“Thank you,” I whisper to the will-o-wisps. They hum in appreciation, zipping around me as I lean down to place my palm to the onyx hatch.
Like the doors of the palace, the magic is attuned to my touch. It disappears immediately, revealing an ominous staircase. Unlike the steep, wooden stairs of the ship, these are wide and carved of stone. They wind gradually deeper, lazing downward, before listing to the left and disappearing from sight.
Familiar panic claws up my throat—the kind that begins in my stomach, effervescing until it floods through every vein. Readying me for what comes next. It’s a panic I’ve grown attuned to in my centuries alive, one that’s kept me out of enemy hands more times than I can count.
I know by the slick, cold feeling sliding over my skin, that whatever lies at the bottom of the staircase is dangerous.
The heart of Letum. The lifeblood of Somnya.
The Aeternalis’ creation borne of dreams and adventure and magic. For a moment, I feel his grief burrowed deep in my chest—of how terrible it must have been to watch the world he’d created in response to his abandonment ultimately leave him, too.
The island had been something good once. A resting place for those exhausted by reality, a way to hold onto childhood for just a moment longer. Perhaps, Pan had once been good, too.
Because isn’t that the paradox of living? Holding true to yourself against the currents of the world; holding on as pieces are carved out and carried away by the tide?
What would Pan have been if he hadn’t been so alone for so long? What would I have been if my father had been willing to protect me the way he’d protected Celie?
As I peer into the winding stairwell, I realize it no longer matters—what matters now is what Iwillbe. What the island will be. The heart of my magic has always lied in possibility, and it burgeons in me now. Endless and beautiful.
My pulse slows. My shoulders relax. And I start down the stairs.
The will-o-wisps drift beside me, their soft hum the only sound aside from the pad of my feet and the beat of my heart. There have been so many times in my life when I’ve despised its incessant rhythm, but now, it drives me forward.
Everything I’ve gone through keeps its beat steady and my thoughts clear. That’s the thing about spending your life learning to manage anxiety—when it comes time to fight, you’ve already imagined the worst that could happen. You’ve gone through every possibility in your head, every outcome—there is no fear of the unknown to hinder your decisions.
Together, the will-o-wisps and I descend into the heart of the island. The stairs feel like they go on forever, spiraling deeper and deeper, and the world begins to feel like it's tilted slightly off its axis. Or perhaps it’s me that’s tilted, beginning the day I fell into Niko’s world.My world,I think fiercely. For whatever happens, this island is mine. And I will no longer let anything of mine be taken from me.
I told Niko I could be the hero, but there’s nothing heroic about my heart, as my feet finally find stone. There is possessive darkness, obsessive love—it’s a villainous selfishness that keeps me moving. Because there isnothingI wouldn’t do to keep this place of wonder; the world that gave me power and freedom.
After what feels like hours, we finally reach bedrock. The air is thick and humid, stuffing itself unpleasantly in my lungs. The will-o-wisps float forward, and my breathing hitches as their small light illuminates the entrance to a magnificent cavern. I step inside, in awe of the sheer magnitude.
The cave is at least twenty times larger than the Crocodile above us, sparkling not only with the eerie blue lights, but lights of amillionof different colors. Violets and blues and oranges and reds, their luminescent shimmers all reflected in the still waters of a giant lake spanning the entirety of the space.
Following the will-o-wisps to the water’s edge, I gaze out at the expanse of water, feeling vaguely like one more step will have me freefalling through time and space. The will-o-wisps race away, over the surface of the water, to gather at a small island at the center of the lake. Made of the same obsidian as the Lunaedon, its cragged rocks gape and curve in a vague imitation of a skull. The tiny faeries settle their lights between two matching arches, giving the island the appearance of having awakened, opening its eyes to watch my every move.
Marina’s words come racing back to me:beneath the Indomnitus, in the cradle of death.The skull island must be the heart. Which means the lake is the blood.
Slowly, I pull my sword from its scabbard. Heartbeat steady, I run the blade over my palm. Blood beads up over the shallow slice, and pools in the lines of my hand.
Balling my fingers into a fist, I hardly feel the pain, as I reach over the water and squeeze.
For Niko. For Letum.
But more importantly, forme.
A horribly familiar laugh echoes off the cave walls, bouncing from the high ceilings and landing like a punch to the chest. I whirl around with the sword clutched steadily in my uninjured hand, to see Dawson leaning against the archway to the Indomnitus. The only way out.
He gestures noncommittally at the lake, his eyes glinting. “Now, now. Don’t let me interrupt, Willa Darling.”
My blood freezes as my name rolls off his tongue like an icy blade. It contains none of the affection with which Niko wields it—instead, it rings through the cavern like a warning.
“I daresay…my brother would never forgive me for it. He certainly knows how to hold a grudge.”
I bare my teeth and plant my feet, savage fire blazing through my chest. I’ll tear Dawson apart before I let him stop me, and I’ll enjoy every moment of it. For what he’s done to Niko. To Marina. To so many others.
“I’m sure there are plenty of things higher on his list of grievances with you, Dawson.”
“I don’t know about that,” Dawson hums, gesturing again to the water. “We both know how Nikolas delights in his schemes. Stopping you would ruinyearsof his work.”
