The way you came is where you’re bound.
I run my tongue over my dry lips, raising an eyebrow. “Ah. That’s… well, exactly the kind of thing I’d like to knowbeforenearly losing my mind in circles on this island. This thing should have been at the beginning! Would’ve saved us the trouble, truly.”
If I’d known that clutching something blessed—or cursed—by the moon would turn my mind into a circus, I’d have kept my distance from that pebble like it was a plague-ridden rat.
I glance sideways at Miss Captain, hoping she might share my exasperation, maybe even meet my gaze with a hint of sympathy.But no—she’s too busy studying something in the dirt, her brow furrowed in that way that makes her forehead wrinkle. Curious, I follow her line of sight and spot a small, glimmering object beside the riddle.
“Is that… a fish scale?” I ask, squinting as it catches a sliver of moonlight. Hints of indigo and midnight blue shimmer along its edges.
Miss Captain crouches, and naturally, I crouch right alongside her, our wrists bound together pulling me down.
“Aye, Vini,” she murmurs, voice barely a whisper, “and it seems we’ll need to carry something of the moon after all… The goddess wanted us to take it. I have no doubts.” She sighs, inspecting the scale. “But as long as we take turns holding it and follow the compass, we’ll be fine. I’m not entirely sure what this riddle about ‘recalling the path you took at close of day’ is on about, but we just need to get back to the skiff. That, we’ll manage.”
With a final glance at the glowing monoliths and the shimmering fish scale in her hand, Gypsy stands, dusting off her knees with one hand. I’m still crouched and lifting my hand, my eyes trained on the letters etched in the dust, trying to commit the riddle to memory.
I already hate where this is going. It makes a bad feeling settle in my gut.
Gypsy’s hand tugs on our tether, and I rise, still a bit dazed. “Back to the skiff, then,” I mutter. She nods, and for a fleeting moment, I almost think I see a hint of relief flicker in her eyes.
It all sounds simple enough—in theory, at least. Though how the two of us are supposed to fare with this creeping madness is anyone’s guess.
“I think I should be the one to hold the scale,” I add, searching her eyes. “I’ve had a taste of the madness already, so maybe I’ll be better equipped to handle it this time. No offense to yourfortitude, Miss Captain, but if one of us is going to lose their head on this little adventure… well, I think it ought to be me.”
She gives me a long, assessing look, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think so, huh?”
“I do.”
After a beat, she holds the scale out to me. “Alright.”
As soon as my fingers close around it, a sharp chill creeps into my hand, icy tendrils coiling up my arm and settling right in my chest. My heart does a little jig, quickening until I can hear each thud echoing in my ears. But, miraculously, my mind stays clear—no spirals of madness, at least not yet.
Miss Captain wastes no time, tugging our tether and turning us back the way we came. I follow, glancing down at the trail of shimmering stardust under our feet, casting silver shadows that twist and sway like whispers of something just out of sight. Every so often, I sneak a look behind us at the towering monoliths, half-expecting to see them lurching closer, but everything seems… still. For now.
Then, maybe halfway back to the skiff, the strangeness really sets in.
“Vinicola,”a voice calls out, soft and echoing, like it’s drifting down from the stars themselves, far above. Up, up, up, like the voice belongs somewhere beyond the heavens.
A shiver skates down my spine, and my steps falter, but I don’t dare look up. Instead, I keep walking, feigning indifference. The voice is definitely not Miss Captain’s. No, this is… someone else entirely.
“Viiini…”it breathes.
I clench my teeth, willing myself not to react. The voice slithers around me, lilting and strange. It’s pulling at something deep in my chest. I can feel it, a kind of longing—like a whisper of familiarity I can’t quite place. I glance sideways at Gypsy, butshe’s marching ahead, her focus dead-set on the path back to the skiff.
The voice hums again, softer, wrapping around my thoughts, seeping into my bones. “Vini… come to me…”
I grit my teeth, clutching the scale harder, the chill in my hand creeping through my chest as if the voice itself is winding its way inside me. It’s a pull I can barely resist, a coaxing that feels oddly like a memory—half-remembered, drifting in and out.
My feet ache to turn around, to follow the sound.
But then Gypsy tugs on the tether.
“Let’s keep going,” she mutters. “We’re almost there.”
I nod, swallowing against the chill settling in my chest. I focus on her stride, the crunch of gravel beneath our boots, the rhythmic pulse of my heartbeat. It’s almost going well. I’m almost proud of myself.
Until…
“Vinicola, my son…”the voice says. I swallow hard, the chill in my chest turning into a sharp ache.
