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I wake to sunlight filtering through familiar windows. My windows.

The sun means the Crucible must be over. The storm has passed. But how?

The room is cool and quiet, the scent of healing herbs lingering in the air. My body feels distant, as if I'm floating slightly above it—the aftermath of drawing too much essence, of pushing my unbound nature beyond what it could safely contain.

Memories flood back in disjointed fragments. The Crucible. The storm. Killing the windborne. Collapsing as Typhon roared his defiance. Raith...

"Raith," I whisper, my throat raw. I reach for our tether, finding it present but strangely muted, like a voice heard through thick glass.

"Nessa!" Mireen's face appears above me, her copper-red hair falling loose around her shoulders. Relief floods her features. "Thank the elements. You've been out for days. Good thing we already had practice with the whole routine of keeping an eye on you while unconscious.”

I try to sit up, wincing as my muscles protest. "Days?"

"Easy," she says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "The healers said you nearly burned yourself out. Whatever you did in the forest... it was too much. But on the bright side, I had a lot of fun practicing a eulogy for you. And no, I won’t tell you what was in it. I’m still saving it incase you decide to croak in the near future.”

Typhon materializes beside the bed, his flying fish form diminished to nearly half its usual size. "The angry human lives," he says in my mind, but there's no hiding his relief. "I told them you would survive, but they insisted on fussing anyway."

"Where are the others?" I ask, scanning the room.

"Beck and Ambrose are fine," Mireen says. "Brunhild too. They've been taking shifts watching over you. Again, ” she adds with a grin. "You're quite the celebrity now, you know. Everyone saw Typhon in his true form. They're calling you the Dragon Tamer."

I groan, letting my head fall back against the pillow. "Wonderful."

"It's not all bad," she continues, pouring water from a crystal pitcher. "I think people are going to think twice before crossing you now. Malakai's alliance has completely fractured—most of them are distancing themselves from him and Serena as fast as they can."

I take the offered water, drinking deeply. "What about Raith? Where is he?"

Mireen’s expression falls, and my heart drops along with it. "He..." she hesitates. "He got you back safely, but he was pretty badly injured. Collapsed right after getting you to the healers."

Ice floods my veins as I bolt upright, ignoring the pain. "What? Where is he now?"

"The healers are taking care of him," she says, but there's uncertainty in her voice. "They wouldn't let any of us see him, not even the fires. Voss was personally looking over him apparently and keeping people away for Raith’s safety."

I throw back the covers, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. "I need to see him."

"Nessa, wait—you're still weak."

"I don't care." The tether between us pulses, but it's so faint, so distant. Fear claws at my throat. "Something's wrong, Mireen. I can feel it."

The door opens before Mireen can respond. Rector Voss enters, silver hair immaculate as always, his face a careful mask of concern.

"Miss Thorne," he says, inclining his head. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Where's Raith?" I demand, ignoring his question.

Voss's expression softens. "Mr. Hollow's condition is... complex. His injuries were severe.”

"I want to see him."

"Of course," Voss says, surprising me with his easy acquiescence. "That's why I'm here. I thought you might want to see him as soon as you woke up."

"Rector," Mireen begins, "the healers said she shouldn't?—"

"It will be fine," Voss interrupts gently. "I'll personally ensure Miss Thorne's safety."

“I do not trust him, angry human ,” Typhon warns in my mind.

I glance at him, noting the tension in his small form, but my concern for Raith overrides all else.

"Let's go," I say, pushing myself to my feet.

Mireen looks unhappy but doesn't argue further. "I'll tell the others you're awake," she says, squeezing my hand before stepping back.

Voss guides me from the room, his pace slow to accommodate my still-weak legs. Even this small exertion leaves me breathless, but I push on, focusing on the faint pulse of our tether.

"Raith was quite the hero," Voss remarks as we walk. "Claiming the ceremonial blade, ending the Crucible. He and the others in his team have been granted legacy status, as promised."

I barely hear him. My fear for Raith pounds in my head like a deafening heartbeat. Raith Aurenciel. Heir to the Red Kingdom throne. The man I foolishly gave my heart and my oath to. But gods. If anything happens to him…

"The Empire Council was most displeased," Voss continues. "They had... other plans for the Crucible this year. I’m afraid they won’t be able to remove me as easily as they hoped. But I imagine they’ll be quite surprised by how events play out. Perhaps even happy.”

We reach a door I've never seen before, tucked away in a rarely-used corridor of the academy. Voss produces a key, ornate and clearly ancient, and unlocks it.

"Mr. Hollow is just through here," he says, gesturing for me to enter.

The room beyond is small and circular, with no windows. As soon as we enter, I feel the same jarring sensation I’ve come to know as teleportation. The world condenses, spins, and then there’s a snap sound.

Voss is still beside me as I appear in a damp and dark cave, his hands on my shoulders, steadying me.

The cave is lined with bookshelves and desks full of ancient texts and scattered papers.

“Wh-what?” I breathe, alarm pulsing in my mind.

“As I said,” Voss gestures smoothly to a blue column of light at the center of the cave. In its center, Raith floats, suspended with motes of dust and rotating slowly. There’s a gash across his stomach and it’s frozen in time, drops of blood suspended mid-air. “I brought you to Raith.”

"Raith!" I rush forward, heart pounding.

I reach for him but the column feels like glass, stopping me from getting close. I pound on it, palms sliding down the magical barrier. “Let me help him. I can heal him.”

“Yes,” Voss says, moving to stand beside me. “That was why I brought him here. Without your healing, he would have certainly died.”

I stare at Raith. His eyes are closed and his expression is peaceful. He's shirtless, revealing numerous half-healed wounds across his chest and arms. The stasis has preserved him exactly as he was, frozen in time.

Through our tether, I sense him—distant but present, as if sleeping deeply.

"Why does he feel so far away?" I whisper.

“Feel?” Voss asks.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing. It just… feels wrong.”

“No, Nessa. This is exactly what you are meant for. Saving the ones you love, just like you told me.”

I study Raith's face, memorizing every line, every curve. Even in stasis, he radiates strength, determination. The man who fought his way through legacies, who claimed the blade, who carried me to safety despite his own wounds.

"What do I do?" I ask, not taking my eyes off him.

"I'll release the stasis," Voss says. "But you must act quickly. His injuries will resume their damage the moment he's free."

Typhon materializes at my shoulder, his form tense with watchfulness. "Something here is wrong,” he warns in my mind.

"It's Raith," I reply silently. "What choice do I have? Even if it’s some sort of trick. I need to help him."

Typhon's unease radiates through our tether, but he doesn't argue further.

"I'm ready," I tell Voss, gathering what little essence I've managed to recover.

Voss waves his hand and the blue light flickers, then fades. Raith begins to fall forward as gravity reclaims him, and I rush to catch him, staggering under his weight. But he feels lighter than I expected, as if he’s already lost so much blood that I can feel its absence.

Gods… Raith…

I lower him gently to the floor, cradling his head in my lap. Blood seeps from his wounds, his breathing shallow and labored.

"Hurry," Voss urges, standing back.

I place my hands on Raith's chest, calling forth my healing power. It comes sluggishly, still depleted from my overextension during the Crucible, but I push harder, drawing on reserves I didn't know I had.

Warmth flows from my palms into his body. I focus on the worst injuries first—a punctured lung, internal bleeding, fractured ribs—letting my instincts guide me through the healing process.

Raith's breathing eases, color returning to his face.

"It's working," I murmur, watching as the smaller wounds begin to close.

But something strange happens as the healing progresses. Raith's form seems to shimmer, like heat rising from summer stone. At first, I think it's my exhaustion playing tricks on my vision, but the effect intensifies.

"What's happening?" I ask, alarm rising as Raith's features begin to blur.

Voss doesn't answer, his eyes fixed on Raith with an intensity that sends chills down my spine.

Beneath my hands, Raith's body continues to shift. His shoulders narrow, his jawline softens, his hair lengthens and darkens from black to deep auburn. The scars on his face fade completely, replaced by smooth, flawless skin.

I try to pull away, but some force holds my hands in place, drawing more and more of my essence into the transformation.

When it's complete, it's no longer Raith lying in my lap, but a woman. She's breathtakingly beautiful, with high cheekbones and full lips. Her military uniform is of an unfamiliar design, its style ancient yet somehow timeless. Silver swirls mark the uniform that look nearly identical to my mark when I’m not holding the disguise.

Her eyes flutter open—silver, eyes. Older than her face, somehow.

She looks up at me with momentary confusion, then turns her head toward Voss. Recognition dawns on her face, followed by a smile of such devotion it makes my heart ache.

"Lorkan, my love," she whispers, voice rich and melodious. "Is that really you?"

"Milena." He kneels beside her, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips with reverence. "At last. It's finally time we take back what is ours."

I scramble backward, horror and confusion warring within me. "What... who..." I stammer, unable to form coherent thoughts. "Where is Raith?"

Through the tether, I search desperately for him, for any trace of the connection we'd forged. But instead of the void I feared, I find him—distant but strong, his essence pulsing with life. Not weakened or diminished, but simply far away.

Lorkan turns to me, his expression almost kind. "Raith Hollow is perfectly safe, Nessa. He never left Confluence. My unbound power is transformation. It’s how the siphons take so many forms. It’s how I made Milena look like Raith. She was wounded and nearly killed over a thousand years ago. But now that she’s back, she can create more siphons. We can control them again. Finally.”

"You used me," I whisper, the full weight of his deception crashing down. "You tricked me into healing her. To helping… you’re?—"

Milena rises gracefully to her feet, her movements fluid despite centuries of stasis. "You are unbound," she says, studying me with open curiosity. "Like me." Her gaze drops to my marked hand. "Though you hide it. Why?"

Before I can answer, the floor beneath us begins to glow, patterns of ancient runes illuminating one by one in concentric circles.

"What's happening?" I demand, feeling magic building around us.

"A necessary departure," Lorkan says, helping Milena to steady herself. "The ruin will collapse once the stasis chamber is fully deactivated. A failsafe I installed long ago."

The walls tremble, dust and small stones raining down as the runes glow brighter.

"You're just leaving me here?" I back away, looking for an exit.

Lorkan regards me with what seems like genuine sympathy. “I know this is confusing. But it’s not what you imagine, Nessa.”

"Why?" I ask. "Why all of this?"

"Because the world is broken," Milena answers, her silver eyes burning with conviction. "It has been since the Empire and the Red Kingdom tore it apart. Since they hunted our kind to the edge of extinction."

"We're going to fix it," Lorkan adds. "And when we do, there will be a place for you among us. Among your own kind. You may think us your enemy, but know the deception was a necessary one. We are not your enemies, Nessa."

“You certainly look like fucking enemies from where I’m standing,” I say between clenched teeth. My confusion is slowly turning to rage. Anger. Hurt.

“There are others like you, you know,” Lorkan says softly. “I’ve been monitoring the various primal academies for centuries now. Both here and in the Red Kingdom. There have been several others, but none quite like you. I could take you to meet them, if you like. They are all quite eager to meet you.”

I shake my head, still feeling dazed. Confused. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

His smile is sad, but doesn’t seem surprised. “Yes. I imagined you would say that. It’s because of young Aurenciel, no?”

My chest goes tight. He knows who Raith is. How the hell does he know?

“It’s quite alright,” Lorkan continues. “You’ve done me a favor I cannot begin to repay. For this, I’ll allow you to see for yourself that the Aurenciels cannot be trusted—that their hatred of our kind runs through their very blood. So you may return to Confluence. You may go back to Raith. And when you’ve seen him for who he truly is, we will be waiting for you. Ready for you to join us.”

"Find us when you're ready," Milena says. "When you've seen the truth of what they are. What they've done. Find that you’re not as alone as you think. We can be a family for you, Nessa. A family of those who truly understand you. Who won’t fear you. Won’t try to cage or use you."

Lorkan gestures and I sense magic gathering in the air around me like prickles across my skin. I brace myself for destruction. For oblivion. When I think about what I just helped Lorkan do, part of me almost welcomes it. Part of me almost hopes I’m about to be destroyed.

The last thought in my mind before the magic hits is of Raith, of wishing we’d had more time together before it all came crashing down around us.