooms and spreads along the wood, the Darkening made pure once again. Soon enough she and her friends will travel to the Castle, and she will do the same thing for the Crystal, and their world.

“Kylan,” she calls, when she looks up from the railing and realizes he still hasn’t spoken. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Kylan manages, nodding his head once, twice. He reaches for her hand, and squeezes it tight. His expression is calm once more, but there is sorrow in his eyes, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. “I’m alright, Deet. That was just. That was a lot , but--”

“--The kissing, was too much, wasn’t it?” Deet winces, even as Kylan lets out a nervous laugh. “I almost left that part out, but then I wasn’t sure if that counted as lying, and I don’t want to do that anymore. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not going to try and kiss you now . No offense,” she adds quickly, as Kylan scrubs his free hand over his eyes.

“None taken.” Kylan squeezes her hand once more, and he’s relieved to see that he’s smiling, if still nervous and overwhelmed. “Thank you for telling me, but-- I have to ask. Are you giving him up?” Kylan’s smile slips into a frown as he continues. “We’re changing so much. The things you just showed me, the life we had-- that’s not going to happen, now.”

“No. No, I’m not giving him up,” Deet insists. “He’ll still be mine, someday.”

Kylan nods at her words, but even as she says them, she realizes they’re not quite true. The Jen she knew for those two trine, the one who was Kylan’s son, is gone, left behind with the path they’re choosing not to follow. That’s a version of him that will never exist, except as a reflection of the Jen who will walk this path she’s forging for him. But, he’ll still be Jen, and he’ll still be hers, and his life will be so much better. He’ll have so many people to love him, and a vibrant, living world full of Gelfling. He’ll be one of many, instead of one of the last. 

Then again, she thinks, with another thrum of hurt, that’s assuming there’s a way forward for her and Rian. Maybe there is, and maybe there isn’t. It’s not a question she’s ready to ask herself, not yet.

One thing Deet does know for sure is that Kylan will be a father again, just not to Jen. She can see them both-- one, in a vision that flickers to the forefront of her mind, of a little Drenchen girl, with a song on her lips and flowers in her hair. The second is a memory of that long night in the library of Ha’Rar. Kylan, with a group of Spritons childlings clustered around him, reading to keep them calm all those long, awful hours. The smallest of them is in his lap, a dark-haired little boy, reaching for the pages as Kylan turns them. He didn’t know then, who he met that night, and Deet doesn’t tell him, doesn’t want to spoil that happy surprise. He has a whole life to live and love, and so many happy memories to make. They all do. But until then--

“Kylan?” she asks, and he turns back to her once more, patiently waiting for her question. “Can you tell a song?” 

“Of course,” he agrees, without hesitation. He cracks a wry smile and adds, “Though, I suppose you’ve heard all my songs by now.” 

“True,” she agrees, leaning into him a bit, the way she used to do, the way she would have done. Something about this moment feels like she’s saying goodbye-- to another version of him, to the life they shared once. That time with their little family was the only bright spot in a world of darkness, but she isn’t sad to let it go. She is grateful that the other version of herself had that time, if she was to have anything at all. And she is grateful for the chance to make sure it never happens again. “But I’ll pretend to be surprised at the end, if you like.”

“Alright then,” Kylan says with a smile, and he leans into the song just as she’s leaning into him, and as the wind and sails hurry them along to their next destination.

-+-

Rian hovers in the doorway of the cabin, and watches Deet and Kylan up at the bow of the ship. They’re standing side by side-- she’s pressed against him, and he’s singing, his steady voice filtering back on the breeze. Rian only catches a few bars, but he could hardly call himself a Stonewood if he didn’t recognize a Jarra-Jen tale in an instant. 

Guilt crawls up his throat as thinks of another Jen, the one from the visions, the one who shared his face, the son he never met. He thinks of the hurt in Deet’s eyes when he said those awful things, when he doubted her, again . His resolve falters, and then it fails, and he backs inside without another word, pulling the door closed behind him.

“That was fast,” Gurjin comments, as Rian shuffles back into the cabin. He’s playing cards with Hup, who spares Rian a dirty glance and a muttered curse before turning back to the game. The girls are both still asleep-- Brea is cocooned in several blankets, curled close to Gurjin’s side, while Naia is on the other end of their makeshift nest, with her back to them all. Gurjin draws a card, winces as he adds it to his hand, and says, “She forgave you that quickly? I thought you’d have to try a little harder than that.”

“She was with Kylan,” Rian explains. “He was telling a song, I didn’t want to interrupt.” It’s not so much a lie, as it’s not the whole truth. It’s easier to say that than it is to admit that when he looks at Deet, he sees the visions of how he let her suffer in that other life, and hears the echoes of the cruel things he said in this one. But who is he to tell half-truths, when he treated Deet so coldly for doing the same? Who is he to ask for her forgiveness?

“He was singing?” Naia asks, apparently not asleep after all. She shifts and rolls onto her side, eyeing him skeptically without even getting out from under the covers. Beside her, Neech stirs, stretching his lithe body before snuggling right back into the covers. “Which song?”

“Why?” Rian shakes himself from his thoughts, and moves to sit on Gurjin’s other side, and much closer to Naia than is probably safe for him-- it’s a calculated risk, but he’ll take it, to let Brea sleep a little longer. “Does it matter?”

Naia rolls her eyes, keeping her quilt wrapped around her shoulders even as she sits up. “Probably not to you.”

Rian stomach roils, shameful and defensive all at once. Deet’s face flashes in his mind once more, and the scar over his heart burns. “I didn’t say it like that.” 

“I don’t care how you said it,” Naia tells him flatly. “I just care that you said it. Now, what was he singing? Was it the Fizzgig one?”

“It was Horn of Thunder.” Rian’s felt completely off kilter in every interaction with Naia since this all fell apart-- and a few interactions before, if he’s being honest-- and this one is no exception. “Why would it be the Fizzgig song, that’s for--” He cuts off, his train of thought skidding to a halt as the pieces fall into place.

“Who’s it for?” Gurjin asks, looking between the two of them, with cards in both of his hands. Rian can’t speak around the lump in his throat as he remembers the silly little song-- one he’d loved when he was young, one of the first Jarra-Jen tales a Stonewood learns. Kylan’s father likely sang it to him, and in that other life, Kylan must have sung it for--

“Childlings.” Naia answers, her voice flat. “It’s for childlings.” Gurjin grimaces as he catches on, but Naia keeps staring, emotions flickering across her face as she watches Rian. The one she settles on is something like contempt. “How much did she show you?”

“Enough,” Rian answers, a little short. Too much, he thinks. It took too much to convince him not to let them all meet horrible ends, and he’s not sure how to forgive himself for that.

“Apparently not,” Naia scoffs. She clicks her tongue, and Neech alerts, and then hops up to her shoulder as she gathers up her blankets once more. “I can’t look at you right now, I’m too tired to be this angry. Wake me up when we get there,” she adds, glancing over at her brother. “And go talk to Kylan. I can’t believe you’re sitting here playing cards --”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Gurjin slides the deck towards Hup, and pushes himself to stand. He gives Rian a pointed look, and says, “If I’m talking to Kylan, might be a good time for you to--”

“I will,” Rian says, even as his stomach twists and his thoughts race, playing his words to Deet over and over and over again. He kept getting it wrong, before. What if he gets it wrong again? What if he pushes her further away? What if he’s pushed her too far already? “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make it right, just. I have to figure out what to say, first.”

“Sure,” Gurjin claps him on the shoulder as he passes. “Might as well think about it now. Not much else to do on this boat.”

“Better make it good,” Naia mutters, still curled up in her blankets. “You don’t deserve her. Not after what you did,” she adds, her voice full of bitterness and conviction all at once. Rian doesn’t disagree, he just lifts the trapdoor that leads to the hold, and heads downstairs to think. 

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-SIX

-+-

Gurjin barely remembers the night Naia slipped into the Castle of the Crystal, and rescued him from the SkekSis. He was delirious when she pulled him out of that cell, and feeling more dead than alive. It took everything he had to keep his feet underneath him and moving, and by the end Naia was practically dragging him along. Naia, and a Gelfling that Gurjin had never seen before.

That face was the first thing Gurjin saw when he woke some time later. One moment he was lost in swirling, hazy memories-- memories of the General, of the chair, of the Crystal and its pulling. The next, there was a stranger leaning over him, with dark braids framing his face, and his hands on Gurjin’s shoulders. Gurjin didn’t even think about it, he just balled up his fist and swung, ready to defend himself before his brain caught up and realized there was nothing to defend from . He wasn’t lying on the cold floor of a cage, but on soft earth strewn with leaves. Those were trees rising up aground him, not the bars of his prison. The hands on his shoulders were shaking him awake, urgent but still gentle, instead of eager to do him harm.

“I’m sorry,” the other Gelfling whispered, ducking the clumsy blow and raising his hands in a show of peace as Gurjin levered himself upright, his fists still clenched at his sides, his breathing still ragged. Kylan, his fuzzy brain supplied, with a flash of memory-- Naia’s voice, harsh and worried, and the catacombs around them, stretching on for eternity. He refocused on the present moment and found his sister curled up beside him, fast asleep with her back to the smouldering campfire. It took him a moment to realize that Kylan was speaking again, and saying, “I shouldn’t have touched you, but you were thrashing around in your sleep. I was afraid you might make your injuries worse.”

Gurjin hadn’t even realized he was hurting, not until Kylan told him so. He was suddenly aware of his aching body, of his bone-deep exhaustion. Thankfully, the throbbing pain at the base of his neck had quieted somewhat, and the fever that threatened to burn him from the inside out had loosened its grip, if not fully released him. That didn’t matter, Gurjin decided, feeling gratitude and relief well up in his chest as his eyes traced his sister’s sleeping face. It didn’t matter, because he was free, thanks to Naia. She saved him.

He remembered something else, then-- a flash of a vision, tinted purple, warped and broken into many facets. A glimpse of a future so terrible that he promptly took the thought, and locked it away tight, and decided to never think of it again.

“You can touch me,” Gurjin heard himself croak, turning back to Kylan and earning one last memory of his rescue-- steady hands and a low, calming voice. His fevered mind ran through what he’d just said, and how foolish it must have sounded, and then he proceeded to make it worse by adding, “If you want to, I mean. I don’t mind if you touch me.”

“Oh, well.” Kylan’s eyes went wide even as he dropped his hands to his knees. “That’s-- I will keep that in mind,” he finally said. He reached out and woke Naia before Gurjin could say anything stupider, or start to wonder if this first meeting was the start of something new.

-+-

Part of the problem, Gurjin thinks, as Naia’s scolding chases him out of the cabin and onto the deck, is that he’s never had to talk to people about these kinds of things before. Trysts with his fellow castle guards never involved much conversation, because none of it meant anything. They were all just young and bored and frustrated, looking for ways to pass the time. This is different, though. Kylan is different.

On some level, Gurjin’s known it all along-- since he first caught himself watching his sister’s best friend, stealing glances on the journey to light the fires of rebellion in their own clans. He’d known it as they travelled to the Mystic Valley, shooting grins and letting his hands linger when he had the chance to touch. Things had almost gone further, but then he’d taken a step back-- but still he hung on Kylan’s every word, waiting for another song, and still he watched Kylan’s careful hands recording stories of their people. Gurjin watched Kylan, and it made him want things. Not the casual spark he’d found with other partners, but a true connection, something meant to last, something important. 

Knowing Kylan has changed him, somehow, and he’s grateful for it. For the first time in his life, Gurjin wants to learn to read-- not words on a page, though he would, if Kylan wanted to teach him. Instead, he wants to read every bit of Kylan’s secret, subtle language. The quirk of his lips, a furrowed brow, a laugh contained a breath too late. He wants to understand how someone so reserved, so prone to doubt and second-guessing, managed to close the distance between the two of them with a kiss while Gurjin was still trying to get his feet under him, and trying to unstick the words from his throat.

Now, his words are stuck once more. Last night they were trapped behind a wall of grief, as he sulked all alone in the dark hold-- Naia had shut him out, and he’d shut Kylan out in turn, and left him alone when he most needed support and reassurance. This morning, they were trapped behind a sudden anxiety, just like the one that had plagued him since their interrupted moment in the Valley. Once again he’d just accepted it, and accepted Hup’s offer to play cards rather than facing Kylan and figuring out how to fix his mistake. Naia was right, though, he’d put off talking to Kylan long enough, and out here in the light of day, he resolves to do something about that.

It’s easy enough to spot the two shapes standing up at the bow. Kylan’s stopped singing, and Gurjin’s more than a little disappointed about that. Instead, he and Deet are locked in quiet conversation. From here, all Gurjin can make out is the cadence of Deet’s excited chatter as Kylan points of something against the passing mountain ranges, barely more than foothills now. 

Deet’s ears twitch as he approaches, and she turns to him with a wide smile and an enthusiastic wave, calling out before he’s made it more than a few steps. “Gurjin, come here! We’re looking for more dubabubs, have you ever seen one?”

“That depends,” Gurjin answers, sidling up next to Deet, and nodding to Kylan with an easy grin. There’s a split second of hesitation before Kylan smiles back, and Gurjin’s heart sinks. “Tell me what a dubabub is, and I’ll tell you if I have.”

As Deet launches into a detailed description of the creatures, complete with animated hand gestures, Gurjin takes a moment to look over Kylan. His scar has retracted a bit, and isn’t shining quite so brightly, so Deet must have seen to it. He looks more relaxed than he did early this morning, when they were still coming to grips with those terrible visions. Still, there’s something off about him, and Gurjin’s worried that he might be the cause.

Deet breaks off abruptly, and glances up at him before turning to Kylan. “You know,” she says thoughtfully, leaning back from the railing. “I bet I can see them better from the upper deck. And maybe Onica knows secret places to look! She lives out here on the sea, after all!”

“Yeah,” Gurjin agrees, as Deet reaches out and gives Kylan’s hand a gentle squeeze, smiling sweetly up at him before she starts to back away. Gurjin clears his throat before she can get too far, and adds, “Look, I don’t know if you’re willing to see him or not, but-- Rian’s down in the hold, if you wanted to talk to him. He knows that he hurt you, he just doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“Oh.” Deet blinks and picks at the bandage around her palm as she fidgets, suddenly uneasy. Kylan lets out a long, tired sigh. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to him, just yet,” Deet explains, her voice quiet but a little more certain. “So, for now I think I’ll go and see Onica.” Gurjin can only nod, and Deet flashes him another smile-- sadder, almost forced-- before hurrying towards the other end of the ship.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Gurjin keeps his voice pitched low as he watches Deet drop into conversation with Onica. He thinks of the hollow hurt in Deet’s eyes, and Rian’s face twisted up with shame. It feels wrong, somehow, to see two people so clearly meant to love each other in so much pain.

“I’m not sure,” Kylan admits. Gurjin turns back to face him, and realizes that Kylan is staring straight down into the waves as the boat hurries them along. He scoots a little closer, moving into the space Deet left behind. “I hope so.”

“I hope so, too.” Gurjin drops one hand to the railing, gripping it tight before casting a sideways glance at Kylan. “And what about us? Are we going to be alright?”

Kylan blinks, jerking his head up to stare at Gurjin. He frowns, and looks genuinely confused and borderline panicked as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Gurjin sighs as he shifts to face Kylan fully, rubbing at his healing shoulder with his free hand before dropping it to his side. “Look, about what happened last night,” he starts, and the confusion in Kylan’s eyes flickers and changes into something sad. “I should have come to you, after what Deet told us, and instead I left you alone. I left you feeling like you didn’t matter, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Gurjin, I--” Kylan’s words seem to fail him, and he has to shake his head and collect himself before he can try again. “You don’t have to apologize.” He breaks off once more, and then continues in a harsh whisper. “You’d just found out that Naia is--”

“--All the more reason,” Gurjin cuts in, before Kylan has to finish that sentence. Deet’s voice echoes in his head once more, ringing out cold and harsh in a way he’d never heard her speak before. Eight days-- seven now, he thinks, with a glance up at the suns as they climb through the sky. Have they done enough to change things, he wonders, or does his sister still have that deadline hanging over her head? He chases the thought away for now, and focuses his attention on Kylan once more. “That doesn’t change the fact that I should have stayed with you. We’re all trying to do better, right?” he adds, when Kylan’s frown deepens, and he casts his gaze back into the ocean. “I need to get better at this, too. I want to get it right.”

“So do I,” Kylan says, his voice barely more than a whisper, but full of conviction. “This is all so new, and I certainly don’t know what I’m doing, but-- I want to learn.” He reaches out tentatively, fingertips brushing Gurjin’s open palm. Gurjin takes his hand, and tugs him a little closer. He releases his grip on the railing, only to reach up and brush his knuckles along Kylan’s jawline, feeling him sigh into the touch, feeling a jolt of desire and thrill in his own chest. 

“You’re right, this is new.” Gurjin thinks about Kylan’s hand in his, and he thinks about how he doesn’t ever want to let go. He thinks of a life where he would have let go all the same, and he swears to himself that those things will not happen here, and they will not happen now. “But, you have to take care of things when they’re growing, don’t you? You know, like babies? Or plants?” Gurjin can practically see the gears turning in Kylan’s head as he tries to process the words as they come-- clearly from Gurjin’s heart and not his brain, but he’s committed now, and so he forges on. “Fine, maybe I don’t know how plants work, but-- I know I want to be with you, Kylan. In this life, in all of them. I promise I’ll work hard and be careful to make sure I get it right. And I hope you want the same. And I hope you know that this world is a better place with you in it. And I ran out of things to say, so I’m just gonna kiss you now, alright?”

“Alright,” Kylan whispers, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed pink even under his fractured purple scar. Gurjin doesn’t think about that, he just thinks about leaning in close, and deepening the kiss when Kylan parts his lips. For one moment, it is only the two of them, and the boat beneath their feet, and the ocean all around them.

And then, the moment ends. Gurjin pulls back but he doesn’t let go, one hand still linked with Kylan’s, the other coming to rest on his waist. Kylan catches his breath, his mouth ticking into a sideways little grin, and says, “Plants?”

“That’s-- look, you’re the Song-Teller, not me,” Gurjin sputters, even as his heart soars to see the sorrow and fear in Kylan’s eyes replaced with joy and a cautious hope. It’s a start, he thinks. Things are only going to get better from here on out. He scoffs anyway, rolling his eyes and insisting, “I have my own skill set, you know.”

“I know,” Kylan says, his smile growing as Gurjin slings his arm around his waist and pulls him in close. They stay that way for a little while, side-by-side and watching the mountains as they pass. Gurjin doesn’t know what lies ahead, but he knows they will face it together.

-+-

Of all the sights she’s seen so far, Deet thinks Cera-Na might be her very favorite. Her breath catches in her chest when Onica brings the boat around a bend and the bay is laid before them. The shape reminds her of a little cauldron, the foothills of the Claw Mountains curling in, keeping it close like a secret concealed. She is delighted by the spires of white coral jutting up from the waves, by the little caves and tidepools carved into the base of the mountains by the relentless tides, by the sparkling of shells and trinkets dotting the ocean floor, visible now through the clear, shallow water. 

She can’t help but wonder if it’s more fantastic because it’s something she’s truly never seen before, a place she never glimpsed in her visions. Out here on the ocean, she’s felt like a pilgrim again, like all the world is new and wonderful. She thinks she hasn’t felt this way in a while, not since her pact with the Sanctuary Tree, not since the paths were laid before her. It’s a relief, to be surprised again, to lay her eyes on something brand new. It gives her hope that there are still things to learn and discover, that her whole life hasn’t already been foretold.

The whole group has gathered on the main deck as Onica brings them into port. Hup is right by Deet’s side, and the twins and Kylan are nearby, with Neech clinging tightly to the railing, puffing up his quills when the seabirds swoop too low. Just like Deet, Brea’s eyes are wide as she takes in the sights, with Tavra perched on her shoulder. And just like this morning, Rian is keeping a careful, cautious distance. It’s slight, but enough that Deet can feel it, just as she can feel his eyes watching her, just as she can feel the ache in her heart that pulses when she thinks of him, sorrow and anger all tangled in one. There’s a question there, too, one she doesn’t know how to answer, one she’s not ready to think about.

“The fleet and the Omerya haven’t returned,” Onica says, a pensive expression on her face as she scans their surroundings. Deet had only caught a glimpse of the Sifan flagship on her way out of Ha’Rar, but it was unmistakable-- a living ship, made of coral-- and now it is unmistakably absent. In fact, barely two dozen ships are gathered in Cera-Na at present, their brightly colored sailing dotting the bay. “They should have arrived before us.”

“We stopped for several hours in the night, maybe they did the same?” Kylan suggests, but Onica’s frown only deepens.

“Maybe,” she concedes, still looking troubled. “Or maybe something changed their plans.” She holds fast to the rigging as she leans out a little further, counting ships like a caretaker might count heads. Her face settles into something more decisive, and she nods to herself as she says, “I’ll ask around once we’re docked. With any luck, I’ll find some answers.”

“Ask around?” Gurjin repeats, sounding baffled. “Can’t you just-- don’t you just know ?” He glances from Onica to Deet, who can only shrug, and then back to Onica once more. “Isn’t that what you do?”

“It is.” Onica’s voice is even, but Deet catches the hint of a playful smile. “But, there’s no need for ritual when a simple conversation can do the trick.”

“Simple conversation?” Gurjin mutters as Onica returns to her usual place on the upper deck, manipulating line and sail as she brings them closer to the dock. “ Now she wants to have a conversation. Could have tried that earlier, instead of knocking me out. ‘Oh Gurjin, by the way, don’t try to stop your sister from jumping off the boat, the fate of all Gelfling depends on it, apparently.”

Rian scoffs. “Would that have worked?”

“Absolutely not,” Naia confirms, and then she scowls, like agreeing with Rian leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Her rage towards him is open and plain, and this tension will have to be dealt with, sooner rather than later. Deet’s not sure how this group is going to make it all the way to the Castle without things getting even uglier between those two, and she is afraid to find out just how bad that fallout will be.

“I guess we’ll never know,” Gurjin sighs. Kylan laughs quietly, and Gurjin’s grin grows even wider. It’s a relief to see that those two have closed whatever distance was growing between them. Deet just hopes the rest of the fractures in their group can be mended as well. She supposes they’ll just have to find a way. After all, they’ll need unity if they’re going to make this work, not division.

-+-

There’s not much discussion as Onica ties off the boat and turns them loose on Cera-Na. At best, they have a vague plan to look for supplies to aid in the last leg of their journey, and to hopefully book passage across the Crystal Desert. Onica had assured them that they could likely find a Dousan trader here-- it was just a matter of tracking them down, and enlisting their help.

Finding anyone in this place, Brea thinks as she stares into Cera-Na, a labyrinth of ships and criss-crossing gangplanks and boardwalks, feels like quite a feat. There are no roads in Cera-Na, just boardwalks and piers, connecting the ships as they sail with the tides.Their only guide is gone-- Onica was the first to break off, hoping to speak with the other captains about the missing Sifan fleet. The rest of the group had scattered shortly after that, with the promise to regroup at Onica’s ship by the first sunset.

They were all eager to be back on-- well, not quite dry land, Brea supposes, peering over the edge of the walkway, and down into the clear, shallow water of the bay-- but anything was better than being cooped up on that boat, especially with all the tension that still clung to their group and their quest. Deet had taken Hup by one hand and Kylan by the other, and dragged them off towards the beach. Rian’s face had flickered with hesitation, and then regret, but he’d let Deet go without a word, and then he’d let Gurjin lead him off in the opposite direction. That left Brea, with Tavra clinging to her shoulder, and Naia and Neech, who’s left his favored perch to flit along beside them as they scour the city, in hopes that they could truly find what they need here.

All told, Brea counts twenty ships in the bay. It’s obvious that this place is diminished, with so much of the fleet still out to sea and unaccounted for. The ships that remain all seem to be undergoing repairs, and she imagines they would have sailed to Ha’Rar for the evacuation if they'd been able to. A few are sporting torn and ragged sails-- storm damage, maybe, or just wear from many trine at sea. More than one has hull damage, just like what the crew on the nearest ship is working to repair. One Gelfling is suspended over the side of the ship, in a swaying seat held up by a pulley system and managed by his crewmate. If Brea were to guess, she’d say it almost looks like something took a bite out of it, the wood punctured and buckling in. 

That awful beast from Onica’s visions would have left the ship in splinters, but Brea thinks of it all the same, rising from the waves. In another life, Deet’s friend Amri met his end thanks to that creature, likely with everyone else on that ship. Everyone else, Brea thinks as she glances at Naia, including Eliona. Gills might have kept her from drowning, but they wouldn’t have kept her from the jaws of that beast. If Naia is thinking of it, her face doesn’t show it-- her expression is set, her eyes scanning their surroundings, focused and intent. Brea tries to do the same, but still her thoughts wander, this time to her own sister. Seladon’s out with the fleet now, too, but Brea doesn’t think that would have been how she met her end, on that path. She thinks again of that little girl from the Orrery, and she thinks of Deet’s words. They came from the desert.

“Head towards land,” Tavra offers, pulling Brea from her thoughts. Naia leans in a little closer, to hear her tiny voice over the shouting crews and calling seabirds. “A Dousan wouldn’t have come by boat. We’re not going to find what we’re looking for out here on the docks.”

“Do you think we might find your mirrors here?” Naia asks, slowing to a stop at a crossroads, peering down one path and then the other as she maps out the quickest path to the beach. Brea’s read all about this place, about the Sifa and their settlement, ever changing and always new-- but once again, the reality is so much different than what her imagination conjured up. All the prose and all the paintings could only do so much, cooped up as she was in the confines of her library. It’s the smells, she decides, breathing in salt and brine, and the thick stench of tarr as the sailors caulk the damage done to the hull of their ship. There’s not a book in her whole library that’s ever gotten the smells quite right.

Brea shakes her head, and finally remembers Naia’s question as the three of them turn right, and head down a narrow channel between two docked ships. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy. They have to fit my exact specifications if this is going to work.” She has to hurry to keep pace with Naia, hopping over gaps in the boardwalks, and ducking under gangplanks that are laid overhead. “We’re going to have to have them made.” 

“Hmm.” Naia slows to a stop, and Neech settles on a rope stretched above them, chirping curiously at a pair of seabirds. Her eyes are focused on him, but her words are for Brea. “How long do you think that will take?”

“I don’t know.” Brea resists the urge to pull out her journal and review her calculations. She has estimations, of course, but having never worked with the materials herself, it’s hard to give a definite answer. “As long as it takes. If they’re not exactly right--”

“I know.” Naia huffs out a sigh, and clicks her tongue. As Neech glides back down to her shoulders, Brea’s gaze shifts from the muski to Naia’s hands. Her left is subtly worrying at the sleeve of her right, with its blackening fingertips and awful purple glow. Brea feels a surge of guilt, along with a flash of remembered pain across her still aching throat. She feels something else, too-- a twinge across her abdomen, where her own Darkening scar is hidden. As long as it takes might be too long, after all.

Tavra is feather-light on Brea’s shoulder, and so are her words. Her voice is nearly lost once more as she asks, “How long do you have, Naia? Is what Deet said still true?”

Brea’s expecting a dismissal, a deflection, or outright denial. Maybe that’s what they would have gotten, if anyone other than Tavra had asked that question. She’s spent her whole life being Tavra’s sister, and knows all too well the way she drills right down to the heart of the matter-- while somehow still being so casual and curious that it’s almost disarming. Instead of brushing off the question or changing the subject, Naia is silent, and that is answer enough.

“Wait.” Brea turns her head to glance at Tavra from the corner of her eye, and then back to Naia, her mind clicking and turning like clockwork. “We’re not following that path, we’re going a different way. So, the things Deet saw--” Brea trails off, running through scenarios even as she speaks. It’s true, they won’t lose Naia in precisely the same way, but there are still so many things that could go wrong between now and their eventual-- hopeful-- victory at the Castle. And in the meantime, the Darkening is still creeping through her, through them all. 

“Naia?” Tavra prompts, clearly unwilling to let this go.

“It’s bad,” Naia answers flatly, clearing her throat and glancing around to check for listening ears. Their friends are nowhere to be seen, and any strangers are giving them a wide berth, caught up as they are in their own lives. Neech rubs his head against her cheek, and she huffs out a sigh and glances at Tavra, and her usual spark flickers in her eyes once more. “Let’s just say I might need a new body before too long.”

Brea gasps, but Tavra doesn’t miss a beat. “If you’re in the market, I don’t recommend a Threader,” she says mildly, and Naia lets out a short laugh. “You’d want something a little bigger, I think.”

Naia rolls her eyes, and taps Neech on the snout. “I’m sure it’s better than a tree.”

“Maybe.” Tavra’s tone shifts again, to something wistful, something sad, and Brea’s heart twists as her sister stares out towards the sea. “Maybe not.”

“Well,” Naia says, sounding like herself as she picks up the pace again, and beckoning for the sisters to follow. “Hopefully this Dousan is trying to offload their mirror collection, because I’d rather not find out.”

-+-

Navigating the wild, weaving walkways of Cera-Na, Rian can’t help but wonder what it would be like to sail home and find something different each time. It doesn’t seem to bother the Sifa, and neither do the swaying boardwalks and wobbling crossplanks. They move with ease, like they trust the unsteady ground beneath their feet, like they’re not expecting a wave to wash it all away at any moment.

On some level, Rian understands. After all, does it really matter if the ground sways beneath his feet if he never expected it to be solid in the first place? The Sifa are accustomed to such change, basing their lives on the shifting tides. Rian’s gotten used to it too, constantly on alert for the next enemy, routing and rerouting plans and paths to keep his friends and their mission alive for one more day. Along the way, he’d let himself hope that there was something better on the other side of this, if he was lucky enough to make it there. He’d thought those hopes were dashed, when his world unravelled again, only to realize that he was the one casting them aside. 

“Alright,” Gurjin says, re-emerging from the small crowd around a narrow little boat at the very end of its own dock. He’s holding a pair of mis-matched mugs filled with something steaming, and presses one into Rian’s hands once he’s close enough. “It won’t get you drunk, but it’ll warm you up. Or so I’m told.” Rian nods his thanks and takes an experimental sip. It’s sweeter than he expected, and hot enough that it almost burns his mouth, but it’s a fair trade for the warmth that spreads through his chest, even as a chill wind rattles through him.

Gurjin’s already on the move again, guiding them towards a narrow strip of beach. Rian can see a few bonfires, already climbing high though it’s a few hours until dark. He can see a couple of structures, too, some kind of stalls or vendors. They’re the only permanent buildings he’s seen so far in Cera-Na, with tables and chairs set up out front. Half of the tables are occupied by Sifan Gelfling, enjoying a meal or a drink. One of the tables is occupied by Kylan, and Hup, and Deet. 

“Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know. Looking for things?” Rian suggests, thinking of what Gurjin told him in a hushed voice as soon as they’d split off from the group-- that Deet wasn’t ready to talk to him. He tells himself that it’s only that, and not the doubt and regret churning in his gut that makes him want to turn around and head right back to Onica’s boat. “We should be helping the others look for that Dousan trader.”

“If there’s a Dousan trader in this city, Brea and my sister will find them. And besides,” Gurjin adds, making his way across the sandy beach to the closest bonfire and dropping down to sit on a piece of driftwood serving as a bench. “Naia needs a break from you.”

Rian can’t argue with that, but he’s not quite ready to give up arguing completely, even as he sits beside Gurjin. “We could look for other supplies, then.”

“Oh yeah, like another shield?” Gurjin asks, and Rian winces. He’s been waiting for this conversation since that battle in Ha’Rar. “So you can decide not to use it and get stabbed anyway?”

“It’s a very good shield,” Rian insists, his tone placating even as he remembers the chaos of that fight. “But I needed my hands--”

“--To climb on a Garthim’s back? Yeah, I remember. Very clearly.” There’s no heat behind Gurjin’s words, and he waves his mug towards their friends across the beach. “It’s fine, they’re not helping either. We all just need a minute to rest.” A thoughtful expression crosses his face, and he adds, “I might see if Kylan will sneak off with me here in a bit.”

“The two of you worked things out, then?”

“We did. I made a very romantic speech,” Gurjin explains, in an undertone. Rian only nods, and does his best to pretend he’s not watching Deet and the others out of the corner of his eye, until Gurjin nudges him with his elbow. “Just give her some time, Rian, and when she’s ready, talk to her. You can make this right.”

Rian stares down into his mug, his shoulders slumping. “I’m not sure she wants to hear any speeches.”

“No, probably not,” Gurjin agrees, stretching out his legs to warm his feet by the bonfire. “But an apology wouldn’t be a bad place to start. Keep it simple, you know? Something like, Hey Deet, sorry I almost agreed to let all of our people die, and also for telling you I don’t care about our future prophecy baby.”

“I didn’t say it like that,” Rian insists, glancing up to meet Gurjin’s eyes. Gurjin only raises his brow, and takes a loud slurp of his drink. Rian sighs, defeated, and admits, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Alright, hard tak.” Gurjin sets his now-empty mug in the sand, and crosses his arms as he leans back to look Rian over. “I didn’t say this earlier, because you’re my best friend, and also because Naia didn’t need my help tearing you apart.” Rian rolls his eyes, but nods once in agreement. “But Rian-- she was right. It doesn’t matter what you meant, it matters what you said. I don’t know what you really told Deet. I do know that whatever it was, it hurt her.” Rian looks away, his face burning with shame, because it’s true. After everything Deet’s been through, it’s awful to know that he made her feel even worse. Gurjin speaks again, just as steady, but a little softer. “I also know that’s not who you really are, and that’s not how you really feel about her. You love her.”

“I hurt her.” In this life, Rian thinks, and the other. He doesn’t know how to wrap his mind around the awful truth-- that he would have thrown his life with Deet away in that other life, and he might have done it again in this one. 

“Yeah, you did.” Gurjin fixes him with a look, serious but not unkind. “Is that it, then?”

Rian is quiet for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knee, considering.  A moment ago, it was hard not to watch Deet across the beach, and now he finds he can’t even look at her. “I’ll give her space, like you said. She doesn’t want to talk to me, and I’m going to respect that.”

“And when she is ready?” Gurjin presses. “What about then?”

“I have time to think about it.” Rian remembers that flash of hurt in Deet’s eyes. He has a feeling she won’t want anything to do with him anytime soon-- time enough to work out an apology big enough to wrap around all the ways he went wrong. Before Gurjin can dig any further, and because he’s genuinely curious, Rian asks, “You’re not angry with her? She knew about Naia.”

“Yeah, well. So did I, really. I couldn’t put a number on it like she did, but-- I knew.” Gurjin’s whole expression shifts and hardens, and he caves in on himself, hunched in and miserable. “My sister is dying, Rian. I mean, the Darkening’s killing all of us, I guess,” he adds, pulling up his sleeve a bit and examining his own mark, curling around his left wrist, and Rian feels the one on his chest spark in solidarity. “But, not like it’s killing Naia. Just knowing that hurts worse than-- well, worse than anything I’ve ever felt. And Deet’s had to live with all of that in her head this whole time. I can’t imagine that,” Gurjin admits, and Rian nods wordlessly. “And I can’t imagine how she would have told us, or what good it would have done. Finding out was always going to tear us apart. At least now we know, and now we can put ourselves back together, and fix this before it’s too late.”

“Or we die trying,” Rian points out, somewhere between a terrible attempt at humor and actual, genuine concern. “And doom the rest of the world in the process.”

“You always did know how to lighten the mood,” Gurjin comments, shoving him playfully. Rian laughs, harsh and abrupt, and feels something unfurl in his chest, like a release of pressure. He takes another sip of his drink, and takes one last look across the beach at Deet, and hopes that what Gurjin said is true, and that there’s still a chance for him to fix his mistakes.

-+-

As it turns out, Onica was right. There is exactly one Dousan in Cera-Na, tucked away with a table of trinkets beneath a pier, just far enough inland to be safe from the waves lapping against the shore. He introduces himself as Periss, and it takes Naia about fifteen seconds to decide that she hates him.

The Dousan Sandmaster they’d met on the edge of the Crystal Sea had been tall and broad like Gurjin. He’d spoken formally, and Naia hadn’t missed the way he’d gone for Brea, who’d been the most visibly royal of their group at the time. This Dousan is thin and wiry, his eyes darting back and forth as he scans them, assessing. Half of his face is tattooed, his sand-colored skin deepening into indigo. He is not regal, but sharp and quick and calculating, and just as intently focused as Rek’yr had been.

Now, Brea is dressed in practical travelling clothes, just like the rest of them, but there’s a defiant look in her eyes and a haughty tilt to her chin that makes her heritage unmistakable as she repeats, “What do we have to offer ?” 

“A payment,” Periss explains smoothly. “In exchange for services rendered.” He gestures at the wares spread before him, a collection of items laid out on a cloth-covered crate. The jumble of mismatched jewelry and odd trinkets before him, paired with the subtle way his gaze lingers on Brea’s satchel tells Naia that he didn’t come by any of this honestly. 

Tavra is silent, little more than a shadow tucked back on Brea’s shoulder. Brea is silent too, for a handful of seconds, and then she practically erupts, “We just told you that we have a chance to stop the SkekSis and save our people, and you’re worried about payment?” 

“Spoken like someone who’s never had to worry about payment,” Periss returns easily. There’s another beat of silence, which Brea takes to school her expression, and Naia takes to level the Dousan with a glare. It’s true, and all of them know it, but that’s not the point-- the point is she’s not in the mood to let strangers talk down to her friends on the best of days, and she’s had a very long string of very bad days.

Naia moves deliberately, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows and she steps up and presses both palms to the tabletop. She keeps her eyes trained on Periss, watches confusion and then conclusion and then a brief, terrible fear cross his face as he takes in the sight of her ruined arm, with its awful purple vein pulsing and thrumming beneath her skin. He’s seen Darkened things before. 

“If my friend can’t get what she needs, the whole world is going to end,” Naia tells him, blunt and honest. She feels Neech on her shoulders, feels Brea and Tavra watching her as she shifts more of her weight into her palms and leans in a little closer to Periss. He’s still focused on her hand, but his ears flick, and she knows he’s listening as she continues, “ So I’m going to ask you one question, Periss. Can you help us, or not?”

Periss wavers, and for a split second Naia thinks that’s the end of it. A second later his eyes flash and his expression settles once more into something calm and confident. “Seems you need to get there in a hurry,” he says, his eyes following the trails of Darkening from Naia’s hand up until they disappear beneath her sleeve, and then he looks up and meets her gaze. “So, yes, I can take you across the sands, but like I said--” He flashes a sharp, awful grin that shows all his teeth, and something dark in Naia’s heart wishes she could knock them out. “--It’ll cost you.”

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-SEVEN

-+-

Kylan has known since he was very small how quickly things can change, how a life can be turned upside down and inside out in an instant. He knows, too, that the rest of the world goes on as scheduled, neatly sidestepping the shattered remains of those upturned lives as another day dawns, and then another, and another. He understands the expectation to continue, to carry on, and yet--

--and yet he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that he is having breakfast with his friend as if this is an ordinary morning, as if they don’t know that the days might soon run out. Cera-Na is quite possibly the most beautiful place he’s ever seen-- but if their plans fail, soon enough it will be gone, and so will everything else. His head swims with harrowing visions and half-remembered nightmares, and he thinks of all the ways the world might end, and how he and his friends might be the ones to end it.

“Kylan?”

He blinks, and finds Deet peering at him from across their table. Her eyes are bright and cheerful-- whether that’s from their renewed commitment to their quest, or from finally getting a good night’s sleep, he can’t say for sure. They’d all turned in after just a few hours of exploring Cera-Na the evening before, desperate for their first true rest since before Ha’Rar. They couldn’t have gone much further without getting some actual sleep-- not as wrung out and weary as they were, and with half their party still recovering from injuries. There was too much at stake for them to be at anything at their best, especially considering all the awful things they were sure to meet before the end of their journey.

Deet’s expression falters for a moment, and Kylan realizes that he’s left her waiting for too long. “I’m sorry, my mind was wandering,” he says, forcing his swirling anxieties beneath his conviction that this was the right path to take-- the only path he can live with taking. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, everything’s fine!” Deet assures him, her smile firmly back in place. He knows now what she’s been keeping locked away behind her upbeat and friendly nature, and that makes it easier to spot the cracks and fissures in her mask. He only wishes he’d seen it sooner. “I was just asking if the Sifa can really eat this anytime they want?” She gestures at her plate-- only crumbs remain from the pastry she ordered from a vendor a little further up the beach-- a twisted roll glazed with icing, sticky and sweet. “Every day?”

“If they wanted to. Though, I’m not sure anyone has it every day.” A pair of Sifan sailors leaves the baker’s counter, clutching steaming mugs and murmuring quietly as they head back towards the docks. As they pass, Kylan feels their gazes linger-- even with his hood pulled up, it’s hard to miss the glowing purple scar on his face. He stares down into his own tea and pastry, both half-finished and looking more unappealing by the second.

“Well, I would,” Deet answers, and Kylan believes her. They’d found this place shortly after arriving here in Cera-Na yesterday, and her eyes had lit up at the first bite of the sugary treat. She’d dragged him back here first thing this morning, while the others were still gathering up their belongings and getting ready to meet Periss for the next leg of their journey. Now, she hums a little to herself, and when she speaks again her voice is quiet, and a little sad, as she says, “I think he would like it here.”

“Jen?” Kylan asks. There’s a hollow hum of hurt as he thinks of the childling from Deet’s visions, and the effect his absence is clearly having on her. Kylan hopes that it’s true, and that Deet will meet her son again on this new path they’re forging. He hopes there’s happiness for all of them, when all of this is finally over.

Deet doesn’t answer him, and doesn’t say anything for several long minutes. She just stares out at the waves and the boats as they bob in the bay, her expression far off and distant. Kylan doesn’t press her, just sits with her in companionable silence until the others start to trickle in-- Hup first, taking the seat at the head of the table, and clutching a mug that smells much stronger than tea, and then the twins, whose quiet bickering reaches the table before they do.

“Morning!” Gurjin says, granting Kylan an earnest smile before dropping down to sit beside him. “Looks like you two are getting an early start.” He presses his right hand to the space between Kylan’s shoulder blades, and then lets it trail down and come to rest on the small of his back. The casual, easy affection makes his heart beat in double time, and for a moment his fears and worries are chased away, letting the press of Gurjin’s fingertips ground him.

“They’re not early, you were just sleeping in,” Naia counters, rolling her eyes at her brother as Neech alights from his perch on her shoulder and loops in lazy circles around them. She sits beside Deet, her expression sharpening when there’s no reaction. “Deet?” she prompts, laying a careful hand on her friend’s elbow, and Kylan’s anxiety returns full force. 

Deet blinks and turns towards Naia, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Oh, good morning!” she says, as if she hadn’t spent the last few minutes somewhere very far from here. “Are we getting ready to leave?”

“Soon, yeah. Brea was saying goodbye to her sister, and Rian stayed back with her.” As Gurjin speaks, Kylan watches the girls react to Rian’s name-- Naia curls her lip, and for a split second Deet’s eyes go sad and distant once more. Gurjin doesn’t notice, or else he doesn’t acknowledge it. “They’ll catch up with us in a bit, and then we can go meet Naia’s new friend.”

“You could have been out making friends, too,” Naia replies without hesitation, and while still keeping one eye on Deet. “Except you and Kylan locked me out of the bunk and didn’t come out all night.” She leans a little closer, her voice light and curious, and deceptively innocent. “What were you two doing in there, I wonder?”

“Sleeping,” Kylan insists, feeling himself flush. Naia keeps a straight face, while Deet hides a smile in her hand and Hup laughs out loud. “We were just sleeping.” They might have done more, he thinks, if they weren’t both so exhausted. Instead, they’d gotten as far as blocking the door and crawling into bed before they’re both passed out. Kylan had slept the night through for the first time in almost as long as he could remember, and woken up with his back to Gurjin’s chest, and a strong arm wrapped around his middle. Just that, just being close to him, was more than enough for now.

“Right.” Gurjin coughs, and then he nods down at Kylan’s unfinished breakfast, clearly eager to change the subject. “Is this what you were talking about last night, Deet?”

“Yes, and you have to try them!” Deet leaps up just as Neech swoops down, nearly scattering the plates and dishes when he lands. Gurjin barely has time for an apologetic grin as Deet takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. She practically drags him towards the counter, her earlier distance and melancholy gone just as quickly as it came.

Naia’s quiet as she watches them go, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. She drops her voice, and asks, “How worried do we need to be about her?”

“I don’t know,” Kylan admits. Deet’s not even the only one on his mind. He can’t help the twinge of fear and sorrow in his chest that comes with the sight of Naia’s darkened flesh, and he can’t help but wonder what might happen six days from now. There’s not much room in his head or his for anything other than worry anymore. “She mentioned her son again.”

“She made up a bed for him last night,” Naia offers in an undertone, her expression tense as she watches Deet and Gurjin making their way across the beach towards the baker’s stand. “I think she realized halfway through what she was doing. Onica tried to talk to her about it, but she shut down, and wouldn’t say another word to us.” 

Kylan’s heart constricts, imagining Deet carving out a place for Jen in Onica’s nest of pillows, just the way she’d done so many times in the visions she’d shared with him. Hup hums a little to himself, looking just as upset as Kylan feels, worry for his friend plain on his face, and one hand resting on the spoon at his hip-- but this isn’t something they can fight, at least not like that. 

“What Deet see, not real,” Hup finally says. He glances between Naia and Deet, his face set, but a wavering uncertainty in his eyes. “Only dreams.”

“They weren’t just dreams,” Naia insists, finally turning back to the table. “Not to her.”

“No, they weren’t. She mourned us.” It takes everything Kylan has not to picture it again, the ways they each met their fates in that other life. He does it anyway, imagines their endings all in a row, lights blinking out one by one. He has sympathy for Hup, who is certainly feeling left out, unable to dreamfast with them-- but at the same time, he almost envies him. Hup only has to know what happened, he didn’t have to see it. “She buried us.”

“Not all of us.” Naia’s voice is hard, but there’s a sorrow in her eyes that Kylan can’t quite bear to look at. A tiny voice speaks in the back of his mind, sounding a little like Mera and a lot like his own, and it reminds him that of course there’s a version of things where he gave in to the SkekSis, where he sat back and let them take his essence for their own. His life has been measured by losses, after all, so why wouldn’t it end with one final surrender?

Except-- except he hears something else, too-- a childling’s voice, asking for a song. Deet hadn’t shared those memories to show him what he died for, she’d shown him what gave them both a reason to live. He thinks maybe that was the difference between a surrender and sacrifice. In another life, he’d walked into that Castle not for a prophecy or predestination, but for love.

Kylan doesn’t know how to hold those thoughts in his head for too long, and he doesn’t want to dwell on the doubts that creep in on the heels of his conviction. They creep in all the same, intrusive and insidious, and for just a moment he wonders if that other path was his true purpose-- and if so, what purpose does he serve on this one? Those questions won’t lead him anywhere good, so he clears his throat and grasps for a change of subject, the way Gurjin did only moments ago.

“Are we sure Deet’s alright with this new... arrangement?” He chooses his words carefully, remembering very well how agitated Naia had been when she returned to the ship last night. She’d worn a dark scowl as Brea explained the price of their journey into the desert, and her proposed solution. “After everything she’s been through, we’re asking her to look into the paths again.”

“She says she’ll do it.” Naia uncrosses her arms, only to drum the fingers of her left hand on the tabletop, while the right rests quietly in her lap. As she speaks, the purple veins glow a little brighter. “Brea shouldn’t have offered. This isn’t some trick Deet can do. It’s terrible for her, and I don’t want it to make her any worse.”

“Brea knows that,” Kylan says patiently, and Naia huffs out a breath and nods once. He slides his plate a little closer to Neech, who takes an experimental bite of pastry. The muski lets out an excited little trill before tearing off another chunk and scarfing it down. Naia’s expression flickers, and a fond laugh slips out as she reaches out and ruffles the fur around his neck. Kylan lets that softness calm him, and then he says, “I don’t like it either. But if this is what it takes to get us across the sands--”

“--What it takes?” Naia sighs again, her frown deepening once more as she studies him. “I’m worried we’re all a little too comfortable with self-sacrifice.” 

“Perhaps.” Kylan thinks of Naia in another life, trading her life for Gurjin’s without a second thought. He knows she’d do the same in this life in a heartbeat, for any of them. “I’m sure that won’t cause us any problems later.”

This time Naia’s laugh is real. Neech steadily works his way through Kylan’s breakfast, and Hup finishes off his drink. A little ways away, Deet is leaning into the countertop, clearly sweet-talking the baker, and Gurjin chuckles, the sound carrying across the beach. It’s a much-needed moment of peace, before they all jump back into the fire.

“We’ll look after her,” Naia says, and Kylan nods automatically. “That was the deal, wasn’t it? To take care of each other?”

“It was.” Kylan thinks of that morning in Stone-in-the-Wood, before they knew the true shape of the path they were on. He thinks of how quick they’d been to break their own rule with a vote that doomed their people, and how quickly their lives had unraveled after that point. “I suppose we just forgot, for a little while.”

“Only because we were trying to take care of everyone else.” Naia sits up a little straighter, only to rest her forearms on the table and lean in conspiratorially. “It starts here, with us. All of us,” she adds, with a nod towards Hup. “I don’t think anyone even asked you, but-- you’re with us, right? Until we see this through?”

“Oh, no need ask,” Hup assures them both, waving a hand dismissively. “Hup goes where Deet goes. Always.”

“Good,” Naia says, her shoulders set, her expression intense. Neech hops back up to his perch on her shoulder, his eyes flashing once as Naia turns back to glance at Deet. “I think she’s going to need all the help she can get.”

-+-

The last time Brea said goodbye to her sister, she laid her in grave, and pushed dirt over top of cold, still body. This goodbye isn’t the same, because Tavra isn’t the same-- she died, only to come back as something new-- and because it isn’t for forever. Brea hopes it’s not for forever. Somehow that doesn’t make it much easier.

“I’d come with you, if I could,” Tavra says, sheltered from the brisk, briny winds by Brea’s cupped hands. They’re on the main deck of the ship, and Brea’s packed and ready for the next leg of the journey. Rian is waiting up by the bow, his folded arms resting on the rail as he stares sullenly towards Cera-Na, and Onica is somewhere below deck. For the time being, Brea doesn’t worry about them, or about the rest of their friends waiting up ahead, she just focuses on her sister and her tiny, quiet voice. “I may be small, but I like to think I’m not entirely useless in this form.”

“Definitely not.” Brea can imagine plenty of ways that Tavra, in the body of a spider with the ability to control minds, could give them an advantage on their mission. Still, what they’re doing is so dangerous, and she’d rather not risk her sister losing her life for the second time. “Where will you go? Is Onica going to search for the rest of the Sifa?”

“That depends,” Tavra says. After a discussion with a handful of other Sifan captains, all Onica had learned was that the fleet had been spotted heading south, sailing straight past Cera-Na. No one seemed to know why. If Tavra has any thoughts on where the Sifa might have gone, she doesn’t share them, she just sighs and says, “There’s something she and I can do to help you. She’s not sure what it is, just yet, but-- we’ll find it. And I’m not sure if the answers lie with the Sifa or not.”

Brea doesn’t doubt that Onica can help with their quest, especially considering what she’s done for them already. She’d given them an escape from Ha’Rar, and a place to rest and regroup when they were hurt and weary. She’d brought them here to Cera-Na, where they could find passage to their next destination, without making a treacherous trip through the mountains. But at the heart of it, Brea thinks that what Onica really gave them was truth. Not just the truth she showed in her visions, but the truth it brought out from Deet, from all of them. She can’t help but wonder about that first, terrible future they saw. Maybe that was the fate that waited for them if they’d gone to the Castle without knowing the full implications of their actions. Maybe the weight of all those secrets was what turned Deet inside out, and turned her into a monster, utterly consumed by the Darkening.

“Well, if you do catch up with the fleet,” Brea says, her wandering thoughts returning to this path, and her gaze focused once more on Tavra, “And you see Seladon--”

“--I’ll tell her that the fate of the Gelfling is in good hands,” Tavra replies. She reaches out, brushing one of her forelegs against Brea’s cheek. The touch is so light she barely feels it, but Brea’s heart swells all the same, and with it, her anger. Tavra’s life was stolen from her, along with the lives of so many other Gelfling-- more and more of them every day. Her sister must see something in her eyes, because she extends her legs, standing up a little straighter as she says, “I have faith in you, Brea-- and in your friends, too, but-- mostly in you. Our people really are lucky to have someone as clever as you looking out for them.”

“I hope you’re right,” Brea says, and then amends, “I hope I’m right. I know my equations are sound, but I’ll have to make adjustments once we get the mirrors, and--”

“--And you’ll do exactly that,” Tavra assures her. A rumbling sound comes from out across the waves like a distant thunderclap, and a cold wind rushes past. “I don’t want to keep you waiting. You should catch up with your friends. But, do me a favor?” Tavra settles back on her haunches, peering up at Brea’s face. “Tell Naia to stay out of trouble.”

“Oh, right, I’m sure she’ll listen to me.” Brea rolls her eyes, and Tavra lets out a little laugh. She starts to say something else, but stops when thunder rumbles again-- lower this time, almost like a pained groan. The sound sends a shiver down Brea’s spine, and she turns to the west, only to find a cloudless sky before her.

The cabin door swings open and Onica appears, her curls wild as she stands framed in the doorway. In the past two days, she has shown them terrible futures, death and destruction and the very end of their world. Through it all she has remained focused and calm, a picture of serenity and stability even while Brea felt her friends fracturing and falling apart. Now, Onica’s expression is panicked, and her face is a shade paler than normal as she locks eyes with Brea.

“You need to leave,” she says, and for the first time since Brea met her, the Far Dreamer’s voice wavers. She is afraid. “Now. Something’s coming.”

The sound comes again-- louder, and worse. It’s a deep bellow, rattling Brea’s very bones, reverberating in her chest. The waves around them ripple, and then they start to recede as the water level slowly drops. Rian rushes to the far side of the ship, hands gripping the railing as he stares out to sea, searching for the source of the noise. “What was that?” he asks, raising his voice as the sound persists, a low, steady moan. 

“It’s that monster,” Brea says, dread rising up in her gut just like the beast rose up from the waves in Onica’s vision. In another life, it sent the fleet to the bottom of the Silver Sea, but now-- “What’s it doing here?”

“Trying to stop us from leaving.” Onica is a flurry of motion, deft hands unfurling the sails from the main mast. In the distance, a dark shape breaks the surface of the water. Brea can’t tell what manner of creature it is, or once was-- just that it is massive, and ancient, and terrible. She knows, too, that it stands for death, and an inevitable end. Onica doesn’t even spare it a glance, she just calls out, “Tavra!”

“Goodbye, Brea,” Tavra says, For a moment Brea imagines how things were, imagines that the sea breeze whispering by might be her sister pressing a kiss to her brow. “And good luck.” She bunches up her legs and leaps, landing neatly in the rigging and scurrying towards Onica.

A gale tears down from the mountainside, a frigid wind that cuts Brea to the core. Onica tugs at another rope, and the sails billow and fill with a snap. The boat lurches, still tied to the dock and unable to make for the open ocean.

“Wait.” Rian’s a little unsteady as he crosses the rolling deck of the ship and stands at Brea’s side. His eyes are wide and disbelieving as he asks Onica, “You’re going towards that thing?”

“We have to get out before the wave. If we don’t, we’ll be destroyed.” As if in response to Onica’s words, the hull scrapes against the dock with a dull, grinding noise as the water level drops even further. Brea plays out the rest of the scenario in her mind-- the waves will retract and recede, only to swell and rush back towards the shore with a force that will obliterate everything in its path. Cera-Na, she realizes with a sick jolt, is already lost. 

If Onica is mourning the loss of this place, she doesn’t show it-- her words are simple, quick, and to the point as she hops down from the upper deck, and addresses Brea and Rian both. “Find your friends, and find what you need to finish your quest. Put an end to this madness. Thra is counting on you. We’re all counting on you.”

“We’ll do our best,” Rian swears, solemn and true. “Be safe out there.” He nudges Brea towards a gap in the railing, where a gangplank would go. Instead, there are several feet of open space between them and the dock-- they’ll have to jump. Brea extends her wings, and she’s just glancing over at Rian, gauging if she can carry him across, when Onica’s hand darts out, and grips him by the wrist.

“Hold them to you, Rian.” Onica’s voice is low, not quite her own, and her expression has gone blank and distant. Brea swears she can see tiny pinpricks of light reflected in her eyes. A different sort of shiver runs down her spine, something heavy settling on her shoulders as Onica speaks, each word heavier than the last. “They are part of you, as we are all part of each other.”

“I--” Rian falls still, seemingly overcome just as Brea is, grasping for meaning in Onica’s message. “What?” 

Onica blinks, her eyes clearing once more. She draws a knife and leans over the railing, cutting the line tethering them to the dock in one fluid motion. The boat lurches again, its sails already catching the wind, and Onica shouts, “Now!” She places one hand on Brea’s back, and the other on Rian’s, and shoves them forward. 

They jump on instinct-- Brea flares her wings and glides gently across, while Rian hits the dock in a roll, and neatly jumps back up to his feet, his sword at the ready, his eyes scanning their surroundings. Brea swivels and turns just in time to see Onica wave, and to catch a glimpse of a familiar shadow on her shoulder as they speed towards the monster at the mouth of the bay, and whatever lies beyond.

“What now?” Brea asks, her wings still fluttering and open at her back as she turns to Rian. The docks of Cera-Na and a stretch of beach lie between them and where they’re due to meet Periss this morning, at the mouth of a sand river that winds its way between the mountains. On a good day, Brea could fly the both of them there much quicker than they could walk. Unfortunately, it’s been a while since they had any good days, and she’s not sure she’s got the strength back to fly herself that far, let alone make the journey with a passenger. “Should we track down the others, or head straight to Periss? What if they’re on their way back here to look for us? What if--?”

Before Brea can finish her last question, and before Rian can answer any of them, a dark cloud crosses the sky, blocking out the light from the suns. For a split second Brea thinks it’s a storm rolling in after all-- and then she realizes that she is not looking at one shape, but many. The cloud is made of bodies -- Crystal Bats, dozens of them. The sound of their screeches and wingbeats breaks the stillness of the once quiet morning, and she realizes that the monster from Onica’s visions was only the start of their problems.

-+-

Deet has watched her own life unravel and unfold before her, not just on the path she treads, but on two others. She is familiar with the way time and events weave and intertwine as action impacts action, and she knows better than anyone the way one choice can lead to another. She’s seen so much, enough to shape these paths, to hopefully save this world and the people she loves. The problem is, she didn’t see this.

The morning goes from peaceful and perfect to chaos and confusion in almost no time at all. One moment Deet is packing her bag with extra treats for the road, the next she’s covering her ears to try and block out the low, mournful cries of the creature rising up from the ocean depths, and towering over the bay. Even worse is the familiar buzzing in the back of her mind, one that isn’t so easy to shut out. She can feel dead and darkened things pressing in all around her, from the foothills of the mountains, and from the sea itself.

“Deet?” There’s light pressure on her forearm, and she blinks her eyes open to find Gurjin in her space. His jaw is clenched, and the hand not holding hers is reaching back for his trident. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, cautiously pulling her hands from her ears. She grasps for little details and sensations-- the sound of the baker shuttering his stand behind them, Gurjin’s strong and steady grip, the icy bite of a sudden wind whipping down from the mountainside. She shakes her head against the Darkening’s pull, determined not to let it overpower her as she pours all of her willpower and energy into staying in this moment, and finding a way through it.

The world settles into focus just as the bats descend, a writhing, shrieking mass that makes straight for the docks. She watches as the swarm breaks apart into smaller patches-- they tear through sails, they screech and dive towards the Gelfling out on the decks of their ships, or meandering down the boardwalks. Early morning chatter turns to confused shouts and cries for help, and Deet’s heart sinks.

Only two of the creatures bank left and head for her friends, but it’s enough to kick Gurjin into motion. He takes off at a run as Naia leaps to her feet and draws her bola, and Deet follows, the both of them kicking up sand with their heels as they dash across the beach toward the others. One of the bats goes down almost instantly, hopelessly tangled in rope and stone as Naia hits her mark. A second swoops low just as Neech launches up, and the two collide in midair, a tangle of brittle, leathery wings and smooth, slick quills.

It’s over in a matter of seconds, with a flurry of frantic movement and a sharp, pained cry. Neech quickly gains the advantage, sinking his teeth into the juncture of the creature’s wing and withered body, and then diving for the tabletop, rattling plates and cups as they crash down. There’s a crunching noise as the bat takes the brunt of the impact, and then several more as Neech strikes out with sharp teeth again and again, until the shape beneath him is little more than a twisted and broken body, and its all-seeing eye. Deet watches as the crystal flickers once, and then goes dark. A thought enters her mind-- unbidden, just like the rest of her visions. Brea needs three.

By the time she and Gurjin reach the tables, Neech is moving again, knocking aside the scattered and abandoned breakfast as he springs up and sails towards the bat Naia took down, locked on to its trapped, struggling form a little ways down the beach. Naia and Hup both have weapons drawn, and even Kylan has one hand resting on the shortsword at his waist, carefully scanning their surroundings. Deet quickly scoops up the dim crystal eye, tucking it away in her satchel before circling up with the others.

Naia’s eyes are on the skies, tracking the movements of the bats as distant, desperate screams come from the tangled docks and waiting ships. She grits her teeth and says, “We need to move. Those things report to the SkekSis, and we can’t stop them all from escaping. They’ll send their Garthim next.”

“They already have,” Kylan says, horror dawning in his voice just as the murmur in the back of Deet’s mind spikes up into a fever pitch. The rest of them follow his gaze just in time to see shapes arising out of the surf, hulking and huge and horribly familiar. Deet watches as the Garthim heave their bodies up onto the sand one by one, buffeted by the tide as it ebbs and flows. Maybe it’s the distance, or the echoing cries in the back of her mind, but for the first time all she can see is the parts that used to be the Arathim, before they were butchered and mangled. 

The SkekSis would have done this to Rian, she thinks, killed him and pumped him full of Darkening until he came back as a monster. For an instant, she’s back there-- she’s on the floor of her home with her heart torn in two, she’s on the Emperor’s throne, no more than a vessel for corruption and rage-- and then she’s back, with her friends at her side as that same corruption comes to tear more lives apart. It makes her sad, and it makes her angry. It’s that spark of fury that clears her mind, that finally anchors her to the present as the Garthim crawl out of the waves and onto the beach.

“Yeah, alright, we’re going. We’re going now.” Gurjin draws his trident with one hand, and with the other he starts to usher their group away from the water. Only one of the Garthim pays them any mind, while the rest converge on the boats and docks. Deet doesn’t need her visions to know that the chaos and confusion of other people suffering will give them a chance to escape. It’s just like Ha’Rar, and Deet hates it, she hates it, but the only way to save everyone else is to keep moving forward. She told her friends that it would take all of them, or none at all, and it’s true-- if any of them die here, the world will die with them.

There’s another crash and clatter of dishes as Neech slams back into the table, with none of his usual grace and ease. The muski is breathing heavily, and lets out a plaintive little chirp as he drops Naia’s bola on the table. Naia turns towards him immediately, reaching for him with obvious alarm and concern. She runs a practiced hand along his smooth, sleek body, and lets out a sharp breath when her fingers come away bloody. 

“What about Rian and Brea?” Kylan asks, not taking his eyes off the approaching Garthim, not even with Neech’s disastrous entrance and wounded state. It’s clearly struggling on the sand, its many feet slipping as it scrambles for purchase on the shifting terrain, but it’s making progress. If they stand here, it’ll catch up with them sooner rather than later. 

“Hup and I will go after them,” Naia says, gathering Neech up into her arms, only to press him into Gurjin’s. When her brother opens his mouth to argue, she silences him with a look. “I need you to get the others out of here, and to make sure Periss doesn’t leave without us. And besides, the last time I left you and Rian alone with Garthim, you both got stabbed. We can’t afford any more of that, can we?”

“No, we can’t,” Gurjin replies tersely, even as he transfers Neech up to his shoulders. “I don’t like you going out there. We’ve never gotten through a fight with these things without someone getting hurt, and you can’t heal.”

“Neither can you,” Naia returns easily. Gurjin flounders for an argument, and in the space between Naia makes eye contact with Kylan, holding his gaze for several long seconds. After a moment he nods, and rests his hand on Gurjin’s elbow. His touch is enough to soften the Drenchen, who slumps his shoulders in defeat as Naia continues, “Head inland, Periss isn’t far. You’ll see his skiff as soon as you’re over that ledge.” She nods towards a low, rocky incline, near where the beach meets the surrounding foliage. “You won’t be able to miss him-- if he hasn’t already run, that is.”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Gurjin says, his voice low and level, with an undercurrent of anger. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”  

“Good,” Naia says, trading her bola for her dagger, and nodding down at Hup. “Are you ready?”

Hup nods and tightens his grip on his spoon, and just like that, he and Naia turn and head towards the shrieks and howls of bats and Garthim, and the screams of innocent Gelfling as the monsters descend. One is still struggling towards them, while at least a dozen more crawl up out of the surf and onto the boardwalks, tearing them apart plank by plank as they make for the ships. Deet shudders at the sight and the sounds, louder even than the humming was. She’s the only one among them that truly stands a chance against these monsters, and yet she’s just standing here, doing nothing, getting ready to run away from it all. There’s no other choice, but guilt settles in her chest all the same, choking and heavy, and she doesn’t try to shut it out or fight it.

“Naia!” Kylan calls, and she turns back, only for a moment. “Please be careful.” 

“Always,” Naia says, with a smile that’s more of a grimace, and Deet can’t help but think of another day, in another town, weeks ago now, though it feels like a lifetime-- back before her friends knew the true extent of what she would risk for a chance for a better future, and what they would risk in return. Now, as she lets Kylan take her hand and lead her away, all she can do is hope that the people they can’t save can at least find peace, and that their lives will not be lost in vain.

-+-

It doesn’t seem right that a ship should burn, Naia thinks, her feet pounding on boardwalks and planks as she navigates the twisting paths of Cera-Na, with Hup on her heels and chaos around her. It doesn’t seem right, but the ships in the bay are burning all the same. She’s not sure how it started-- a lantern smashed by an attacking Garthim or a panicked sailor, if she had to guess-- but it’s spreading rapidly, and without mercy. Rigging snaps and sails blacken and char as flames engulf one boat, and then another. 

The Garthim show no mercy, either, their hulking shakes moving through the roiling clouds of thick, acrid smoke. She catches flashes, ghastly silhouettes of Gelfling trying to defend themselves, backlit by the red-orange glow of the spreading flames. She can’t do anything for them. She can’t turn back and wonder if Gurjin and the others made it to Periss before he fled. She can’t do anything, except keep moving forward, and hope she lives long enough to stop all of this for good.

Naia ducks under a gangplank and charges through an intersection, only to hear Hup shout her name as he skids to a halt a few paces behind her. “There!” he says, darting down the new path as she backtracks. She doesn’t hesitate, just presses her face into the crook of her elbow as they hurry through another billowing cloud of smoke, heading towards several new shapes, blurred and twisting through the haze.

On the other side the air is clear, and they find Rian and Brea finishing off another swarm of bats. Both have blades drawn, and the broken bodies of several beasts litter the pier around them. Rian even has his shield out, for once-- Naia watches as he brings up his shield arm, knocking the last bat to the ground, and then stomping down on it with a sickening crunch. 

“Naia!” Brea calls out once she sees her, shoving at Rian to catch his attention. Brea’s sharp eyes scan the surroundings, and she asks, “Where are the others?”

“I sent them ahead.” Naia tightens her grip on her dagger as she examines the boats closest to them. One of the largest ships is on her left, flames crawling up the mast, and she can feel the heat rising, starting to prickle her skin uncomfortably, even at this distance. The space at the end of the dock, where a familiar boat was docked the last time she saw it, is empty. “Onica and Tavra--?”

Brea gestures out to the bay, and then Naia spots it-- the colorful sails of Onica’s boat, speeding away from shore, and straight towards the terrible shape in the distance, rising up out of the water. She can’t see much more of it here than she saw from the beach, but she can tell that it’s massive, with a towering bulk that makes the Garthim look like crawlies. As she watches, another of those awful groans rings out, sending out ripples on the water that crash against the docks as waves, the ocean spray splashing up at their feet.

“Come on,” she says, taking a step back the way she came. There’s no time to see if their friends will make it past the monster, or if the handful of crew scrambling to loose their sails and take to the waters will even make it out of the port. She just has to hope that as many people as possible are able to escape, no matter how wrong it feels to leave them here. “We only have one way out, and I don’t think he’s the type to wait around.”

“What about the people here?” Rian asks. The firelight reflects and flickers in his blue eyes, his expression broken and hard all at once. “We can’t leave them!”

“We can’t stay,” Naia shoots back, incredulous. Rian sinks into himself, visibly digging in his heels, and Naia’s anger flares. She drops her voice low, and takes a step towards him, feeling the Darkening pulse up her arm and towards her heart. “If you die here with these people, Rian, the whole world dies too. I don’t like it either, but I don’t have time to argue with you. We have to run while we can, so that we can fight another day. You can come back with me on your own, or I can drag you back there. The choice is yours, but you better make it fast.”

Somewhere close by, a scream rings out, only to gurgle and fall silent. Naia shudders, and Rian’s face goes gray, regret twisting up his features. “If we abandon them to this,” he says, his voice flat, his eyes locked on hers, “then how are we any better than the people who are killing them?”

A great and terrible anger rises in Naia’s chest, and for a moment she lets herself imaging shoving Rian backwards off the docks. The feeling burns in her heart like the Darkening itself burns in her veins, and she has to take a deep, measured breath to calm herself before she can speak again. 

“These people will die even if we stay. And so will we. And so will everyone else.” There’s another scream, closer now, and from the corner of her eye Naia sees a Garthim scrambling across the deck of the burning ship, searching for Gelfling to stuff into the wicker basket on its back. Naia turns back and levels her gaze on Rian, tuning the rest of it out. “Stop pretending there’s any other option here, Rian. You’re smarter than that.”

“You know she’s right, Rian.” Brea chimes in, and Hup nods. Naia lets out a sigh of relief, glad that she’s not the only voice of reason here. “There’s nothing we can do for them. If we want the chance to save anyone, we have to leave, now.” As Brea speaks, she motions down at the water beneath them, and Naia is alarmed to see that it’s receding rapidly, leaving just wet sand and small, scuttling creatures. She doesn’t know what it means, and she doesn’t want to wait around to find out. 

An explosion rings out-- distant, but still strong enough to rattle the planks beneath her feet, and leave her ears ringing. Naia watches as a ship halfway across the bay erupts into starbursts and a pillar of flame as the spreading fire detonates something in the hold. Alcohol or black powder-- whatever it was blows a hole in the side of the ship, and is followed by the crashing, tumultuous sound of the mast toppling over, and splintering the dock below. 

For a moment they all just stare, blinking the stars from their eyes and shaking their heads to try and clear their muffled hearing. Hup is the first to react, prodding at Naia’s legs and stirring her from her shock. She reaches for Brea, shoving her several steps forward, hurrying her back along the path towards the others while the dock still stands, and Hup follows. 

“Rian!” Naia snaps, her voice barely more than a growl. Rian grits his teeth and squares his shoulders, giving one last mournful stare at the ruins of the ships-- and then he finally turns and follows, and the four of them leave the burning port in their wake.

-+-

“Look, I’m very sorry about your friends,” Periss says, sounding like someone who isn’t very sorry at all. Gurjin thinks Naia might have downplayed how irritating their new Dousan friend could be. “But if we don’t leave now, we’re just as dead as they are.” 

They’d found Periss exactly where Naia said they would, doing exactly what she’d said he would be doing-- unfurling the sails on his sand skiff, and preparing to leave without them. He’d hopped down from the deck to speak with Gurjin, the two of them standing face to face at the mouth of the river of sand, while the others hover behind-- Deet with Neech curled up in her arms, and Kylan on watch for the rest of their party, or any dangers that might have followed them.

“I already told you,” Gurjin says, reaching out and grabbing Periss by the shirt. His eyes go wide, and then they narrow, as Gurjin repeats, “We’re not going anywhere. Not without them.”

“Gurjin,” Kylan says, his voice pitching up in alarm. 

“It’s fine,” Gurjin says, not taking his eyes off Periss as he tightens his grip, lifting him slightly off the ground. “I’ve got this under control.” 

“No, Gurjin, look!”

Three things happen at once. 

The first: Gurjin turns to find Kylan’s arm outstretched and pointing towards a Garthim skittering up and over the rocky ledge that’s separating them from the beach, and moving towards them at speed. The second: a loud boom sounds out from the west, and a burst of flame clears the treetops as something in Cera-Na explodes. The third: he feels a sharp burst of pain, and looks back just in time to catch the glint of steel as Periss draws a blade across the back of his hand. 

Gurjin hisses and pulls back his hand on instinct. He recovers quickly, but instead of reaching for Periss again he draws his trident and swings it in a low arc. The prongs catch Periss at the knees, and hits the sand with a muffled curse, only to scramble back up into a crouch. Before he can make another move, a sleek black blur collides with his chest as Neech leaps out of Deet’s arms and into the fray, and Periss hits the ground once more. Gurjin just hopes that the muski has it handled, and that he doesn’t get hurt any worse, especially on his watch. For now though, he’s got bigger problems to deal with. He adjusts his grip on the trident, and turns back towards the approaching Garthim.

“Get on the boat,” he orders, glancing at Kylan on his right, and Deet on his left, and nodding up at the skiff. “The others will be here soon. I’ll hold it off until then.”

“No,” Deet says, sounding calm as she flicks her wings, gossamer and glittering in the early morning light. Gurjin’s heart leaps into his throat as he realizes what she’s about to do. She was distracted and distant back on the beach, but now her eyes are clear. She’s not compelled or struggling for control-- she is making a choice to put herself in danger, before he can do the same. “You won’t.”

“Deet, wait--” Gurjin calls, reaching out just as she lifts off, his fingers closing on empty air. She leans in to gain speed as she bolts right towards the Garthim, and Gurjin runs after her, ignoring Kylan’s shout of alarm. His feet slip on the sand and it’s hard to gain traction, but thankfully the Garthim isn’t faring much better, practically digging itself into a hole as its many legs struggle and flail.

Deet lands right in front of the beast, her outline tiny against its lumbering form. A piercing wail splits the air, and its purple eyes flash as it rears up its claw, ready to strike her down. Gurjin doesn’t have time to panic, or even much time to think, so instead he reacts on instinct, adjusting his grip and pulling back his trident. 

The balance isn’t the same, but he’s thrown more spears in his lifetime than he can count, and he figures that’s close enough. He hurls the trident, and seconds later a dark shape follows as Neech ignores Periss and obeys his training, tracing the weapon’s arc. The attack won’t puncture the Garthim’s thick armor, but that isn’t the point. The point is, the Garthim moves on instinct just like he did, batting away the trident instead of cleaving into Deet. It’s exactly the opening she needs to reach up, and press both her hands to the Garthim’s writhing legs.

Gurjin hears it, first-- or maybe he feels it, feels the way time seems to stretch and slow, each second lasting longer than the one before it. His feet lock into place as the Garthim goes suddenly, eerily still. He watches the Darkening’s purple energy-- as good as the beast’s life force-- crackle and spark across its body, and in a haze around Deet. The light is so bright, so commanding, and it feels-- it reminds him of--

“Don’t look!” Fingers wrap around his wrist, nails biting into his skin as he’s pulled a half step back. He nearly stumbles, but he turns and catches himself just in time to stare into Kylan’s eyes, wide and frightened and locked intently onto his. “Don’t look at it,” Kylan insists, and Gurjin manages a shaky nod, blinking away the afterimage of the awful, purple glow he’s seen once before.

Gurjin doesn’t look, but he hears it-- the creaking of great armored plates, and a sharp, sparking sound like the jolt in an armaligs harness. Kylan presses his face to Gurjin’s chest, but Gurjin takes a moment to glance around, looking anywhere but Deet, and whatever she’s doing to the Garthim. There are no more beasts approaching, just smoke rising from the direction of Cera-Na, and the distant sound of screams. Behind him, the haze of light and energy fades, and Gurjin disentangles from Kylan to turn around.

He’d heard what Deet had done to the Garthim in Ha’Rar, but it’s entirely different seeing the effects himself. Vines have burst from the ground, scattering the sand and spiraling up the monster’s many legs, forming a sort of cocoon around its carapace. As he watches, the vines constrict, and constrict again, a stranglehold strong enough to crush and crack the thick armor. Beneath the mass of vines, the light has gone out from the Garthim’s eyes, and its color has faded to a dull, lifeless gray. 

“Alright,” Periss says, half his face ghastly pale, with a trickle of blood rolling down from his nose. Either Kylan didn’t warn him not to look, or he didn’t listen. Gurjin’s not sure he cares much either way. Periss shakes his hand once, twice, and points at Deet, still standing before the Garthim as it shivers and crumbles into dust. “New plan. I'm staying with her.” He takes a step forward and nearly stumbles, shoving roughly at Gurjin when the Drenchen reaches out to steady him. “How did she do that?”

Gurjin ignores him, instead moving towards Neech, who is breathing heavily and still bleeding from a wound in his side as he tries to drag Gurjin’s trident across the field. He scoops up the muski and his weapon both, before jogging across the sandy battlefield towards Deet. She’s kneeling now, still stationed by the Garthim-- or at least, a tangle of living vines in the shape of one. All that’s left of the real thing is moldering ash that’s already blowing away on the wind. He puts a hand on Deet’s shoulder, and tries to guide her back towards the boat. “You alright there, Deet?”

“I’m fine,” she insists, taking Gurjin’s hand when he extends it, and letting him pull her to her feet. For a second, he swears that purple light flickers in her eyes, and then it passes, and she dusts herself off. Her ears flick, and her gaze turns sharply. Gurjin sees the relief on her face before the faint sound reaches his ears. He hears footsteps approaching from the beach, and then voices-- Naia, Rian, Brea, and Hup, cresting the rocky ridge and heading straight towards them.

He hears something else, too-- a roaring, a rushing. Far off across the water, a mighty wave rises up over the bay. It is taller even than the beast that must have caused it. It is louder than the howling Garthim, and the distant screams of Gelfling with no chance to escape. It is a sight, Gurjin thinks, as he and his friends follow Periss onto his skiff and sail away, that he will remember for as long as he lives.

-+-

Chapter Text

-+-

THIRTY-EIGHT

-+-

The wall of water rises, and then it crashes. Naia watches the waves devour the bay, with its ships and winding little piers, and then she watches it rush into the desert after them. As they speed into the gleaming dunes the water follows, like it’s hungry, like it won’t stop until it swallows them up.

There’s something hungry inside of her, too, something gnawing and clawing in her chest. The water pools in the sand, reaching out like fingers, grasping, before it finally recedes, but the anger in Naia’s chest only swells. She thinks of the Garthim heaving themselves up out of the ocean, she thinks of burning sails and splintered masts. She thinks of the Darkening, siphoning away her life each time she dares to heal another, she thinks of Rian digging in his heels, ready to martyr himself a world away from their goal. She thinks of where his foolish bravado would have gotten them both.

The skiff lurches as they crest a dune and crash back down, kicking up sand in a cloud behind them as they move further inland. The suns are a little too bright out here, the air is a little too dry, and the fire in her chest is burning cold. Naia takes a moment to steady herself as the skiff evens out, and then she takes three steps across the deck, and punches Rian in the face.

Periss whistles, and Brea and Kylan both call her name, but she doesn’t really hear them. She doesn’t hear any of it, she just hears the wind rushing past, and the screaming from the ships as they burned, and Rian’s sharp intake of breath as her hit lands and his head snaps back. She doesn’t feel the impact, her darkened hand still clenched in a fist as it falls back to her side. She does feel Gurjin’s fingertips brushing the back of her shoulder, trying to pull her away from Rian. It’s instinct to shrug out of his grip, and to turn on her heels and level him with a glare when he reaches for her again.

“Alright, alright.” Gurjin holds his hands up in a show of peace, but Naia’s gaze only sharpens. Her brother’s voice is low and calm despite the chaos of the morning, and the open concern in his eyes. Neech peeks out from his perch on Gurjin’s shoulders, and then sails, a little unsteadily, down to Naia’s. “Let’s just take a breather, yeah? Are you good?”

“I’m good,” Naia says, feeling the slight but comforting weight of Neech settling in. He’s still breathing heavily, and she knows she needs to get a better look at his injuries, but for now she just tugs her sleeve down and casts a scathing glance back at Rian. He’s wearing a blank, shocked expression, with one hand pressed to his face. Naia shifts her stance to keep him in her line of sight, and concentrates on flexing her fingers. “I think I made my point.”

Gurjin snorts, and gives Rian a cautious, appraising look. “How about you?”

“Sure.” Rian’s visible shock shifts to disbelief as he shakes his head, one eye fixed on Naia, the other hidden under his palm. His expression flickers again, his face pinching in annoyance as he insists, “I’m fine. Point taken.”

“It had better be,” Naia tells him, bristling at the hollow sarcasm in his tone. Kylan says her name again, but she ignores him and takes another step towards Rian. The Darkening thrums under her skin, feeding her rage as she continues. “You’re no good to us dead, and neither am I. So if I get killed saving your miserable skin, I’ll find a way to make it your problem in whatever comes after this life.

“And if we all get killed rushing into that Castle?” Rian demands, dropping his hand from his face to gesture at the expansive emptiness of the desert all around them. The skin under his eye and along his cheekbone is already flushing pink, blood from broken vessels pooling under the skin. “What then, Naia?”

“Then at least we’ll die before the SkekSis start getting creative!”

It’s the worst thing she could have said, and she says it anyway. Rian takes a step backwards, his face going pale and his hands balling up into fists at his sides. For a moment, the deck is silent and shocked, and the world around them is silent too, and then--

“That’s enough ,” Deet says, her voice cutting right through the tension, sharp as the wind whipping around them. Her eyes are hard and cold, and Naia knows in an instant that this is not their gentle Deet, who loves the world around her, and everything she shares it with. This is the Deet who pulled at the strings of fate and watched the paths unravel. This is a Deet who knows the power she holds, and has decided to use it. “You said you were going to help me fix this. You said we were going to do better. You promised .” For a moment, the steel in her voice wavers, and then she holds her chin a little higher, and stares them both down. Naia feels the gaze pierce right through her, cooling and curdling the rage in her chest. “Did you mean it, or not?”

Without warning, the skiff lurches again as it careens down another dune, and everyone but Periss stumbles. Hup loses his balance entirely, and it’s only Brea’s quick hand around his wrist that keeps him from toppling over the edge. Unlike Onica’s boat, there’s no railing between them and the shifting, sandy waves below-- the deck is flat and open, like an oversized paddleboard with a single sail on the mast, and two beams running parallel to the hull to stabilize it. They’ll need the extra support to stay afloat, Naia thinks, as rolling gray clouds fill the horizon ahead. It seems that smooth sailing across the Crystal Sea was a little too much to hope for. 

“As much as I’m enjoying the show,” Periss calls out, reaching up into the rigging with practiced hands, and gripping tight as the skiff shudders, “I think you better take this below deck. It’s a long walk to the Wellspring, after all. And if the thirst doesn’t get you, the pit sharks certainly will.”

-+-

It is dark, down in the hold. Her friends crowd into the narrow space, and find that it’s little more than a storage area, with low ceilings and walls just sturdy enough to keep the storm outside. A few flickering lights sway with the motion of the skiff, and Deet is careful to stand in their dim glow. She doesn’t need them to see, but to be seen. She doesn’t want to hide the frustration she’s struggling to put into words, or the anger she brought back with her from that other life. She thinks she waited too long to get angry before. She is furious now, and she needs them all to know it. 

The silence stretches for one moment, and then another. The others are waiting for her to speak, ready to hear what she has to say. She doesn’t mind making them wait a little longer, until she’s gathered her thoughts. Overhead, she sees the spine and ribs of some long-dead creature, living on as the frame of this ship. It reminds her of her own bones, and she wonders where they might lay a week from now, if she can’t settle these pointless arguments once and for all. She takes another breath to steady herself, and then finally, she speaks.

“I watched you all die,” she says, and each one of her friends flinches-- from Gurjin, hunched to fit in the cramped space, to Naia crouched in the far corner with Neech in her lap, and everyone else standing scattered between them. Deet makes a point to look each of them in the eyes, to hold their gaze, to make sure they feel the weight of hers. “All of you. Everyone. I felt it. It was--” She shudders, and for a moment her anger is swallowed up by a hollow, hungry grief. It takes a deep, gasping breath and several moments of hazy purple static in her mind before she can think again, before she can say, “--It was my fault. I let it happen before. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Deet,” Kylan says, the first to collect himself and break the silence that falls after her words, thick and heavy over the crowded hold. Even here, even now, he’s still trying to take care of her, not realizing that it’s her job to take care of them -- it always has been, since she was just going about it all wrong before. Kylan takes a half step towards her, his voice patient but persistent. “The SkekSis--”

“--Need to be stopped,” Deet cuts in, quickly regaining control of the situation. Lying and sneaking was never the answer. This path needs a steady hand to guide it, not one so afraid of her actions that she tries to hide them. She has to be bold, and brave, and clever. She has to be fierce . She has to trust that she is wise enough to choose rightly. She has to remind the others to be gentle. 

But this is not the time for gentleness, it is the time for harsh questions, and harsher truths. She holds Naia and Rian steady in her gaze-- he’s standing at the very bottom of the steps, and her hands have stilled as she tends to the injured Neech. She wills her voice to be strong as she says, “You told me we were going to stop them, but you’re not acting like. What made you change your mind?”

“Nothing,” Rian insists, shaking his head with a wild and defensive look in his eyes. Deet watches as the paths split, reality peeling away, and for a moment she sees him as he is, as he was, as he could be. A father, a martyr, a monster, and then, just Rian, just afraid. “That’s not what this is, Deet. Nothing has changed.”

“Really?” Brea asks, practically bristling with the effort of keeping quiet. Good, Deet thinks, settling back into the shadows, so that Brea can stand in the light. Her voice alone won’t be enough to right the course, they have to stand together-- all of them, or none at all. “Because it seems like that’s exactly what this is! You knew the battle in Cera-Na was lost, and that we had to go! Onica told us to run! So why were you trying so hard to stay?”

Rian blanches, Brea’s words rattling him in a way that Naia’s never could. His relationship with Naia has always been on shaky ground, but he’s always respected Brea, and she’s been too hyperfocused on her own part in the mission to pass judgment on anyone else for theirs. He looks helplessly at Gurjin for support, but the Drenchen only sighs, and Deet knows before he speaks that he’s on her side once more.

“Listen,” Gurjin says, with a heavy sigh. “Back in the Valley, you told me you were afraid you’d have to die for us to win.” Rian looks down at the floor, and Deet feels a pang of hurt in her heart as she thinks of that conversation-- one that must have happened while she was still lost. Gurjin clears his throat and presses on, his voice firm and clear. “But Rian, right now it feels like you’re trying to make that true. I know how it looks right now, but there’s something for you after this. There can be.”