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I take a step forward, fists clenched, the air around me humming with restrained power. “Tell me the truth,” I grit out. “What the hell are you—and why are you here? How did you know I’d be here?”

Mannie studies me with an unsettling calm before speaking. “You must by now understand who you are, aye?” He pauses, then suddenly throws his hands around his head in a theatrical display of frustration. “Surely you saw the memories, felt the echoes of who you were?”

I narrow my eyes, refusing to respond.

He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching with something close to amusement. “I suppose I should make this simpler for you.”

A faint glimmer of mischief dances in his eyes. “Though I am not technically a Sí uaisle, and Rhiannon is not a Keeper. Titles can be... limiting. But they help paint the picture, do they not?”

He gestures to his left. “Dana here is the goddess Danu, mother of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”

Then, turning toward the third figure, his tone shifts—just slightly—softening with something almost fond. “And she is Rhiannon, the maiden goddess.”

His posture straightens.

“And I,” he says, voice low but commanding, “am Manannán mac Lir. God of the Seas. Gatekeeper of Tír na nÓg.”

He looks directly at me now. The authority in his voice doesn’t waver, but it carries something gentler beneath it. Something familiar.

“Your guide, Little One—though it seems you’ve forgotten even the sound of my name.”

A fresh wave of memories surges through me. They come unbidden, vivid yet fragmented, flashing in my mind like firelight on water. I see their faces faintly, not as they are now but as they once were—timeless, radiant, and filled with an otherworldly power.

Manannán’s laughter, wild and boundless. Danu’s serene, knowing gaze. Rhiannon’s fierce determination, sharp as a blade.

They are familiar—achingly familiar—etched into the deepest part of me, though I still can’t grasp how or why. The memories swirl, tugging at me like a current, pulling me deeper into a past I can barely comprehend.

Dizziness roots itself in my spine, spreading fast. The world around me tilts—sky and earth blurring together—and I drop to my knees in the grass.

Callan is at my side in a flash. I barely register the way his arm steadies me, one hand braced between my shoulder blades, grounding me as everything else spins.

“Triona,” he says, voice low, demanding. “Look at me. Breathe.”

But I can’t. The air feels thick as the burden of memories press down. My hands sink into the soil as if the earth itself might hold me together.

Dana steps forward and crouches in front of me, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a skittish animal. “Triona,” she whispers, her voice a blend of calm and urgency, “you have lived a mortal’s life, but the truth of who you are is timeless.”

She leans in, eyes searching mine. “Please—let us explain.”

To my surprise, Callan doesn’t interject. He doesn’t pull me back or demand answers. He simply follows my lead—even in my disoriented state—his steady presence a silent shield beside me.

I hesitate as I stare into her calm, ancient eyes. Something in her presence quiets the storm raging inside me, if only slightly. I nod stiffly, allowing her nearness, though my body remains tense, ready to strike again if necessary.

The words tumble out of me before I can stop them. “How are you even here? Why are you here? And what is going on?”

Mannie straightens with a sigh. “It is unwise to remain here for much longer,” he says, his tone measured but teetering on forceful. “There will be time for answers, but not here. It is pertinent that we make haste with our departure.”

My jaw tightens, suspicion warring with the faint flicker of understanding beginning to stir within me. “What makes you believe I’ll ever go anywhere with you? You refuse to answer most of my questions.”

Mannie’s smirk fades into something more solemn, his eyes narrowing as the moment stretches.

Dana remains crouched in front of me, her posture steady but not without strain. There’s a tightness in her jaw now, barely concealed beneath her calm.

Rhiannon’s gaze flicks between Callan and me—less gentle now, more calculating. Measuring. As if deciding whether I’m still a threat.

My breath slows. Not steady, but no longer ragged. The storm in my chest quiets just enough for me to lift my head… and hold Mannie’s eyes.

“Triona,” Dana says gently.