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The bond was like a door between their minds. One that could be opened, closed, or left ajar.

If it was open, Skye could’ve walked right to her. But, right now, it was closed. Firmly. Just like it had been all week.

Luckily, he didn’t need the bond to track her.

Skye moved through the halls, his senses narrowing on the faint thread of Taly’s scent. It was stronger now, more immediate, cutting through the other smells of the house—wood smoke, furniture wax, faint traces of rain.

He stopped outside Sarina’s door, where it was strongest.

He didn’t bother knocking. And Sarina didn’t look surprised to see him.

A fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth carved from dark stone veined with red and gold, as though the flames had seeped into the rock itself.

The light danced across the room, casting shadows on walls lined with dark mahogany shelves holding an eclectic mix of worn tomes and polished trinkets that glinted in the firelight.

A pair of deep, high-backed armchairs flanked the fireplace, their crimson upholstery worn at the edges but still plush and inviting. Sarina sat in her usual place to the right, the mimic, in his smaller form, snuggled into her lap.

Both looked up to greet him. “Well, that didn’t take as long as I was hoping,” Sarina said, idly petting the mimic’s head.

The door to her bedroom—one of the few in the house where he hadn’t installed a dreamspindle, hadn’t thought there was any need—was shut. That’s where Taly’s scent led.

Without breaking stride, he made for it.

“Skye,” Sarina said, calm but firm. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Sarina,” he said, his hand already reaching for the door handle.

The moment his fingers grazed the metal, flames erupted from the doorframe, bright and sharp, forcing him to yank his hand back with a curse. The fire flickered, unnatural and contained, licking at the edges of the door but leaving it unscorched.

Sarina’s fingers moved absently through the mimic’s sleek fur. His tail flicked lazily, those strange blue eyes smug and satisfied. “You might be grown now, but don’t you dare take that tone with me, young man.”

“You don’t understand,” he insisted. “Taly’s in danger!”

“Of course, she’s in danger, Skye. She’s always in danger. That’s her life now. But this isn’t your fight to fix—it’s hers to figure out.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not going to argue with you about this right now. Let me pass.”

“Tell me, when was the last time you asked anyone’s permission before throwing yourself headlong into danger? Did you ask for Taly’s before you decided to do something that can’t be undone?”

Sarina’s gaze was pointed.

“That’s not the same.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was told what was coming. Shown what would happen if I didn’t act. Taly’s trying to prove a point.”

“Ah. I see.” Sarina’s voice was pleasant, almost amused.

“So it’s reckless pride when she does it.

But when you go carving yourself open behind her back, that’s what—necessity?

” She chuckled, scratching behind Calcifer’s ears.

“Come back when you’ve told her what you’ve turned yourself into.

And by whom . Then we can have a nice, long chat about the ethics of hypocrisy. ”

He held her gaze, unflinching. She’d been a mother to him, but in this moment, she was an obstacle—standing between him and the woman who meant everything. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, Sarina.”

She laughed softly, the sound almost affectionate. “You haven’t tried that since you were nine years old. But go ahead—let’s see if it works out differently for you this time.”

He didn’t have time for games. So, he called her bluff.

As he reached for the door, the handle was still warm. The flames jumped, licking at his fingers, but they faltered just as quickly. Sarina’s fire was fierce, but it wasn’t cruel. Not to him. Not to anyone she considered hers.

He shoved open the door.

The impact never came.

The world didn’t explode into pain, or fire, or finality.

For a heartbeat—two—there was only the thundering in Taly’s ears and the breathless expectation of an imminent death.

Her arms stayed raised in front of her, rigid and trembling. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her body was still bracing for the blow it knew was coming.

But the silence stretched too long.

She opened her eyes slowly.

The monster was still in front of her. But it was no longer standing.

It was… kneeling .

That strange, golden gaze remained fixed on her, sharp and unblinking. “Navan vel'thira. Mel'ethar lir'veth en'thalar.”

A pause. It took Taly a moment to realize that the beautiful, terrible thing before her was waiting—not to strike, but to be answered.

“I, uh… I don’t know what that means,” she said hoarsely.

The creature made a sound of disapproval. “It is a shame your kind have forgotten the old language. It was so beautiful, even on mortal tongues.”

Its voice shaped the words of the common speech into something almost musical, each syllable ringing like a note.

“I am no mortal,” Taly answered. “You know it, Weave beast. Otherwise, you would not be hunting me.”

The creature laughed lightly. “You do not die, no. Your kind were built to endure. But you can still be killed. You still tire even if you avoid the perils of steel and sorrow. The years pass, and you feel their burden. Until finally, you sleep and allow yourself to dream of death.”

Taly’s feet were rooted, her body frozen. “What are you?” she whispered, voice quavering.

Gold lips curved into an enigmatic smile. “Don’t you already know? This is my temple, after all. Even now, after they scraped away its meaning, it is still mine.”

A low sound shivered through the stone beneath Taly’s feet—like breath drawn in by walls that hadn’t lived in centuries. Dust stirred in the corners. Cracks bled gold.

The creature reached out a paper-white hand tipped with black claws.

“I have been waiting…” Taly flinched as those claws grazed her cheek.

“You have no idea how long I have been waiting for you, shan kairó. How I dreamed of this moment. I did not mean for you to be frightened, but he is always watching, always listening. I was lucky to get away.”

The creature rose, towering over her. “Come. We must use our time wisely. His actions defile the sacred, yet I do not seek vengeance this night. Only to right the wrong that has been done.” Golden eyes glowed with an eerie light.

Anger simmered beneath the surface, but there was an undercurrent of something else—desperation.

Hunger . “I bring you gifts. As is the tradition.”

The creature retreated. Taly breathed a bit easier being out from underneath that looming presence.

Lanky and ethereal, its long limbs moved like tendrils of mist. It knelt beside the body of the grimble.

Black claws closed around its bare skull.

A twist.

A crunch .

The head came free.

“For my first gift, as is the tradition, I give you the blood of your enemy. For this one dared to prey upon that which was already claimed.”

Black blood leaked onto the temple floor, trickling from the grimble’s neck, from the mouth that was still frozen in a tortured scream.

The golden creature held out its head, claws dripping black ichor.

Bile surged up her throat, and Taly swallowed hard against it. Refusing would be foolish. But to take it... “Uh, thanks? I think.” Gingerly, she took the head, holding it as far away from her body as she could manage. It was slick. Still warm. “It’s... um... a very nice... head.”

She forced a smile, not sure why everyone seemed so keen on gifting her severed heads lately. Was there some rumor going around that she was into that sort of thing?

The creature’s shadow stretched as its hand rose to point. “For my second gift,” it said in that voice that wove every word into music, “I give you that which you’ve yet to realize you seek.”

Taly followed the gesture, her gaze settling on a stone figure towering over the main altar, a silent sentinel. She couldn’t make out the features. A veil of unseen water still blurred the edges of the world. Its hand stretched out in offering, palm bare.

Taly swallowed, her voice hesitant. “I don’t understand?”

“Find me, and you will. Seek the place where to defile would be an affront beyond all others. For he seeks to corrupt that which he could not claim and planted his decay like a seed of spite.” The music cut out as the monster’s glowing eyes narrowed.

Her face lifted to the wind, lip curling like she’d caught an unpleasant scent. “The impediment is here. You must—”

There was no warning—just the ground giving way in a violent, jagged tear. Taly tumbled, the air rushing past her as the dream shattered into fragments.

She awoke with a sharp inhale, heart pounding against her ribs. It took her a moment to realize where she was—solid ground, the faint scent of smoke and stone, and Skye’s face hovering over her like a storm cloud.

Behind him, Sarina shrugged apologetically, Calcifer in her arms.

“I cannot believe—” Skye began.

“Not now,” Taly said and pushed past him. “I have to go somewhere.”

Before the dream faded and she lost the certainty, the knowing .

Her hand throbbed. Taly glanced down at the bruise spreading across her skin. It wasn’t broken, not like in the dream, but the ache was real.

She tucked it close and kept moving.

Skye wasn’t happy, but he didn’t try to stop her. He just muttered something sharp under his breath and stomped after her, out of the townhouse and across town.

Sarina and Calcifer trailed behind like shadows drawn to the scent of drama.

Taly knew exactly where to go. The blue light when the grimble first pulled her under—she recognized it.

There were ten rainwater cisterns that supplied drinking water to Ryme, all of them built after the Schism when the rain became a more reliable force than the magic. Serpent’s Well was the largest, built over the remains of a time temple after it was destroyed.