“You shouldn’t exist,” I mutter.
The fox’s ears twitch, like it’s amused.
The thread in my chest hums louder, matching the rhythm of the light trailing from the fox’s tail.
Oh.
Oh god.
A flutter interrupts the silence.
I look up and a raven descends from nowhere—because there’s no sky here, no ceiling, just endless black.
Wings made of shadow and night, feathers that seem to drink light rather than reflect it. It lands on the fox’s back, then hops down to the ground, studying me with the same curious intensity.
It cocks its head and lets out a single sharp cry.
The hum in my chest answers.
I clutch at my sternum, gasping. “What are you?”
The fox and bird exchange a glance—too deliberate, too coordinated to be random.
Then they both turn to look at something in the distance.
I follow their gaze.
There—faint, barely visible—mirror-like surfaces glinting in the darkness. Lined up like doorways. Like a path.
The Void has never had direction before.
“No,” I whisper. “No, this isn’t—”
Movement at my wrist.
Cold. Smooth. Deliberate.
I look down just as a small serpent materializes from shadow, sleek and impossible. It coils around my wrist—not tight, but firm.
Like a bracelet. Like a claim.
I freeze, expecting the bite. Expecting pain.
Instead, it settles and hums.
The same rhythm as the thread in my chest.
Warmth floods through the contact—not heat, but energy. Recognition. The same surge I felt when she reached for me, when something snapped into place.
The snake lifts its head, tongue flicking, eyes silver-bright.
All three creatures hum together. The air vibrates softly around us, synchronized and purposeful.
“You’re hers,” I breathe. “You’re hers, aren’t you?”
The fox’s tail swishes once.
The raven lets out another sharp cry.
