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The dual Oracles turned, crouching down in front of her. Their light was less blinding, but Lunara still barely perceived when one turned to the other, whispering in her ear—the first they moved individually. The second nodded, dimming further and revealing only the sharp cut of her jaw and the outermost corner of full lips as they curled.

Together, they leaned down to smooth Lunara’s hair, brush her cheek. They whispered comforts she didn’t understand but felt all the same. They offered their fire and rage to use how she wished. One lifted her chin and placed a cool kiss on her forehead while the other ran a single fingertip over Illamiata.

White-hot pain engulfed her but they eased it away by laying her on a hillside, the dew-covered moss cradling her weary limbs.

Lunara wondered when they’d gotten so big, their monolithic bodies towering above her as they looked down, a book held between them. The pages fluttered and a crushing lament rose on the air, the opposite of the song they sang to her earlier. It warped, dissonant, their anger in every biting note as they pointed.

The Five Realms rushed by, their creatures blurred, but Lunara heard their cries join the chorus. A wrenching stop—just like that moment in the tower, when Okthana had broken her apart—and she was suddenly poised on the edge of the Veil. She teetered on the precipice, peering into the gloom. Instead of finding Bordoroth’s souls below, shadows and Forgotten and dreadbeasts bubbled over, their decay eating away at the cliffside. Except…they were scared. Running for their lives. Trying to escape.

A hand on each shoulder steadied her. A tug on her hair turned her face to the horizon.

She flew through ghost and gloom, crimson paper slicing at her skin. Another jerk and pause, another edge. A blackened cloud screamed its denial to the wind as a hand rose from the depths of the world and pulled it down into a valley. It scattered and snapped back together, fighting tooth and nail against its sinking.

Rock and clay and stone went molten, and a pit formed. From its eternal depths came whispered names and nameless whispers, trailing like a lover’s fingers at the shell of her ear. It would be so easy to lay down there. To revel in its embrace. To let it worship her the way it promised.

A battle cry cleaved through the Unknown, shaking her from her stupor. Lightning and fire rained down. Comets landed. The earth shook and deformed.

Stumbling, she fell into arms that adored her, their cosmic power twining. Multiplying.

Yes. This. This is who she wanted.

The two Oracles stood before Lunara and snapped the book shut, reaching out to press it to her chest. From everywhere and nowhere, countless hands appeared to help them, pushing, pressing, until it sank into her skin.

Celestial warmth devoured and remade her, their layered voices chanting, “Sister,” over and over and⁠—

Waking was effortless. Easy.

Moving was not. The room blurred and sharpened in turns, shrieks making their way to her ears in increments.

When everything finally cleared, Lunara found Fern in the throes of an absolute fit.

Sokar was tied to a crooked chair, Fern’s arms locked around his neck and one of his ears clenched between her teeth. Within a rudimentary enclosure—made of what looked to be broken banister railings—Kala was screeching to the rafters, begging her to stop.

Lunara tried to speak but she was paralyzed, her body stuck in its weighted stillness.

Fern wrenched back, a crescent of blood welling from the marks she left on Sokar’s ear. “You said we could open any of the books on the list, you bog-troll-fucking cock wart. That one”—she pointed across the room—“was on the pissing list!”

“I think you will notice, Fae, that the Sorcerit isn’t actually dead but sleeping.”

“Don’t speak slowly to me like I’m some kind of pollen-head. Dead or asleep doesn’t matter if she isn’t waking up! Now, you tell me how to fix her, or I swear to the Sisters I will gut you and feast on your entrails while you watch. I don’t give a flying fuck how bad you taste.”

Sokar was enduring her ministrations as if bored. And he didn’t react in the least when his eyes met Lunara’s and stayed there. If anything, he seemed sad, his lids sliding closed for a brief moment before landing again on Fern.

“It isn’t that I’m not enjoying myself,” he said, “but perhaps you’d like to take a moment to regroup? You might notice the friend you’re so bent on defending has awoken, just as you wished.”

Fern dropped him like a sack of hot shite and flew over, squishing Lunara’s cheeks between her hands. “What happened? Was it the book? Did it cast a spell on you?” She squeezed harder, giving her a shake. “Do you remember where you are? What’s my name and favorite food? Wait, scratch that last one. I don’t know the answers. What’s your name and favorite food? Do you⁠—”

“Fern,” she rasped, her throat impossibly dry.

“What the fuck, Lunara?” Fern’s brown eyes were shining, her golden skin pale. Even the lavender in her honeyed hair was dull, the curls matted and sticking to her cheeks, as if her panic had drained every feature. “Where did you go?”

“I…don’t know.” Lunara was having trouble focusing, her thoughts and tongue both thick. “Why do you say it like that?”

Sokar deftly undid his bindings, brushing himself off as he stood. “Because it’s been about the equivalent of three days since you passed out, and she was beginning to worry.”

Fern lifted a shaking finger and pointed at him. “Don’t you dare stand there with judgement in your tone and act like I’m the one who’s fucking lost it. You’re hiding something, you cunting bag of pixie shit. I can feel it.” She gripped Lunara under the arms, hoisting her up. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

Lifting the cage from Kala, Sokar set her free and whispered something Lunara didn’t hear.