I nip her ear playfully. “I’ll show teeth only in joy.” She giggles, punching shoulder.
Lamp dims to ember. Outside, workers’ soft snores mingle with waterfall hush. I close eyes, tasting contentment as tangible as wine. No border lines, only horizons I have yet to run with her.
And when dawn returns, we’ll open that gate—first of many—and watch worlds step through, fearless.
CARMILLA
The amphitheatre crowns the summit like a crescent bowl carved for star-watchers, its terraces of polished moonstone layered down the mountainside in gentle arcs. One year ago Kylan and I stood below this height, coaxing lattice threads through raw timber. Now I cross the highest tier, guided by harp-string pathways of living light, and I can hardly find my former solitude in the woman gliding forward.
Dawn smolders in the valley. The terrace hums with last-minute preparations: banners weighted by crystal tassels, braziers packed with pine shavings for twilight ceremony, plates arranged for the feast that will follow after speeches tire tongues. Everything smells of fresh paint and honeyed pastry. Rowan’s eagle crew swoop overhead hanging pennants that ripple turquoise, jade, and amber—colors of the three realms now intertwined. He spots me, salutes mid-flight, then continues strapping a lantern to an archway.
My pulse trips with fond amusement. A year of guardianship has made him fearless to the point of mischief. Kylan claims it is my influence; I argue it is Rowan’s nature unshackled.
At center stage, Holt checks acoustics by bellowing half the pack’s battle call. Sound ricochets off stone curves, returning a reverb that vibrates my crystal collar pleasantly. He grins, satisfied, and retreats to marshal the gate stewards.
Beyond the outer rim, a ring of shimmering doors floats, each threshold anchored to its origin realm. The first sparks to life—a swirl of lavender mist parted by Remi’s confident stride. She wears ceremonial storm leathers with an extravagant feathered collar that makes her look like a thundercloud courting carnival. Zale coils behind, serpentine body draped in silver net weighted by coral charms that clink like wind chimes. They pause to survey the summit. Remi offers a salute with two fingers to her brow, Zale bows, then both advance up the steps.
Moments later, dunes’ gate blazes gold and Everest steps through, brown skin aglow in desert light. Isabelle follows on his arm, diadem of living ivy resting on her dark curls. Their smiles match, steady and grounded, as though they never doubted we would stand here alive.
Delegates pour in by the dozens: fae scribes floating on rune slabs; dwarven artificers lugging prototypes crafted from coil fragments; dragon acolytes cloaked in ash-gray silk; river wyrds shimmering with water along their scales. They arrange themselves by team yet mingle freely, no security cordons, only curiosity.
I breathe deep, letting awe settle into manageable wonder. A rustle of silk signals Fadine’s approach. She carries a wooden box carved with blossoming vines. “Invitation scrolls for post-convocation workshops,” she whispers, handing the box. “The oracles added map tracings.” Her eyes drift to my collar. “Colour suits you.”
“Thank you,” I answer, voice smooth, no rasp since the lattice quieted crystal growth months ago.
I cross the dais to the vantage rail. From here, each threshold resembles a jewel on a wide coronet. The lattice threads glow faintly underfoot, anchoring the gates. I close eyes to listen: steady pulse like deep-set drums. Balanced. Content.
A puff of winter air kisses my cheek—Kylan’s presence even before his boots sound. He arrives with three leather folios under one arm, hair pulled back, new tunic cut close to broad shoulders. His wolf pendant rests over heart. He places folios on podium, then laces fingers through mine, soaking warmth into my palm.
“Three hundred seats filled,” he murmurs. “Gate stewards confirm zero latency or energy spikes. And Holt promises he will shout only once more.” The corner of his mouth tips up.
“Then we’re ready.” I scan the terraces. “Any nerves?”
“Only the part where I must stay polite through eight keynote preludes.” He squeezes hand.
We share short laugh. One year has honed our silent exchange: a single touch can volley entire paragraphs. Even so, I lean in to steal a kiss—quick, but enough to quell looming ceremony jitters. Applause erupts spontaneously from lower benches. We flush like adolescents yet remain pressed together long enough to enjoy the ripple of good-natured cheers.
Rowan swoops down, wings snapping shut. “Council bell in sixty,” he announces. “Time to greet elder dragons at northeast portal.”
I nod. “Let’s walk.”
Kylan and I descend marble steps while Rowan launches off to supervise lantern lighting. As we near threshold three, elder dragons Emeris and Soral emerge, each in dignified humanoid guise—silver hair, slit pupils, robes embroidered with constellations. They incline heads.
“Guardian pair,” Emeris intones. “Your weave holds.”
Soral unclasps a bronze canister. “Egg husks from first clutch since convergence, offered to lattice for resonance studies.”
I cradle the canister reverently. Inside, fragments shimmer opal and crimson. “Thank you,” I say, voice barely above hush. “Their hatchlings will shape new myths.”
Soral’s eyes gleam. “A myth sustained by choice, not fear.”
We escort them to prominent seats near stage. Delegates rise respectfully as dragons pass. The amphitheatre fills with quiet anticipation. Kylan slips behind dais, arranges folios, then signals Holt.
The pack lieutenant rings a bell shaped from Yarrow’s star-glass. Tone pure and clear sweeps across summit, hushing side chatter. Kylan steps forward. Sunlight now fully crowns horizon, gilding his silhouette.
“Friends,” he begins, voice carrying effortlessly, “one year past we stitched a wound between worlds. Today we stitch ambitions: trade, scholarship, art, and kinship.” He glances at me. “We gather here to set foot on horizons we haven’t dreamed yet, not to memorialize war.” He gestures to Remi, Zale, Everest, Isabelle. “These leaders proved that verges can be doors. Let us keep them open.”
Applause rolls like warm surf. He yields floor to me. I steady breath, step into sun, collar refracting dawn.
