The wind whispered through brittle grass and cracked stone, like breath caught between a prayer and a scream.

  They descended from the mountain’s crown, reaching the base in a few days. The way down seemed easier than the climb. Physically, they were exhausted, but refused to stop till the path ahead cleared. Behind them, the garden of the sky serpent dissolved into mist. Golden canopy folded inward. Light dimmed.

  The highlands gave way to trees and narrow valleys stitched with winding streams. Alder and pine pressed close together, their branches forming a canopy that filtered the light into thin green shards. Ferns blanketed the forest floor, soft and untouched.

  Aurora walked first. The satchel at her back felt heavier than it should. The shards, wrapped carefully in linen, pulsed faintly against one another. Mercy. Truth. Renewal. The serpent had named them gifts. Loose gravel slid beneath Lili’s boots as she descended. She glanced once over her shoulder.

  “It didn’t try to stop us.”

  “That was not mercy,” Alora said quietly.

  Aurora slowed. “Then what was it?”

  Alora did not answer immediately. Her fingers brushed the carved length of Gravebloom as if testing whether it still belonged to her.

  “It weighed us,” she said at last. “And decided we were worth allowing.”

  Lili frowned. “Allowing what?”

  “To continue.”

  The word lingered longer than it should have.

  Aurora exhaled slowly. “You think it expects something.”

  “I know it does,” Alora replied. “Guardians do not give passage without purpose.”

  Lili wrapped her arms around herself. The air felt thinner the lower they walked.

  “When it looked at me,” she said, her voice smaller now, “I did not see my past. I saw roots. Deep ones. Like I was already planted somewhere.”

  Aurora glanced at her. “Planted where?”

  “In something that hasn’t happened yet.”

  Silence settled between them. The serpent’s eyes lingered in memory. Vast. Reflective. Not just showing what had been, but what might be. Aurora felt it too. Assessment.

  The air buckled. A shimmer, hot and sharp, passed over the stones. Then another, cold as knives, slicing through marrow.

  The first fracture came without warning. A jagged seam split the sky, cracking like shattered glass. Violet veins raced outward, bleeding a shadow light that painted the land in sickness. The howling that came next was deafening.

  It rolled down the ridge like a funeral song sung wrong, as grief sharpened into teeth. From the fracture spilled things that should not have been.

  A beast with ribs yawning wide, its chest cavity hollow, dragging a crown of jawbones across the stone as it lurched. Another, hunched and sprawling, its too many limbs bend backward, moving like a broken puppet that refused to stop. Its laughter was too close to weeping, jagged and raw.

  Aurora barely had time to raise her hand. The shards in her satchel flared bright, light pouring out of the bag. A wave rippled outward, heavy and slow, filled with the ache of centuries. It struck the first of the monsters and staggered it, confusion crossing its face. It howled again, lower, dragging its claws across the stone.

  “Lili!” Aurora shouted.

  “On it!” Lili jumped into motion. Thorns exploded from the ground in tangled arcs, slashing through sinew and shadow-flesh.

  But the monsters were many. Too many. Alora raised Gravebloom, voice taut. “They’re anchored! The Rift won’t close, something’s holding it open!”

  She didn’t say what they believed the shard had triggered: that the Rift sensed them taking it and had sent its teeth to bite back. Aurora stood her ground, but her breath caught.

  “We can’t outrun this,” Alora stated. She raised her staff and slammed it into the ground, silently praying that this would work. Her staff blazed with dark shadows.

  One of the larger beasts, hunched and spined with cracked stone, barreled into Lili’s flank, sending her crashing into the roots of a charred oak. Her breath escaped her in a gasp. The creature reared back, its mouth stretching far too wide. Like a distorted yawn. Teeth dripping with a green ooze, claws stretching out, preparing to rip through skin.

  “Lili!” Aurora shouted.

  Alora spun, hurling a line of burning glyphs, but she was too far. The spell lanced off its armor. Aurora surged forward, Starfall in one hand.

  Lili screamed as the creature raked its long claws along her side. A searing pain tore through her, burning her skin. Fear washed over her as the creature raised its snarled head.

  “Move!”

  She unleashed a burst of light that struck the creature squarely in its misshapen heart. The impact tore through it, causing the beast to shriek. It staggered back, snarling Aurora’s name in a half-voice. She froze, if only for a moment.

  Alora was by her side in an instant. “Don’t let it speak again.” Together, they struck at light and shadow in tandem. Lili gasped and rolled away, vines rising in a sudden, defiant snarl.

  “Appreciate the dramatic save,” she said hoarsely. Placing a hand at her side. “Let’s not make it a habit.”

  Then, the sky trembled. It wasn’t the Rift or the creatures; it was the very air itself.

  The ground buckled beneath their boots. Dust and splinters of stone rained down. The beast faltered in instinct as the Rift-born nightmares knew something greater had arrived. The creatures surged closer, their limbs scraping stone, their laughter splitting the air like glass. Aurora’s breath caught. Her hand flew to her satchel before she even thought, fingers closing around the shard.

  It burned cold in her palm as she yanked it free.

  Light flared, a pulse that rippled through the ground like a memory remembered too late. The nearest beast shrieked, rearing back, its ribcage splitting as if resisting something older, stronger than its hunger. The others staggered, clawing at the air, snarling in recognition.

  Aurora held her ground, arm trembling. The shard’s glow wavered. Not enough to stop them. Only to hold them.

  And that was when the man stepped through the trees.

  From the mist at the edge of the cliff… he appeared. A man, tall, draped in a long coat the color of storm water and dried ink. He walked like someone who didn’t know fear. His eyes were a pale silver, almost white, too bright for his shadowed face, too calm for what surrounded him.

  A silver chain hung from his wrist, trailing symbols that shimmered and flickered, never the same shape twice. He stepped forward slowly, almost lazily, as if strolling through a market and not toward the maw of the Rift.

  The creatures noticed him. They stopped, sniffed the air, and backed away. The man raised one hand and whispered something the world did not want to hear. A sigil burned into the sky, black fire spiraling outward like a dying star.

  The Rift screamed. The creatures convulsed. Then, silence. The sky closed, and the Rift vanished. Only ash remained, drifting like snow. The forest was quiet again. The air shimmered with residual Rift-spill, and the wounds they had taken felt deeper than flesh.

  Lili sat hard on a broken root, her hand pressed against her ribs. “Still alive,” she said, wincing. “Mostly.”

  Alora crouched beside her, muttering a spell to draw out the rift venom threading her veins. Her hands were steady, but her jaw was clenched. A faint mark glowed beneath her sleeve.

  Aurora stood a few paces away, the shard still glowing faintly in her grip. Its warmth hadn’t faded, but it had changed. It felt colder now. Heavier. As if it had absorbed something from the Rift spawn… and kept it. She looked at it for a long time. Then slipped it back into her bag.

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  “We’ll rest for an hour,” she said quietly. “Then we keep moving.”

  None of them argued. The strange man who had randomly appeared and disposed of the creatures turned to them then, smiling faintly, as if he were politely impressed.

  “That was a close one.” He spoke quietly, humor lacing his voice. None of them responded. Aurora still had her hand raised, while Lili’s vines trembled, unsure if they should strike again.

  Alora stepped forward, her voice sharp. “Who are you?” She commanded, her tone stone cold. The man bowed slightly, hand across his chest.

  “I carry no name. Once, I was called Kegan by friends. I tend to show up when things begin to bleed between realms. Those creatures were certainly out to dispatch you three.”

  Lili stared at him.

  “Do you always walk out of fog and banish monsters with finger-painting?”

  “Only on a full moon.” Kegan laughed

  Alora narrowed her eyes. “That sigil. That wasn’t any Rift seal I’ve seen.”

  “That’s because it wasn’t one of yours,” Kegan replied. “It was borrowed.”

  Aurora’s hand dropped. “From who?”

  Kegan looked at her, and something in his eyes flickered. A Warning.

  “Someone who doesn’t like being named.”

  Silence again. The wind stirred.

  “You claimed the shard,” Kegan said. “Which means the Rift is… listening now. And the creatures you just met? They’re just the whispers.”

  He glanced at the horizon, where the sun dipped beneath the clouds.

  “When you reached for the shard, the screaming began.”

  Aurora stepped forward. “Why are you helping us? How do you know these things?”

  Kegan tilted his head. “Who said I am?”

  He smiled again, then turned, walking into the mist. His voice drifted behind him. “See you soon, ladies.”

  Then he was gone. The girls stood on the ridge. Alora’s grip on Gravebloom had not loosened. Lili exhaled slowly.

  “Okay. So that was… deeply unsettling.”

  Aurora looked down at her satchel, at the shards now pulsing harder than before.

  “The part where he showed up or the part that he just took on more creatures than we’ve ever seen at once and didn't even flinch?” Alora huffed.

  They made camp at the edge of a ravine that night, where twisted trees grew sideways from the mountain's walls and stars flickered like dying embers above them. The fire was slow to take. Lili muttered at the logs as if personally offended by their dampness. Alora said nothing, her back straight, Gravebloom cradled like a sentinel.

  Aurora watched the flames grow, her arms wrapped around her knees. She still felt the shards pulsing faintly in her satchel. All three were now gathered, but the weight hadn’t lifted; it had only deepened.

  Kegan sat across from them. He had not asked to join them; he simply walked into camp after they had set up camp and sat down, silent.

  He stirred an indescribable sensation in the air around him, not quite discomfort; it made the girls uneasy.

  “You said the Rift was listening now,” Aurora said quietly, breaking the silence.

  “Because of the shards.” Kegan didn’t look at her. He tossed a small stone into the fire, watching it crackle.

  “Not just the shards, but you,” he replied. “You were the ones who gathered them.”

  Alora narrowed her eyes. “Why us?”

  Kegan met her gaze intensely. His face bore an inscrutable look. “Because you’re the only ones who could. And because you weren’t meant to.”

  Lili winced. “That’s comforting.”

  He smiled faintly, as though pleased by her sarcasm.

  “The Book of Tomes was sealed for a reason. Its last page is missing. The final rite, the sole instruction for closing the Rift, has been taken.”

  Aurora straightened up. “Stolen by who?”

  Kegan’s face grew serious. “By the one who opened it.” A heavier silence enveloped the room, dimming even the fire’s glow.

  “We thought the book would have guided us,” Alora said in a hushed tone. “That the shards were the key.”

  “They are,” Kegan said. “But only if you know how to wield them. You possess power now, enough to tremble the heavens. Yet, you still lack the blade necessary to sever the thread.” He rose deliberately, dusting off his coat. “And the thread is rapidly fraying.”

  Lili narrowed her eyes at him. “You always speak in riddles; it’s all so mysterious. Why won’t you just share what you know?”

  Kegan tilted his head slightly. “Because knowledge has a price. And none of you have paid what it’s worth.”

  He turned then, walking to the edge of the ravine. His silhouette framed in starlight and shadow. Just before vanishing into the trees, “Find the Grave of the Sky born. When you do… I’ll be waiting.”

  Then he was gone as if he had never been there at all. Aurora stared into the fire, her thoughts loud beneath the silence.

  “Grave of the Sky born?”

  “It wasn’t in the book,” Alora murmured. “It must have been on the missing page.”

  Lili poked the fire absently. “Well. I don’t trust him. But I also don’t want to fight another bone-spider without him.”

  They didn’t laugh, but something in their eyes agreed. Kegan wasn’t safe, yet he was necessary. The fire burned low, its light casting long shadows that danced across the rocks like ghost flames. Lili and Aurora slept close, wrapped in cloaks and tangled hair, the night calm, finally offering them rest.

  Alora sat alone, her eyes fixed on the edge of the trees, Gravebloom resting across her lap like a cat that had fallen asleep but remained ever watchful.

  The air was colder now. Still. Like something had exhaled and forgotten to breathe in again.

  She heard a soft footstep behind her, confirming that someone was there. She turned without flinching. Kegan stood a few paces back, hands in his cloak pockets, eyes half-lidded and silvered by starlight.

  “You really should sleep sometime,” he said, voice low.

  “I would be able to sleep just fine if I knew someone wasn't stalking us. You are not welcome here. Why do you keep following us?” Alora responded icily.

  “Yet here I stand, observing you.” He advanced slightly, just enough to dip into the glow of the firelight.

  Alora didn’t rise. But her eyes tracked him like a hawk. “I want answers.”

  Kegan tilted his head, a smile creeping in like a shadow through mist.

  “So does everyone,” he replied calmly.

  “Who are you? No more riddles.” Alora snapped quietly

  “Someone who keeps you alive,” he shrugged.

  “That’s not a name,” Alora rolled her eyes.

  “No,” he said, sitting on a rock just outside her reach. “But it’s more honest than most names usually are.”

  Alora squinted. “You stride like a man, but the Rift is aware of you. The magic you wielded earlier wasn’t merely borrowed; it was bound. Blood-bound. That is forbidden magic. No one has used it since the third King.”

  Kegan’s grin disappeared, not in anger, but in something sharper. Amused. Almost impressed. “You’re smarter than most priestesses I’ve met.”

  “I’m not most priestesses,” Alora said flatly.

  They sat in silence, interrupted only by the soft hiss of wood splitting in the fire. Then Alora leaned forward slightly, her voice quieter, but colder:

  “Are you bound to the Rift?”

  “No.”

  “Are you part of it?”

  Kegan met her gaze, long and slow. “Does it scare you?”

  “No,” she lied.

  He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “You should be scared, Alora, keeper of Gravebloom. What happens when I’m not here next time?”

  She clenched Gravebloom tighter. “Why us? Why now? The shards, the book, none of it makes sense without the last page. You say you're here to help us, yet all we receive are riddles and unanswered questions. You just said you are keeping us safe, we have been just fine since the beginning, and you were nowhere to be seen. ”

  Kegan’s voice dropped, just above a whisper: “Because the last time someone tried to close the Rift… they failed. It almost swallowed the world. Just because you haven't seen me doesn't mean I haven't been here the whole time.”

  The fire crackled. Alora’s heart raced like a war drum.

  “Was it you?” she asked.

  Kegan stood, brushing a fleck of ash from his coat as if it were nothing. “It was long ago.”

  Alora rose too, slow, deliberate. “You didn't answer the question.”

  He turned, half in shadow. “Did I ever promise I would?”

  Her grip tightened on Gravebloom, the staff glowed faintly with memory pulling towards him, as if the magic itself recognized something. She stood and approached him. Inches from his face, she stared at him. He was slightly taller than her, yet she held his gaze.

  “If you lie to me, I’ll know,” she said menacingly.

  Kegan leaned in, just enough that his silver eyes caught the starlight. His nose almost touching hers, he didn’t back down from her obvious threat. “If I lie to you…it will only be to keep you breathing long enough to matter.”

  Her breath caught. Their gazes locked for a long moment, a tether drawn taut between them. Something unspoken. Alora finally backed down, taking a step back from him.

  “You're playing a dangerous game,” She murmured.

  “I always have,” he whispered.

  Then he was gone, faded out like smoke in the wind. Only absence, like the night, had swallowed him whole. Alora lowered herself slowly, pulse racing, her staff warm in her hands now, whispering a warning.

  “Who are you really, Kegan?” she breathed.

  Alora settled back down, Gravebloom across her lap, her eyes drifting to the other two. Aurora and Lili slept soundly, their faces softened by dream, unaware of what had just transpired in the dark. Unaware of the man who slipped in and out of their path like a shadow.

  Who was he? A threat? An ally? Both? The questions gnawed at her, too many threads and not enough answers to weave them into something whole. Alora hated not knowing. She hated the silence between truths.

  She closed her eyes, letting the night press in around her. For several long minutes, her pulse was still quick, the warmth of her staff steady against her hands. Despite herself, weariness claimed her, and she drifted into a restless sleep. Dreaming of Kegan.