Then, through the blur, I see it.
“Hold up… is that…?” I mutter, wiping the sweat off my forehead, half-disbelieving.
Rancour lets out a breath. “We found it.”
There it stands, on an empty patch of ground, framed by brittle trees and towering rocks: a pillar of that strange, shiny black stone. Just like the last one—the one with the gouge wherewe found the hourglass—but shorter, about shoulder height. And this time, no gouge.
We step closer, the sweat running down our backs. Whatever this thing is… whatever it means… this is what we were meant to find.
Fabien reaches out, brushing his fingers over the surface. I stay around one step away from it, scanning it from top to bottom. It doesn’t sprout out from any pool of water, so there’s that. This one’s planted right into the dirt, standing as solid as the rocks around us.
“See anything carved on it?” I ask, not getting too close. Last time, Gypsy found a message scrawled behind the damn thing. But this one… as I circle around, looking for anything similar, there’s nothing. Just cold, smooth stone.
Fabien shakes his head. “Nothing but stone,” he mutters, his voice a little too tense.
We both stand there, staring at it, waiting for some sort of revelation that doesn’t come. Then it hits me—something I should’ve clocked the second we split up. Neither Fabien nor I have ever been the chosen ones for the goddess’s riddles. The signs, the whispers, they’re always for Gypsy or Vinicola. As for me? The only thing I’ve ever noticed was a crate with seashells on the sand-expanding island. And maybe I was meant to find that one—like I had to be the idiot to dive into the deep.
“Well, fuck,” I mutter, jaw shifting as I try to piece together this stone’s purpose. “So, what now? Spread out, look for clues? ‘Cause right now, this thing’s just a stone pole without a purpose. Maybe it’s waiting on something.”
“Like what?” Fabien asks, looking over his shoulder. The way his lips curl, you’d say he’s my enemy here, not an ally, but whatever.
I roll my eyes. “No idea. It’s shorter than the last one, so maybe something goes on top? Guess we’re on the lookout for… whatever that is.”
“On top?” he repeats, skeptical.
I let out a sharp laugh, throwing him a look. “You got a better idea? Or are you just planning to stand here parroting every damn word I say?”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t rise to the bait, turning back to the pillar with something between distrust and determination.
“I’m not parroting you,” he mutters. “You just sparked an idea, that’s all.”
I snort, crossing my arms. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“But we’re gonna need to haul it back to the skiff if I’m gonna try it.”
Oh, perfect. Just fucking perfect.
But what am I supposed to do? No sense arguing when my mind’s come up with exactly zilch. So, back to trekking we go.
An eternity later, drenched in sweat and with muscles screaming in protest, Fabien’s got his pants rolled up to his knees, looking ready to keel over. Meanwhile, I’m seconds from hacking my hair off with a dagger—anything to keep another strand from sticking to my face.
“Still can’t believe you actually brought that thing,” I say, eyeing him as he clutches the hourglass with whitened fingers. The damn thing slipped out of his grip already twice on the way here just because his palms are so slick with sweat. He catches me looking and shoots me a glare sharp enough to slice bone.
“If it turns out to save our necks, I fully expect you to bow down and thank me,” he grinds out, not missing a beat. “You know how to show a little gratitude, don’t you?”
“Do you?” I bark back. I saved his life for fuck’s sake. Don’t I get any credit for it?
“Oh, fuck off.”
This bastard…
“Put this damn thing on the pillar, already,” I say, waving a hand toward the stone. “Let’s see if it does anything, or if we just wasted time on nothing.”
Fabien shoots me a glare but does as he’s told, swiping sweat off his brow before carefully setting the hourglass atop the stone. The moment it lands, sunlight catches it—doesn’t just catch it, but sinks in, bouncing around until the glass itself starts to glow. And then, wouldn’t you know it, the ground starts to glow, too, like the stone is channeling the sun itself.
Words swirl up in delicate, cursive letters:
The sun, the keeper of all days,
