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I touch the hand that holds the doorknob in its wrinkled grip. “Thank you.”

Descending the last flight of stairs, I am swallowed by the night.

10. Teron

TÉRON

YOU WERE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I have ever seen. When you and I met in the market that day, the ténesomni seemed lighter. You made it lighter. I know that now.

I never dreamed you would see me too. But you did. You must have unearthed something deep inside, something even I did not know I had. You never told me what it was, but it made your eyes sparkle and the dimples that punctuated your lovely mouth deepen.

The day you said yes, my heart swelled to absorb every single drop of light that shook from your laughter. It took on a new shape. A you-shape.

Did I really get to wake up with you every morning, molded to my side, entwined in the blankets you stole during the night? Or was it a dream? It feels like a dream. But I remember the way your nose wrinkled in the bolétis light when I bestowed you with bristly morning kisses. I can see your freckles scrunching together. I know it happened. The tiny details make it real.

When you brought our daughter into the world, your strength humbled me. Pain carved crevices between your eyebrows. Joy sculpted rays at the corners of your eyes. I laid her tiny form on your chest, skin to skin, and wrapped my naked arms around you both. My world.

Nothing bad would ever happen to you. I would not let it.

You were the mother our daughter needed. I know you second-guessed every word you said, every touch you gave, but you were so good. I could not bear seeing the blackness of doubt taint your brightness for even a moment. Always, when the shadow passed, you shone clearer. And you gave that light to her.

I never counted the days with you. I never thought I needed to. They rolled over endlessly, gently carrying us along in spiral after glimmering spiral. I should not have let you slip from my hands. But I did not hold on. Why didn’t I hold on?

All I am left with are these memories, clinging to my thoughts like spiderwebs. One careless breath, and a strand snaps. Tiny threads, nothing to them, yet enough to hold the weight of my world.

What lies led me here, to this moment, when I am questioning all that has kept me going since your warmth embraced me for the last time? My thoughts are an endless cavern, too deep for light to reach.

My Ellehra, why did you have to leave me?

A new heat consumed me after you were taken. It was not life-giving, like yours. Caustic and powerful, I began to crave its flame’s acidic intensity. It sustained me for thirteen years. It owned me.? The crystal waters of our daughter’s eyes—youreyes—threatened to extinguish the blaze. I should have let them, but I was a coward. I believed I needed it, and without it, I would drown.

In the end, it was you. You were the one who overwhelmed that cancerous inferno. It may have been a beast lying amid the trees, but I saw you, in all your fading sola radiance.

So many questions assail my every waking moment. I want to find the answers, but the thought of searching makes me weak. I feel the exhaustion in my soul.

What now becomes of me?

I have held on to this anger so long, I fear my heart will only ever be anger-shaped.

11. Belwyn

BELWYN

MY SHOVEL IS A CLEAVER, severing plant roots and marring the smooth ground, taking more life out of this world.

You can’t pretend you actually believed in all this kaligorven garbage before today.

Rhun’s words throw themselves around my brain like an untamed beast. I want them out. I fling a mound of dirt over my shoulder and thrust the implement down into the soft earth again.

Maybe I didn’t believe. Maybe I hoped it was all a lie.

I glance at the heap of old sola bones awaiting their burial. We scoured all Utsanek. This meager pile represents all the bones my father’s men could find, every scrap of sola light the people possessed. Some of the pieces are so old they emit almost no light. They have belonged to the people for generations. All are a putrid, waxy yellow. It’s fitting that they resemble the death which befell their hosts all those years ago.

If I had truly believed in the kaligorven, if I had understood what it meant to incur their wrath, would I have abandoned my brother to their domain?

A bead of sweat slips off the tip of my nose, splashes the back of my hand. This didn’t need to be my job, but I asked for it. Father doesn’t know why. He probably believes I’m being the dutiful son again, trying to make him proud. The thought of telling him—of telling anyone—that I am at fault for Rhun’s death makes the air in my lungs solidify to brick.

I keep digging. The hole is up to my waist, but it still isn’t deep enough. It will never be deep enough. I breathe in the sharp scent of decay that surrounds me, a bitter perfume rising from the wound I’ve inflicted on the forest floor.