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The strain built, and with it, drops of blood surfaced on his skin.

“Easy,” Cori said. “We don’t need a repeat of yesterday. I’m still trying to get the stains out.”

Beads of blood welled on his arms, his hands now glinting like rubies in the bright light. They quivered, as if caught in a breath of unseen wind.

This was where he’d messed up yesterday—he’d pushed too much aether into the forming apparition and sent it exploding outward in a spray of blood.

The core pulsed between his shoulders, a steady pressure just below thought. It wasn’t pain, not exactly, but it set his nerves on edge.

He focused on adjusting the flow. It was like holding his breath just long enough—just enough force, just enough release.

One by one, the shimmering beads stretched outward.

Darkness bled from their edges, the vibrant crimson fading into a misty black.

“The Fey are a literal species,” Cori said, watching over his shoulder as the shadows at his fingertips curled like smoke seeking an escape.

“The Gate Watchers are a group of mages that watch Gates. We call our mechanical armies the Mechanica. The Genesis Council is made of Genesis Lords who carry Genesis Shards. There had to be a reason shadow mages are called what they are.”

They weren’t shadows in the ordinary sense—not the absence of light, but a deeper, heavier dark. The tendrils shimmered faintly, their surfaces rippling like the surface of oil disturbed by a breeze.

Pulling at his aether, he redirected the flow. The tendrils resisted at first, sluggish and unwieldy. He nudged the flow higher, just a hair, feeling the pressure build in his spine. They responded, edges smoothing.

Soon, they moved as one, fluid as silk beneath his control.

With a flick of intent, he shaped the vapor into a blade, holding its form briefly before it unraveled back into smoke.

And it hit him. This was it. This was what real power felt like.

Not brute strength. Not raw force.

It was controlled, deliberate precision threaded with deadly intent.

He stared at the blood shadow, its form coiling around him, waiting to be shaped.

Cori grinned beside him. “Something tells me he likes it.”

The shadow rippled, matching the beat of his heart. “He fucking loves it,” Skye murmured.

Because for the first time, he understood—power wasn’t a weapon he reached for. It was something he was.

He raised his eyes to hers. “I have another question.”

The journal was a mess, its pages curling at the edges, text running in blurred streaks where water had seeped in. Most of it was useless—fragmented thoughts and missing instructions. But one line stood out, pristine and sharp as if untouched by the years.

“To kill the grimble, you’ll need to meet it where it lives.”

The dream began in darkness.

The kind of black that pressed inward, an almost tangible weight.

Beneath her feet, the surface rippled—a glassy, black sheen that moved like water but reflected nothing.

Taly needed only to think it and light appeared, faintly radiating from her.

Heart pounding, she pushed up the sleeve of her coat.

The skin underneath was bare, except for a faint smudge of ink, shifting and swirling like a cloud caught beneath the surface.

No matter how she turned her arm, the marks refused to focus.

It didn’t take long for the beast to show itself. The ripples beneath her feet stilled, and the air thickened. A hollow hum vibrated through the darkness.

Taly didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, behind her—another ripple.

She turned, and it was already there. The grimble. Its grotesque, bone-white body loomed in the black.

It was even more horrible than she remembered. Wrinkled, sagging skin hung off a bloated frame with too many hands dangling from skeletal, knobby arms. Its mouth twisted into a grin—if that could be called a grin—staring at her with eyes that reflected nothing.

Fear slammed into her, sharp and cold, rooting her to the spot. Her hand twitched toward her dagger—but she couldn’t move. Her throat felt tight, breath shallow, the weight of the darkness pushing harder now.

“Steady hand, calm heart,” the Queen’s warning echoed in her mind.

Taly willed steel into her spine. With a steady hand, she yanked the dagger free and snarled, “Let’s do this, you ugly sack of shit.”

The grimble lunged with a growl. Hands—cold and slick—snatched at her. She twisted, slamming her elbow into its chest. It flinched back. Another hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her with it. She swung her blade, steel biting deep into its side.

Black ichor oozed from the wound, but the grimble didn’t recoil. Its grip only tightened. Cold, slick fingers dug into her wrist, into her shoulder.

“No—” Taly kicked hard, twisting the blade, but the hands didn’t loosen.

She shoved again, but another hand latched behind her knee, jerking hard. They tumbled, tangled together, and hit the black with a soundless crash.

The surface cracked—then shattered beneath them.

For a beat, there was nothing but the plunge—cold and suffocating, dragging her down.

She twisted. Kicked. But the grimble held fast, and together they spiraled into the dark.

From within it, the Queen’s voice echoed—her parting words, one final caution after instructing Taly on how to kill a dream spinner.

“I do not advise this. I’ve seen better than you fail.”

The shadow curled around his hand, slick and twitching. “Why didn’t you want me to have this power?” Skye asked.

Cori was still sitting on the workbench beside him, her fingers tapping away on that strange human device. She didn’t stop, didn’t look at him right away.

“Because it’s too big a risk for something that ultimately won’t matter,” she finally said.

“What does that mean?”

“Time is a delicate balance.”

“Stop giving me riddles,” he snapped.

Her gaze fixed on his. “It’s not a riddle.

It’s the hard reality of the situation. I’m not the only one with my fingers in the pudding right now.

Every moment of this timeline has been perfectly planned, perfectly timed, and is being monitored.

You make big changes, you get big ripples, and big ripples are easy to see.

And then it takes something even bigger to cover it up. ”

Darkness curled high around his wrist, flickering. “Wait… what do you mean, cover it up ?”

The look she gave him was almost pitying. “Did you really think you could completely derail time without consequences?”

His heart kicked hard in his chest. The shadow jumped. “What did you do?” he whispered.

“What I had to do to fix it,” she said matter-of-factly. “I made a bigger ripple for Azura to focus on.”

Skye had a sinking feeling he knew what that ripple was. “The grimble.”

To his growing horror, she only said, “Yes,” as her fingers returned to tapping.

“It took a while to find one that was still clinging to life. I was afraid it was going to be too weak to get in. Azura trained me too well to leave anything unguarded. Thankfully, giving it a memory—a familiar shape—did the trick. Maybe next time, think twice before deciding I’m doing this solely for shits and giggles.

Believe it or not, I might actually know what I’m talking abo— ah . ”

With a stifled cry, Cori abruptly folded over, clutching her hand close.

“What’s happening?” Skye demanded. This wasn’t his Taly, but the sight of her in pain sparked the same instinct.

Carefully, she uncurled her hand. The skin was smooth—unbroken—but for a moment, the mask slipped, and she looked… worried.

“It’s nothing,” she said, flexing her fingers. “It’s just the Weave—ah!” She doubled over, gasping for breath. “ Fuck ! You never get used to that.”

“Cori, I swear to the damned Shards, if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on—”

“I told you, meddling comes with a cost!” she snapped breathlessly. “The timeline is adjusting itself. I set the pieces in motion, but now other-me is… living them out. It’s just part of the balance. Pain has to go somewhere.”

Skye went still. The blood shadows lingered for a moment, writhing faintly, before they pulled back into his skin like ink drawn into water.

“She’s living it?” The anger in his voice was a thin veil over the panic creeping in. “Right now?”

He didn’t know why he was surprised. Taly had woken up that morning. Of course , she was in danger.

Cori slid off the table, brushing past him as she gathered her things. “I have to go now. And so do you.”

“You haven’t changed a single fucking bit,” he snarled, already halfway to the door.

Cori blew him a kiss. “Someone’s got to create the emergencies, Skye. Otherwise, you’d just be a guy with control issues and nowhere to put them.”

He froze, hand on the door. It was like being given a mirror he hadn’t asked for.

Worse—seeing something he recognized.

She read the look on his face and smiled, all teeth. “Go on, hotshot. Time to save the girl.”

“I hate you.” He yanked the door shut with a scowl.