He reaches, hesitates, then rests fingers gently over crystal bloom on sternum. Contact soothes searing ache. “You hide pain well,” he murmurs.
“Not well enough, apparently,” I attempt a smile. It falters. “But leaders need strength image, not shattering oracle.”
“You showed both—strength in shattering.” He lifts my hand, presses kiss to inner wrist where pulse flutters. The act steals breath more than pain.
Footsteps approach; we part subtly yet bond hum remains louder than wind outside. Everest enters—tall, tawny skin etched with old scars, eyes of flint. Behind him, Remi and Zale appear, forest and lightning carved into living form. They spot me, nod recognition. Long journeys coil invisibly between our greetings.
We share swift briefing—shrine glyphs, shard sickness, boundary fissure. Everest listens, arms folded, expression carved from granite yet edges flinch at mention of Oracles sacrificed. When I finish, he inclines head. “We stand with you. Council sputters about Sundering; we argue for weaving.” His voice low thunder.
Remi, flames dancing in irises, adds, “And if weaving demands coil again, we’ll charge battery.” Zale touches his arm, silent accord.
Plan grows: morning test, afternoon drafting of unified ritual network, evening departure to anchor sites. The urgency electrifies small room, yet cracks of fear show—leaders tired, hearts stretched.
When conversation pauses, I stand, though legs tremble. “I will patrol pool perimeter tonight. Seal’s initial hour stable; second hour uncertain.” Everest begins to protest, but I raise palm. “Leaving it unwatched invites sabotage.”
Kylan places hand on sword pommel. “I patrol with her.” Statement, not request.
Everest eyes us, reading bond lines, then nods. “You two, plus my stone sentinel. Wake council if leak resurfaces.”
Night deepens. We exit chamber, shoulder to shoulder. Corridor torches spit blue-tinged flames, casting dancing shadows that mimic vines crawling walls. Magic in wood hums dissonant—citadel unsettled by tear’s memory.
Approaching pool courtyard, I breathe mist where warm water meets cool night air. My seal still glows faint turquoise, steady ripple. Yet I hear whisper beneath: promise of fractures to come.
We make slow circles round basin. Kylan’s steps silence leaves; sentinel’s basalt feet crunch softly behind. Stars peek through haze; Convergence ring centers zenith, pearl perfect. My mind drifts to Laurel—does she stare at same sky, reading doom? I send silent warning through mental tether our teachings forged:stay away from rifts.
Hours pass. Lattice ache evens, neither worsening nor easing. Perhaps river shock delayed spread. Or bond warmth acts salve. Either way, this reprieve feels stolen; I guard it jealously.
Just before false dawn, a night-bloom lily aperture on pool rim closes with soft pop, as though sighing relief. Kylan glancesat me, eyebrow raised. I exhale—seal still holds. Hope: fragile yet tangible.
We pause, lean against root-column. The hush thickens into something intimate—shared vigil bridging grief and purpose. He breaks silence with hoarse whisper. “Council meets fear. You meet fractures.”
“We all meet dawn,” I reply. “And dawn will judge.”
He chuckles low. “You and your star sentences.”
I shrug, but a smile curves lips. “Stars speak in sentences. I translate.”
He tilts head, studying me. “Translate this, oracle.” He presses his palm flat over lattice, gentle pressure. For breath I think crystal will flare, but pain instead recedes further. Words come—only truth: “Bond steadying lattice.”
He nods, eyes heavy with something like wonder. “Then we hold line together.”
I rest hand over his. Convergence ring shines overhead, bright as mythic crown, witness to vow unsaid. Inside citadel walls, hope may feel thin, but here in cracked courtyard with water smoothed by makeshift seal, I taste thickness of it in the air—the way tonight’s silence trembles not from dread but anticipation.
Dawn’s first ember lies minutes away. The pool has not leaked further. We may win another segment of day. Leaders will bicker, yes, but cracks can be stitched when cloth still clings to loom. My body may fracture faster, but until it does, my voice threads star sentences into strategy.
I pull free, checking seal once more. Smooth. I turn to Kylan. “Let’s greet sunrise before they ring horns.”
We climb narrow spiral stair onto balcony grown from living oak. From there, horizon glows rose behind thunderclouds thinned by morning currents. I breathe, chest aching sweet with chill, and whisper to invisible citadel listening: “Hold.”
A single sunray spears fissure-repair glyph; turquoise surface flares gold, then settles. I take that as answer.
Kylan’s hand finds mine again. We stand as light unfolds across Twilight Forest, painting banners green-gold, igniting spider silk strands in canopy, waking warblers. For heartbeat, impending apocalypse pauses. Faith, though thin, becomes enough.
We descend to wake council.
16
KYLAN
