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“Yeah, yeah, we all know—you’re getting laid. Spare me the smugness.”

“Ivain gave us a job. And no, it doesn’t include you spiraling—literally and figuratively.”

“Hardy-har-har.” Kato turned back to the mirror, flexing abs that didn’t care about judgmental little brothers.

“Seriously, you are a walking cry for help. Is this still about Kalahad?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.” Kato flung his arms wide, the ember of the blunt glowing faintly as it dangled from his mouth. “Now, get to the point—what’s this oh-so-important mission, and do I need to be sober? Because that’s going to be a dealbreaker for me.”

In answer, Skye pulled a folded-up slip of paper from inside his coat. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the quiet drag as he unfolded it with deliberate slowness.

“Great,” Kato muttered. “Cryptic silence. My favorite.”

Skye straightened the paper with a snap and held it up.

“Well, would you look at that...” Curiosity officially piqued, Kato took one last drag on the blunt before leaning in.

Chapter 38

Grizzlethorn came through, whoever that was. Some shadowy cartographer with a treasure trove of rare maps, apparently.

Discovered in the Underground libraries—a place Kato had always dismissed as nothing more than an urban legend—Skye explained how it was smuggled out of Infinity’s Edge before the Sanctorum burned everything inside it.

The edges were frayed and yellowed with age. The paper crackled softly, threatening to tear with even the gentlest handling. It revealed a curious and intricate depiction of the island covered almost entirely in a sprawling cityscape, a labyrinth of streets and structures.

Some of the landmarks Kato recognized: the river, the spires of the palace, the general locations of the major villages (which used to be their own city-districts consuming much larger areas). But by far, the most interesting part about it was the smattering of symbols scattered about. A dragon coiled around a tower in the northeast corner, the branching limbs of a tree to the south, and dozens more—there was even the ouroboros, both the one where they’d fallen through and the other where they’d come out.

And just north of Ryme was an eye—lidless and creepy. On paper, it hovered over the city like a bad omen.

That’s what the Marquess wanted them to investigate. If each symbol corresponded to a riftway—their current theory—that one could mean trouble.

Kato stepped over a fallen branch, grimacing as he adjusted his pack. The weight of it pressed uncomfortably against hisshoulders, and the whiskey from earlier wasn’t doing him any favors.

“Whoever said alcohol and hard labor go hand in hand was a liar,” he muttered.

Skye didn’t glance back. “Nobody says that.”

“You obviously haven’t spent enough time with Grandpa.” Kato tripped over a root for a third time. “For the record, if I’d known this was going to involve hauling ass outside the walls, I would’ve told you to go pound sand.”

The remnants of the old city peeked out from beneath the encroaching underbrush—stone foundations and broken archways swallowed by time and moss. Vines twisted like veins along fractured walls, their flowers glowing faintly in flickering pulses, as though the ruins themselves were trying to breathe again.

Or maybe that was just the mirthroot. Unlike the whiskey, it was doingamazingthings.

Towering bloodpines pressed in on all sides, their crimson needles swaying, catching glimmers of shifting green and blue. Kato tipped his head back. Above, ribbons of light wove through the sky like a silent, slow-moving river.

He squinted. No, not just light.

Kato jabbed a finger upward. “You see that too, right?”

Skye glanced up, barely pausing in his stride. “What, the auroras? They’re always brighter during Solnar.”

“No, not the auroras.” Kato gestured more emphatically, nearly stumbling over another root as he kept his gaze fixed skyward. “That.” He pointed again. “There. The... swimming things.”

“Oh, you mean the luminara.” Skye stepped over a tile half-buried in red needles. The faint scent of sap mixed with the cold air. “They migrate during Solnar. You can’t see them inside the city because of the lights.”

He said it like it was nothing, as if one of the universe’s greatest wonders wasn’t unfolding right above them. Kato’s gaze followed a glowing shape looping lazily through the auroras, its long body flickering like a lantern caught in a breeze. The gaps in the blood pines framed the scene perfectly, a shifting canvas of light and motion, alien and mesmerizing.

For a moment, it was all he could see—no forest, no cold air, no gnawing shame at how predictably he fucked up. Just the strange beauty of the luminara gliding through the heavens.