I’ll do anything…
The golden light comes without warning.
It floods my vision, warm and blinding, wrapping around me like a cocoon. The grief doesn't vanish—but it softens. It dulls enough that I can draw a breath without it tearing me apart.
When I open my eyes, I'm not in my room.
I'm standing in a grotto.
Water cascades down moss-covered rocks, pooling into a crystal-clear basin that reflects the sunlight filtering through emerald leaves. Flowers bloom in impossible colors—violet, gold, shimmering silver. Vines drape from ancient trees, their trunks thick and gnarled with age. Birds sing overhead, their melodies weaving together into something almost hypnotic.
The air tastes like honeysuckle and warm summer rain.
I turn slowly, taking it all in.
This place feelsalive.
Not just in the way forests breathe, but something deeper. Older. The magic hums beneath my skin, so pure and potent it makes the Hallowind ancestral power feel like a candle compared to the sun.
My first thought is Tharuzel.
But no. There is no darkness. This is light.
Peace. Safety. Life. Potential.
Did I die of a broken heart? Is this where the ancestors go when the physical plane is no longer able to support them?
A rustle in the underbrush draws my attention.
A small fox steps out, its coat a shimmering burnished copper, its eyes bright and curious. It pads toward me, its little black nose twitching.
After a quick sniff of my outstretched hand, its tongue flicks out, warm and wet against my palm.
Another sound rustles on the warm breeze. Whatever made it darts back into the greenery, disappearing among the ferns.
I exhale shakily.
"Hello, Poppy."
I spin, expecting to see my mother—she’s called me petal since I was a toddler—but it’s not Mom.
Birdie Thompson, our apartment neighbor from Wichita, stands a few feet away. Her silver hair hangs in pigtail braids, her hands clasped in front of her, a soft smile on her weathered face.
She’s wearing overalls with ladybugs embroidered on them, and—as always—a mishmash of mismatched colors. A crocheted shawl drapes over her shoulders, wind chimes jingling faintly at her wrists.
She’s exactly how I remember her, and yet I feel like I’ve never really seen her at all.
"Birdie? What are you—how?—"
“It’s been a time for you, hasn’t it?”
She opens her arms, and I don't hesitate. I crash into her, burying my face against her shoulder. The sobs come again, but quieter this time. Gentler.
"He's gone. Asher's gone. He saved me and now he's?—"
"Shh." She strokes my hair, the motion soothing. "I know, sweet girl. I know."
Her touch is warm and familiar, but something feelsdifferent. I pull back slightly, frowning. “I never knew you held arcane power?”
