Xheavend had discovered something important about escaping.
Directions were useless when everyone was trying to kill you.
"LEFT!"
Xheavend went left.
"OTHER LEFT!"
She skidded.
"What other left?!"
"THE ONE THAT ISN'T THAT ONE!"
"THERE ARE ONLY TWO!"
"THEN PICK BETTER!"
Xheavend hated Wisper.
Not actually.
Probably.
She didn't have enough breath to decide.
She ran.
Bare feet slapped against black stone.
Her lungs burned.
Her side hurt.
Every breath scraped.
Behind them—
bells screamed.
THE WARD HAS ESCAPED.
The words rolled through Yeitshoja again.
Not her name.
Never her name.
That mattered.
Yzer had her blood.
He had put his disgusting road inside her.
He had seen things he should never have seen.
He had reached into places that belonged only to her and decided they belonged to him instead.
But he did not have her name.
Xheavend intended to keep it that way.
"RIGHT!"
She turned.
"NO, WAIT!"
Xheavend stopped so suddenly Wisper nearly flew into a wall.
"What?!"
The tiny blood-creature hovered in front of her.
His enormous crimson eyes blinked.
He looked left.
Then right.
Then behind them.
Then upward.
Then slowly back at her.
"I may have made a small directional error."
Xheavend stared at him.
Wisper raised two tiny claws.
"Before you become judgmental—"
"You don't know where we're going."
"I know generally."
"Where?"
"Away."
"That's not a place!"
"It is when you're being chased!"
A horn sounded behind them.
Wisper's ears flattened.
"Run."
Xheavend ran.
That direction, at least, made sense.
They burst from a narrow passage into a street—
and Xheavend stopped.
She had expected more castle.
There wasn't more castle.
There was—
everything.
Yeitshoja sprawled beneath her.
Not one building.
Not even one fortress.
A city.
An entire city wrapped around the mountain.
Black towers rose at impossible angles beneath the broken crimson sky. Bridges crossed empty space between cliffs. Chains thicker than houses disappeared upward into clouds. Blue fire burned inside suspended cages.
Buildings had been stacked upon buildings until Xheavend couldn't tell where streets ended and rooftops began.
Some roads climbed.
Some descended.
One curved straight up a wall.
Another simply ended over an abyss.
Hundreds of lights glowed below.
Red.
Gold.
Purple.
Blue.
People moved through the streets.
Creatures moved with them.
Things Xheavend didn't recognize.
Things she didn't particularly want to recognize.
And somewhere among all of it—
safety.
Maybe.
Wisper landed on her shoulder.
"Okay."
Xheavend waited.
"Okay what?"
"I'm thinking."
"Think faster."
"I don't perform well under criticism."
"People are chasing us!"
"THAT IS ALSO CRITICISM!"
A roar echoed from behind them.
Wisper's wings snapped open.
"Down!"
Xheavend ducked.
Something sailed overhead.
A hooked chain.
It struck a wall.
Stone exploded.
Xheavend ran.
A guard appeared at the end of the street.
She turned before he could shout.
Another alley.
Another staircase.
Another bridge.
She had no idea where she was going.
That terrified her.
Her father had taught her never to run without knowing where she intended to stop.
Running was not a plan.
Escape required a destination.
A route.
Alternatives.
Places to hide.
Places not to hide.
People who could be trusted.
People who could not.
Information.
She had none.
Except—
Wisper.
That was something.
"Where are we going?"
"I'm working on it!"
"That's not an answer!"
"It is technically an answer!"
"It's a bad one!"
"You're very demanding for someone I'm rescuing!"
"I rescued you!"
"You vomited me!"
Xheavend almost tripped.
"THAT DOESN'T COUNT!"
"It counts to me!"
Another horn sounded.
Closer.
Wisper stopped joking.
"Keep moving."
Xheavend did.
They descended.
Lower.
Farther from Yzer's fortress.
The buildings changed.
The enormous estates disappeared first.
Then the gardens.
Then the statues.
Then the clean black roads.
The farther east they traveled, the older everything became.
Buildings leaned into one another.
Wood appeared between the stone.
Laundry hung from windows.
Signs swung above doorways.
Markets occupied crooked streets.
People crowded alleys.
Good.
Crowds meant hiding.
Bad.
Crowds meant witnesses.
Xheavend pulled her hood over her head.
Her mask was still there.
Thank the gods.
She touched it.
Still secure.
Wisper immediately crawled beneath her hood.
"Ow."
"Hide me."
"Your claws are in my hair."
"That's how hiding works."
"No, it isn't."
"It is for me."
Xheavend kept moving.
A group of soldiers rushed past the next intersection.
She turned her face away.
They didn't stop.
Good.
She walked now.
Not ran.
Running drew attention.
Her father's voice returned.
If everyone else is walking, you walk.
If everyone else is afraid, find out why before showing that you aren't.
And never look guilty.
Xheavend wasn't guilty.
That helped.
She was only escaping imprisonment, destroying part of a fortress, killing guards, and carrying a tiny blood-creature inside her hood.
Normal.
Completely normal.
She walked.
One step.
Another.
Her legs shook.
Ignore it.
Her ribs hurt.
Ignore it.
Her head throbbed.
Ignore it.
Her arm—
Xheavend stopped.
Cold.
Something moved beneath her skin.
Exactly where Yzer had put the needle.
Her stomach turned.
No.
She grabbed her arm.
Wisper noticed immediately.
"What?"
Xheavend didn't answer.
She felt it again.
Not pain.
Attention.
Something traveling along the invisible connection Yzer had created.
Searching.
Reaching.
Her breathing stopped.
Yzer.
He was looking for her.
Not through guards.
Not through the city.
Through her.
Xheavend squeezed her arm.
"No."
Wisper climbed from beneath her hood.
"What?"
"He knows."
"Knows what?"
"Where I am."
Wisper went still.
"How?"
"His blood."
The words tasted disgusting.
"He put it inside me."
Wisper's crimson eyes changed.
The galaxies inside them contracted.
"What?"
Xheavend kept walking.
Faster now.
"He said there's a road."
"What road?"
"Between us."
Wisper stared at her.
"He said distance doesn't matter."
Wisper's little face went horrifyingly serious.
"Xheavend."
"I know."
"No. You don't."
She looked at him.
Wisper landed on her shoulder.
"If he blood-bound you, hiding won't be enough."
Her stomach dropped.
"What do we do?"
"I don't know."
Xheavend hated those words.
She looked behind them.
Nobody.
Yet.
Then she felt it again.
A brush against the inside of her skull.
Gentle.
Almost affectionate.
Xheavend recoiled.
And somewhere very far away—
laughter.
Not through her ears.
Through the blood.
Her heart hammered.
Yzer.
Something pressed against the connection.
Possession.
Recognition.
Satisfaction.
He knew.
Xheavend ran.
"WHERE?"
Wisper shouted.
"I DON'T KNOW!"
"FINALLY, WE AGREE!"
They shot through another alley.
Then another.
A horn sounded behind them.
One.
Another answered farther east.
Then a third.
Xheavend understood immediately.
"They're surrounding us."
Wisper looked behind them.
"Yep."
"Don't say yep!"
"What would you prefer?"
"Something useful!"
"WE ARE IN TROUBLE!"
"I KNOW THAT!"
"Then we're communicating beautifully!"
Xheavend wanted to throw him.
She didn't.
Mostly because he could fly.
And because she loved him.
Unfortunately.
They reached another intersection.
Five roads.
Xheavend stopped.
"Oh, come on."
One went uphill.
One descended beneath an arch.
One crossed a narrow bridge.
One disappeared between two leaning buildings.
The fifth had a wooden sign.
She couldn't read it.
Different language.
Of course.
Because apparently escaping wasn't difficult enough.
Wisper hovered beside her.
"Which one?"
"You were giving directions!"
"I have lost confidence."
"You never had confidence!"
"I had enormous confidence!"
"That was the problem!"
Footsteps.
Xheavend spun.
Soldiers appeared at the top of the road.
"There!"
She ran.
Random direction.
Bridge.
Bad choice.
Very bad choice.
The bridge was narrow.
No railing.
Hundreds of feet beneath them, violet mist filled the ravine.
Xheavend immediately regretted every decision she'd ever made.
"Why did you pick this?!"
Wisper shouted.
"I PANICKED!"
"PANIC BETTER!"
She ran faster.
Then something clicked behind them.
Not armor.
Not boots.
Different.
Hollow.
Sharp.
Bone against stone.
Click.
Click-click.
Wisper looked backward.
His enormous eyes somehow became larger.
"Oh."
Xheavend didn't like that.
"What?"
"Don't look."
Xheavend looked.
Naturally.
A creature had stepped onto the bridge.
Huge.
Pale.
Nearly white beneath the red sky.
Its body resembled no animal Xheavend knew.
Predator in front.
Something impossible behind.
Too many joints.
Long limbs.
Cracked skin glowing silver from beneath.
No eyes.
A rider sat between its shoulders.
The creature lowered its head.
Hummed.
The vibration traveled through the bridge.
Xheavend felt it inside her teeth.
"What is that?"
"Varkhünen."
"Does it eat people?"
"Probably."
"PROBABLY?"
"I HAVE NEVER ASKED ONE!"
The rider raised a hooked chain.
"Stop!"
Xheavend ran.
The Varkhünen moved.
Too fast.
The clicking stopped.
That was worse.
Xheavend heard nothing behind her.
Nothing.
Then the bridge shook.
It was gaining.
She reached the other side.
Turned sharply.
Down stairs.
Through an arch.
A market.
People screamed as she shoved between them.
Wisper flew beside her.
"LEFT!"
She turned left.
"GOOD LEFT!"
"I KNOW!"
The Varkhünen crashed through a fruit stand behind them.
Someone screamed about melons.
Xheavend kept running.
Then—
another hum joined the first.
Another series of clicks.
Faster.
Xheavend glanced back.
Another Varkhünen.
Riderless.
It came tearing through the market with absolutely no concern for stalls, people, or basic civilization.
Then something moved above it.
No.
Not something.
Nothing.
Her eyes couldn't hold onto the space.
Every time she tried, her attention slid away.
The rider behind her raised the hooked chain.
Then—
half the chain disappeared.
Xheavend stumbled.
"What—"
The rider jerked backward.
The riderless Varkhünen slammed into his beast.
Both crashed through a market stall.
Wood exploded.
Spices burst into the air.
Red.
Gold.
Black.
The rider hit the ground.
Xheavend saw someone move beside him.
Except—
there was no one there.
A distortion.
A gap.
A place the world refused to notice.
Something black flashed.
The rider vanished.
Not fell.
Not died.
Vanished.
One moment—
person.
The next—
nothing.
Xheavend stared.
"What did that?"
Wisper stared too.
"I don't know."
The riderless Varkhünen stood among shattered wood.
Its eyeless head turned.
Not toward Xheavend.
Toward the empty space beside it.
As though someone stood there.
Nobody did.
Except—
Xheavend felt something.
Faint.
Hidden.
Not one thing.
Two.
She narrowed her eyes.
The sensation disappeared.
Then returned.
Her mind slid away from it every time she tried to focus.
Wisper grabbed her hood.
"Xheavend."
She kept staring.
"Xheavend."
"What?"
"Run now. Investigate terrifying invisible nonsense later."
Fair.
They ran.
Behind them—
more horns.
More clicking.
More riders.
But something had changed.
Every few streets—
one disappeared.
A chain vanished in midair.
A weapon ceased existing.
A Varkhünen suddenly lost its rider.
Once, Xheavend heard someone scream:
"THE ROGUE!"
Another shouted:
"THERE'S SOMETHING WITH IT!"
Xheavend didn't look back.
Whatever it was—
it was attacking Yzer's people.
Good.
Her father had another rule.
When two enemies start fighting each other, don't interrupt.
Excellent rule.
Possibly his best.
She ran.
And then—
the blood-link tightened.
Xheavend screamed.
She fell against a wall.
Her hand flew to her arm.
Yzer.
Inside.
The alley vanished.
For one horrible second she saw—
bone furniture.
Purple bars.
Yzer sitting in his chair.
Waiting.
Smiling.
Then—
herself older.
A collar.
His hand beneath her chin.
No.
Another image.
A ceremony.
NO.
Xheavend slammed her forehead against the wall.
Pain exploded.
The visions broke.
She gasped.
Wisper stared at her.
"What did you see?"
"Nothing."
"That was not nothing."
"Nothing."
Wisper knew better.
He didn't argue.
Good Wisper.
Rare Wisper.
She pushed away from the wall.
"Safety."
"What?"
"We need somewhere protected."
"Yes."
"Magic."
"Probably."
"Someone strong enough to keep Yzer out."
Wisper slowly looked around Yeitshoja.
"That's a considerably shorter list."
Xheavend's stomach twisted.
Then someone grabbed her.
She spun.
Her fist flew.
A hand caught it.
Xheavend bit.
"OW!"
An old woman released her.
"Little demon!"
Xheavend backed away.
Wisper vanished beneath her hood.
The woman stared at her.
Gray skin.
Four eyes.
Three nostrils.
A basket of something that looked disturbingly like fingers.
Xheavend stared at the basket.
The woman noticed.
"Roots."
"Oh."
"They scream when boiled."
Xheavend decided not to ask.
The woman rubbed her hand.
"What are you doing running around barefoot?"
Xheavend said nothing.
The woman's four eyes narrowed.
Then flicked toward the distant horns.
Then toward Xheavend.
Understanding.
Too much.
Xheavend prepared to run.
The woman pointed down the street.
"Pandeminium."
Xheavend froze.
"What?"
"Pandeminium."
The woman pointed again.
"East."
Xheavend looked.
"Which way is east?"
The woman stared.
Xheavend stared back.
"You don't know east?"
"I don't live here."
"Clearly."
She pointed toward a distant tower shaped like a broken fang.
"See that?"
"Yes."
"Don't go toward it."
Xheavend blinked.
"That's your direction?"
"Go away from it."
"That's terrible."
"You're welcome."
The woman walked away.
Xheavend stared after her.
Wisper poked his head from beneath her hood.
"I liked her."
"Of course you did."
"Pandeminium."
"Do you know it?"
"No."
"Wonderful."
"But she said it like somewhere safe."
"Or somewhere dangerous."
"Everything here is dangerous."
That was annoyingly reasonable.
Xheavend looked toward the broken-fang tower.
Then turned away from it.
East.
Apparently.
They moved.
This time, Xheavend paid attention.
Broken-fang tower behind.
Blue bridge left.
Building with six chimneys right.
Three hanging cages.
Downhill.
Past the fountain with something dead inside it.
Do not look at the dead thing.
Turn where the road split around the statue with no head.
The city became a map inside her mind.
Father would approve.
Probably.
Then Wisper stopped.
Xheavend took three more steps before realizing.
She turned.
"Wisper?"
He hovered in the middle of the alley.
His wings had stopped beating.
But he didn't fall.
His crimson eyes stared at her.
"Wisper?"
His body twitched.
Once.
Again.
"Wisper."
"Keep going."
Xheavend's stomach dropped.
"What?"
"Keep going."
His voice sounded strained.
"What's happening?"
"Nothing."
"You are a terrible liar."
"Learned from you."
"Wisper."
Another twitch.
His skin rippled.
No.
Not skin.
Blood.
The little bones beneath it bent strangely.
His wings folded.
Opened.
Folded again.
Xheavend moved toward him.
"Don't."
She stopped.
"You're close."
"To what?"
"Pandeminium."
"How do you know?"
"I can feel the wards."
Xheavend looked around.
Nothing.
"Where?"
"Keep east."
"Which way is east?!"
Wisper's mouth twitched.
Possibly a smile.
"Broken tower behind you."
Right.
She knew that.
"Two streets."
His body jerked.
"Wisper."
"Two streets. Red door. Green sign."
Xheavend stepped closer.
"What is happening?"
"I don't know."
That frightened her more than anything.
Wisper always pretended to know.
Even when he didn't.
Especially when he didn't.
"Wisper."
"Hey."
His voice softened.
"You're almost safe."
Almost.
Xheavend hated almost.
Almost alive.
Almost escaped.
Almost protected.
Almost home.
Almost meant nothing.
"I'm not leaving you."
"You aren't."
His body shuddered.
"Technically."
"What does that mean?"
"I'll find you."
"When?"
"Probably."
"Wisper."
"Xheavend."
His eyes widened.
"RUN."
He exploded.
Xheavend screamed.
Blood struck the walls.
The ground.
Her face.
Her clothes.
Everything.
One second Wisper hovered before her.
The next—
he was gone.
Xheavend stared.
No.
Her knees hit the ground.
"Wisper?"
Nothing.
She touched the blood.
Warm.
"Wisper."
Nothing.
Her hands shook.
"Wisper!"
No answer.
But she knew.
Somehow—
she knew.
He wasn't dead.
Gone.
Not dead.
There was a difference.
She could feel it.
Like a door had slammed shut rather than a candle going out.
Wisper had disappeared.
Why—
she didn't know.
Where—
she didn't know.
But alive.
Somewhere.
"Wisper?"
Nothing.
Xheavend swallowed.
Her chest hurt.
She wiped blood from her face.
Then heard clicking.
Behind her.
No.
Not now.
Three Varkhünen entered the far end of the street.
Riders.
Xheavend looked at the blood.
Then toward the next intersection.
Two streets.
Red door.
Green sign.
Wisper had gotten her this far.
She ran.
One street.
A horn screamed.
She turned.
Wrong way.
Dead end.
"No!"
Back.
The clicking grew louder.
She ran the opposite direction.
Second street.
Buildings crowded together.
Signs everywhere.
Purple.
Yellow.
Black.
Green.
Green.
There.
A sign swinging above the road.
She couldn't read the word.
Didn't matter.
Green sign.
Beneath it—
red door.
Her chest tightened.
Twenty buildings away.
Fifteen.
Ten.
The blood-link inside her arm burned.
Xheavend stumbled.
Yzer.
His presence slid through her.
Warm.
Possessive.
Pleased.
He knew.
No.
She forced herself forward.
Eight buildings.
Seven.
Click-click.
Six.
A rider entered the street behind her.
Five.
"PET!"
Xheavend flinched.
Not her name.
Not her.
Four.
A hooked chain struck the ground beside her.
Three.
She stumbled.
Fell.
Her palms tore against stone.
Get up.
GET UP.
Two.
Something massive hummed behind her.
Xheavend pushed herself upright.
One.
The red door opened.
A frog stood there.
Xheavend stopped.
Of all the things she had expected—
not that.
Green skin.
Round body.
Purple waistcoat.
Hat.
Feather.
Gold-speckled eyes.
He looked at Xheavend.
Then behind her.
His expression changed.
"Inside."
Xheavend didn't move.
She didn't know him.
Didn't trust him.
Didn't know what this place was.
The frog seemed to understand.
"Fair."
The riders approached.
The frog pointed at himself.
"Stevão."
Then toward the building.
"Pandeminium."
Then toward her.
"You."
Then inside.
"Not murdered."
Xheavend stared.
That was—
surprisingly convincing.
A tall blue-gray woman appeared behind him holding a wooden spoon.
"Stevão."
"Yes, love?"
"Stop frightening the child."
"I'm trying not to!"
"You look frightening."
"I am a frog."
"Exactly."
Stevão looked offended.
Xheavend almost laughed.
Almost.
Then a rider shouted.
"Move away from the Ward!"
Stevão's face changed.
The silliness disappeared.
He stepped between Xheavend and the riders.
"No."
The woman reached toward Xheavend.
Xheavend twisted away.
"No!"
The woman stopped.
Instantly.
Both hands raised.
"Fine."
No command.
No second attempt.
She simply stepped backward through the doorway.
"Come inside yourself."
Xheavend stared at her.
Then Stevão.
Then the riders.
Choice.
They were giving her one.
Yzer never did.
Xheavend ran through the door.
The moment she crossed the threshold—
something snapped behind her.
Magic.
Powerful.
Old.
Protective.
And the blood-link—
went quiet.
Xheavend stopped so abruptly she nearly fell.
Nothing.
No pressure.
No attention.
No Yzer.
She grabbed her arm.
Silence.
For the first time since the needle—
silence.
Her knees gave out.
The blue-gray woman almost reached for her.
Stopped herself.
Then crouched.
"May I?"
Xheavend stared at the offered hands.
Waiting.
She nodded.
Then she was caught.
Not trapped.
Caught.
There was a difference.
"Xima," the woman said quietly.
Xheavend said nothing.
Xima didn't ask for her name.
Good.
Behind them—
the street exploded into shouting.
Xheavend twisted around.
Stevão stood outside.
Riders surrounded the entrance.
One pointed toward her.
"Yzer's pet is inside."
Xheavend went cold.
Stevão's smile vanished.
"No."
The rider stiffened.
"No?"
"This is Pandeminium."
Stevão stepped forward.
"My roof. My rules. My guests."
Guest.
Something in Xheavend's chest tightened.
Not ward.
Not pet.
Not property.
Guest.
"And that child," Stevão said, "is a guest."
The rider raised his weapon.
Xima sighed.
"Here we go."
A rider charged.
Golden light flashed beneath the Varkhünen.
The rider went flying backward.
Xheavend blinked.
Stevão looked terribly pleased with himself.
Then—
a weapon vanished.
Xheavend's eyes widened.
Another rider lost a hand.
Another saddle emptied.
That.
She had seen that before.
During the chase.
The riderless Varkhünen.
The hidden thing.
It had reached the tavern.
Xheavend pushed herself upright.
Xima noticed.
"Stay back."
Xheavend didn't.
She moved closer to the doorway.
Watching.
Looking.
Trying to see what everyone else couldn't.
There.
Nothing.
Then—
something.
A distortion.
A place her eyes passed over even when she tried to hold them there.
Silver shifted around an absence.
And beneath it—
two.
Xheavend froze.
She had felt it before.
Faintly.
During the chase.
Now it was closer.
Clearer.
Two presences.
One body.
One felt young.
Not child-young.
Just—
young compared with everything else she had been surrounded by.
Tired.
Scared.
Angry.
Determined.
Alive in a way this universe wasn't.
The second—
Xheavend's breath caught.
Old.
Not Yzer-old.
Not even close.
Different.
Vast.
Compressed.
Like something enormous had somehow folded itself into a space far too small to contain it.
And inside Xheavend—
something noticed.
Death turned first.
Then Famine.
War.
Conquest.
All four became attentive.
Not frightened.
Not attacking.
Listening.
Xheavend pressed one hand against her chest.
What?
The hidden presence moved.
A rider disappeared.
Another weapon ceased existing.
The strange Varkhünen charged through the pack.
The riders broke.
Two fled.
Stevão shouted something after them.
Xima waved the spoon.
Xheavend barely heard either.
She was still staring at the distortion.
The hidden figure stopped in the road.
Stevão looked toward it.
"You coming inside, invisible stranger, or are you planning to brood dramatically in the road?"
Invisible.
So Stevão couldn't see him either.
Not properly.
The silver concealment shifted.
A hood lowered.
A man appeared.
Xheavend stared.
Mud.
Ash.
Blood.
Something brown that she sincerely hoped was mud.
He looked exhausted.
Filthy.
Annoyed.
And—
normal.
Far too normal.
Because the second presence was still there.
Inside him.
With him.
Xheavend backed away.
No.
Nope.
Unknown person.
Unknown power.
Unknown second thing.
Absolutely not.
The stranger entered Pandeminium.
The wards didn't throw him back.
Interesting.
Not reassuring.
Interesting.
Xima looked toward Xheavend.
"Upstairs."
Xheavend didn't need convincing.
"Last room," Xima added. "Door locks from the inside."
That mattered.
Xheavend went.
Fast.
She reached the room.
Checked the window.
One exit.
Bad.
Checked beneath the bed.
Nothing.
Wardrobe.
Large enough to hide inside.
Good.
Door.
Lock.
She locked it.
Then dragged a chair beneath the handle.
Better.
Only then did she sit on the bed.
Her entire body shook.
Wisper was gone.
Yzer was still hunting her.
Her family didn't know where she was.
Tomorrow she would be ten.
And downstairs—
there was a stranger carrying something ancient inside himself.
Xheavend pulled her knees against her chest.
Minutes passed.
Then footsteps.
She stiffened.
Stopped outside.
A knock.
Not an attempt to open the door.
A knock.
"May I come in?"
Xima.
"Alone?"
A pause.
"Yes."
Xheavend removed the chair.
Unlocked the door.
Opened it barely enough.
Xima stood alone.
Food.
Water.
Bandages.
No weapon except the spoon.
Xheavend let her inside.
She ate almost nothing.
Drank more than she meant to.
Let Xima clean the blood from her palms.
Wouldn't let her touch the place where Yzer's needle had gone in.
Xima didn't argue.
Good.
Eventually—
Xheavend didn't know how much later—
another knock came.
Her entire body tightened.
Xima looked toward the door.
"It's Stevão."
Xheavend said nothing.
"And the stranger."
No.
Every muscle in Xheavend's body screamed the word.
But she remembered the street.
Weapons disappearing.
Riders vanishing.
The hooked chain that should have caught her.
The riderless Varkhünen smashing into the one chasing her.
He had been there.
Helping.
Maybe.
"Door stays open," Xheavend said.
Xima nodded.
"Door stays open."
Stevão entered first.
The stranger followed.
Xheavend immediately pressed herself farther against the headboard.
There.
Up close—
definitely two.
The stranger stopped the instant he saw her reaction.
He didn't come closer.
Good.
Then he lowered himself.
Crouched several feet away.
Better.
Xheavend stared at him.
Not just his face.
Deeper.
The first presence watched her through his eyes.
Careful.
Nervous.
Trying very hard not to frighten her.
And behind him—
the other.
Silent.
The ancient presence had become so still that she almost wondered whether it had disappeared.
It hadn't.
Xheavend could feel it.
Watching.
And suddenly—
grief.
Not hers.
His.
It hit so sharply that Xheavend's fingers tightened around the blanket.
Why?
She didn't know him.
He didn't know her.
He shouldn't be looking at her like—
No.
He wasn't looking at her like anything.
The stranger was.
The other one was only—
there.
Hurting.
Xheavend narrowed her eyes.
"You."
The stranger froze.
She stared deeper.
"There are two of you."
Stevão's eyebrows rose.
Xima went still.
The stranger took a slow breath.
"Yes."
No explanation.
Interesting.
Xheavend's chin lifted.
"Do you work for him?"
"No."
"Are you going to take me back?"
"No."
Too easy.
She stared.
The stranger stayed where he was.
Didn't reach for her.
Didn't demand anything.
Didn't tell her to calm down.
Didn't tell her she was safe.
Good.
People who told you that you were safe usually wanted you to stop checking.
Xheavend looked at the weapon beside him.
Black.
Wrong.
The same thing that had erased the riders.
He noticed.
Slowly—
carefully—
he placed it on the floor.
Away from himself.
Then raised both hands.
Empty.
"We're friends."
Xheavend stared at him.
No.
That was stupid.
"You don't know me."
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Apparently he hadn't expected that.
Good.
"You're right."
That answer was better.
Xheavend's gaze drifted past him again.
The second presence stirred.
Barely.
She felt those four things inside herself react again.
Death.
Famine.
War.
Conquest.
Recognition without memory.
She hated that.
"What is he?"
The stranger went still.
"Who?"
"The other one."
Silence.
Stevão slowly looked between them.
Xheavend pointed at the stranger's chest.
"The one in there."
His expression changed.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Surprise.
"You can feel him?"
Xheavend didn't answer.
Obviously.
She had just said there were two.
Adults asked very stupid questions.
The stranger glanced inward somehow.
She didn't know how she knew that.
She just did.
Then he looked back at her.
"He's with me."
"That wasn't what I asked."
Stevão made a noise that suspiciously resembled a swallowed laugh.
The stranger shot him a look.
Xheavend watched.
The ancient presence remained quiet.
She didn't like that.
Or maybe she did.
She hadn't decided.
Quiet things could be dangerous.
Loud things could be worse.
Yzer had been both.
Xheavend pulled the blanket higher.
"What's your name?"
The stranger asked.
Every part of her hardened.
There.
The question.
She knew it would come eventually.
Xheavend looked at him.
"I don't have one."
Stevão looked away.
Xima's expression tightened.
The stranger didn't.
He only watched her.
And behind him—
the ancient presence hurt again.
Stronger this time.
Xheavend almost recoiled from it.
Why did he care?
He didn't know her.
He couldn't.
The stranger's voice softened.
"Then you don't have to give one."
Xheavend blinked.
That—
she hadn't expected.
No demand.
No trick.
No everyone has a name.
Nothing.
She studied him harder.
Xima spoke quietly.
"He fought the riders outside."
Xheavend looked at her.
"Stopped them from reaching you."
Xheavend's gaze returned to the stranger.
"You killed them."
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Something shifted inside him.
The ancient one.
A feeling.
Not words.
Xheavend couldn't hear him.
But she felt the answer before the stranger gave it.
Anger.
Protection.
Certainty.
"Because they were going to hurt you."
Xheavend stared.
Her fingers loosened slightly around the blanket.
"Are you his enemy?"
The stranger's expression changed.
"Yes."
"Yzer?"
"Yes."
Something dangerous happened inside Xheavend.
Hope.
She crushed it immediately.
Hope was stupid.
Hope got people killed.
Hope made you trust things before they'd earned it.
She looked toward the window.
Alarms still screamed beyond the wards.
The city still hunted.
The Markings still searched.
Yzer was still out there.
But not inside.
Not yet.
Xheavend looked back at the stranger.
"If you're lying, I'll kill you."
He nodded solemnly.
"That's fair."
Stevão leaned against the doorway.
"I like her."
Xima elbowed him.
The stranger almost smiled.
Xheavend saw it.
"Don't."
His expression vanished.
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
Stevão snorted.
The stranger looked at him.
"Do not."
That nearly made Xheavend smile.
Nearly.
Then something beneath the stranger's cloak moved.
Xheavend stiffened.
A purple eye opened.
No.
Absolutely not.
"What is that?"
The stranger looked down.
"Complicated."
"That's not an answer."
"I'm discovering people say that to me frequently."
The thing beneath his cloak rustled.
Pages.
A book?
A disgusting book apparently.
Xheavend decided she didn't want to know.
Yet.
Outside—
a horn sounded.
Her entire body reacted before she could stop it.
She flinched.
Hard.
Her hand went to her arm.
The place where Yzer's blood remained.
The tavern wards hummed.
The connection stayed silent.
For now.
The stranger rose slowly.
Not toward her.
Toward the window.
The ancient presence changed.
Cold.
Not cruel.
Not empty.
Ready.
Xheavend felt Death stir inside herself.
Then War.
She hated that they seemed interested in him.
She hated even more that some part of her was too.
Stevão's smile vanished.
"They're coming back."
Xheavend's stomach dropped.
Of course they were.
Yzer didn't stop.
Yzer didn't forget.
Yzer didn't lose things he believed belonged to him.
The stranger looked at her.
And for the first time since entering the room—
Xheavend saw something in his expression that she trusted.
Not because it was kind.
Not because it was gentle.
Because it was furious.
Not at her.
For her.
She knew the difference.
The ancient presence shifted behind his eyes.
The stranger's hand closed around the black weapon.
"We found her."
Xheavend frowned.
We.
There it was again.
Two.
She didn't understand what they were.
Didn't know who they were.
Didn't know why they had come for her.
Didn't know why the older one seemed to carry grief that belonged to a future she hadn't lived.
And she absolutely did not trust them.
But they hated Yzer.
That was an excellent beginning.
The stranger looked toward Stevão.
Then Xima.
Then back at Xheavend.
"Now we get you to Goro."
Xheavend froze.
"Goro?"
The stranger looked at her.
"You know him?"
"No."
"Then why did you say it like that?"
"I didn't."
"You did."
He frowned.
"I really didn't."
"Your face did."
Behind him, Stevão made another strangled noise.
The stranger closed his eyes.
For some reason—
Xheavend felt the ancient presence laugh.
Not heard.
Felt.
She narrowed her eyes at the stranger.
"He's laughing at you."
His eyes opened.
Slowly.
Stevão stopped laughing.
Xima stared.
The stranger stared at Xheavend.
"What?"
She pointed at his chest.
"The other one."
Silence.
"He thinks this is funny."
The stranger looked inward again.
His expression became deeply offended.
"Of course he does."
Xheavend's suspicion sharpened.
"You talk to him?"
"Unfortunately."
That earned the smallest twitch from her mouth.
Then another horn sounded.
Closer.
The humor died.
Xheavend pulled the blanket around herself.
She still didn't know the stranger's name.
She didn't know the name of the ancient presence inside him.
She didn't know who Goro was.
She didn't know where Wisper had gone.
She didn't know whether her family was alive.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
Tomorrow.
Her stomach tightened.
Ten.
She would be ten tomorrow.
If she survived tonight.
Outside Pandeminium, Yeitshoja hunted for a nameless child.
Somewhere two streets away, Wisper had exploded into blood and disappeared.
Somewhere above them, Yzer knew his pet had escaped—
but he still did not know who she was.
And inside a little room protected by ancient wards—
Xheavend watched a nameless stranger carrying something impossibly old inside him.
She didn't trust either of them.
Not yet.
But when the horns sounded again—
_______________________
The horn outside Pandeminium did not sound like a horn anymore.
It sounded like a warning inside Xheavend's bones.
Low.
Mourning.
Close.
Her entire body reacted before thought did.
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
Her feet shifted.
Her eyes moved.
Door.
Window.
Ceiling.
Wardrobe.
Under the bed.
Hallway.
Stairs.
Everything.
Everywhere.
Every possible route.
Every possible place someone could enter.
Every possible place she could disappear.
The stranger noticed.
Of course he did.
Xheavend hated that he noticed.
Not because he moved toward her.
He didn't.
That mattered.
He stayed exactly where he was.
Several feet away.
Hands visible.
Body turned enough that he wasn't blocking the door.
"I'm not stopping you."
Xheavend stared at him.
She did not believe him.
Not yet.
Words were easy.
Yzer had used kind words too.
You're safe now.
I'm protecting you.
I care.
Words could be cages.
She had learned that today.
The alarm sounded again.
WARD PROPERTY MISSING.
Something cold passed through Xheavend's stomach.
Property.
Her muscles tensed harder.
The stranger saw that too.
His mouth tightened.
Not irritation.
Something else.
Anger.
But not at her.
That mattered too.
He looked toward the window.
Then back at her.
"You don't need to run."
Xheavend's eyes narrowed.
Wrong thing to say.
She always needed to know how to run.
Father had taught her that.
Never let someone decide where you're allowed to stand.
Never let someone place themselves between you and an exit unless you understand why.
Never assume a locked door protects you.
Sometimes the person locking it was the danger.
The stranger did not know that.
Or maybe he did.
He hesitated.
Then—
"Your brother Tavran—"
Everything stopped.
Xheavend did too.
No.
The word did not reach her mouth.
Her body simply forgot how to move.
Tavran.
For one terrible second—
she thought she'd imagined it.
The stranger couldn't know that name.
Nobody here should know that name.
Her family knew.
The people from Deepcrest knew.
The people she trusted knew.
Yzer didn't.
At least—
she hoped he didn't.
Her eyes lifted slowly.
"Tavran?"
The stranger's expression changed immediately.
Regret.
He knew he'd made a mistake.
Good.
At least he understood that much.
Xheavend's heart began pounding.
Hard.
Too hard.
"Who told you that?"
He opened his mouth.
Wrong.
Too slow.
Xheavend's fear became anger before it could become anything else.
Better.
Anger moved.
Fear froze.
She stepped forward.
"Who told you?"
The stranger said nothing.
"What did you do to him?"
Nothing.
Her eyes started burning.
Not ordinary tears.
Blood.
Thin warmth rolled down her cheeks.
She barely noticed.
"What happened?"
Her voice rose.
"What happened to Tavran?"
Still no answer.
The wooden cup on the table became a weapon.
Xheavend grabbed it.
Threw it.
The stranger did not dodge.
The cup hit his shoulder.
He winced.
Good.
She grabbed the spoon.
Threw that too.
He ducked this one.
Barely.
Stevão disappeared from the doorway with impressive speed.
Coward.
Reasonable coward.
"What did you do?"
A plate.
Throw.
The stranger shifted sideways.
It shattered against the wall.
"What did you do to my family?!"
Another cup.
He still did not move toward her.
Did not command her to stop.
Did not grab her wrists.
Did not raise his voice.
Did not tell her she was being unreasonable.
That confused her.
Yzer would have stopped her.
Father would have stopped the throwing too—
probably after allowing one object for dramatic effect.
Tavran would have caught every single one and then complained about the mess.
The stranger just...
let her be angry.
Xheavend hated that she noticed.
She hated more that it helped.
Her hand reached for another plate.
Stopped.
There was nothing left inside her.
The anger disappeared too quickly.
That was the problem with anger.
It could hold grief away.
But only temporarily.
Her shoulders dropped.
Her fingers loosened.
She stared at the floor.
Tomorrow.
The thought arrived like something fragile falling from a high place.
Tomorrow.
She had almost forgotten.
No.
That wasn't true.
She had tried to forget.
"Tomorrow..."
Her voice barely worked.
Nobody interrupted.
"...is my birthday."
Silence.
Even the ancient presence inside the stranger went completely still.
Xheavend swallowed.
"Tomorrow I'm supposed to be ten."
There.
She said it.
And suddenly—
she wanted Tavran so badly she almost couldn't breathe.
He would have been annoying.
He always was on birthdays.
He would have carried something too large and pretended he didn't need help.
Varin would have tried stealing frosting.
Rezorin would have criticized how she cut the cake.
Icardà would have fixed whatever Varin broke.
Mother would have insisted she wear something nice.
Father would pretend not to care about ceremony and then somehow have everything planned three months early.
Xheavend stared at the floor harder.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
She wasn't supposed to know what a Flesh Market smelled like.
She wasn't supposed to have Yzer's blood inside her.
She wasn't supposed to have seen the things he planned.
She wasn't supposed to be wondering whether Wisper was alive somewhere she couldn't reach.
She was supposed to be nine.
For one more night.
Then—
rustling.
Xheavend looked up.
The stitched Book beneath the stranger's cloak moved.
Not shifted.
Moved.
By itself.
Purple eyes opened along the cover.
Xheavend forgot sadness for half a heartbeat.
The Book floated free.
Pages began flipping.
Fast.
So fast the air moved.
Xheavend stared.
The stranger stared too.
That made her feel slightly better.
Apparently he didn't control it either.
Pages stopped.
Ink appeared.
LABYRINTH
GORAXIAN
Xheavend frowned.
The stranger did too.
"What?"
Good.
He was confused.
Excellent.
Maybe she was not the only one being dragged through impossible nonsense.
Then the ink moved.
Changed.
New words burned into the parchment.
HELLO END
Xheavend forgot to breathe.
The four presences inside her sharpened.
Not frightened.
Alert.
Watching.
"...End?"
She slid off the bed.
Slowly.
The stranger's hand moved instinctively.
Then stopped.
He didn't try helping.
Good.
Xheavend crossed the room and knelt in front of the floating Book.
Its purple eyes blinked.
One after another.
Watching her.
She stared back.
"How do you know End?"
Nothing.
"Have you met End?"
Nothing.
She leaned closer.
The Book's eyes followed.
"Are you shy?"
Silence.
Behind her—
"IT TALKS TO YOU?"
Xheavend flinched.
Then turned.
The stranger looked personally betrayed by the book.
She blinked.
"Apparently."
Stevão made a horrible choking sound.
Then started laughing.
Actually laughing.
He leaned against the doorway.
Xima covered her face with one hand.
The stranger pointed at the Book.
"You talk?"
Nothing.
"You absolute parasite."
The Book blinked.
"You have never talked."
Nothing.
The stranger stared at it like he was reconsidering every decision that had brought it into his life.
Xheavend looked back at the Book.
Something strange happened.
The corner of her mouth moved.
Barely.
The first almost-smile since the cage.
She poked the page.
"Nice to meet you."
The Book immediately flipped.
The stranger made a wounded noise.
Xheavend looked down.
Three words.
FROG
LABYRINTH
GORAXIAN
Silence.
Then Xheavend looked toward Stevão.
Stevão stopped laughing.
His expression changed so quickly that she knew before he said anything—
Goraxian mattered.
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Careful.
"Goraxian."
The word didn't sound like a name anymore.
It sounded like history.
The stranger looked at him.
Stevão folded his arms.
"The Labyrinth."
His voice had lost every trace of humor.
Xheavend watched him.
Then the Book.
Then the stranger.
The Book wrote again.
LABYRINTH.
Only once.
Like it had run out of patience.
Xheavend's stomach tightened.
The Labyrinth.
She knew enough already.
Everyone did.
Even children.
You did not go there.
People vanished there.
People returned wrong.
If they returned.
And somehow—
the Book wanted them to go.
Wonderful.
She looked at the stranger again.
He was still staring at the page.
Not pretending confidence.
Not telling everyone he understood.
Just thinking.
That mattered.
Yzer always behaved as though everything belonged inside his understanding.
This man didn't.
He was willing to look confused.
Afraid.
Wrong.
Xheavend trusted that more than certainty.
Barely.
Not enough.
But more.
Stevão exhaled.
"Goraxian isn't a place."
The stranger's eyes flickered.
Something inside him reacted.
The second presence.
Ancient.
Dark.
Xheavend felt End notice.
The four presences moved closer to the surface.
The stranger rubbed the back of his neck.
"I've heard the name."
Lie.
Xheavend knew immediately.
Not because of magic.
Because he was terrible at it.
She narrowed her eyes.
Stevão did too.
"You've heard the name?"
The stranger shrugged.
"Maybe."
Worse lie.
Xheavend almost said so.
Then the presence inside him did something strange.
It felt—
embarrassed.
Xheavend blinked.
Ancient beings could apparently be embarrassed.
Useful information.
Stevão stared at the stranger for another moment.
Then returned his attention to the Book.
"Goraxian challenged Yzer."
Xheavend's attention sharpened.
"He lost."
Something inside the stranger went cold.
Not him.
The other one.
Stevão continued.
"They dragged him into the Labyrinth."
Xheavend felt it.
Rage.
Old.
Personal.
Not the stranger's.
The one inside him knew Goraxian.
Not vaguely.
Knew him.
Then—
the stranger laughed.
Xheavend's skin prickled.
Wrong laugh.
His body hadn't changed.
Same face.
Same clothes.
Same scars.
But his posture did.
Straightened.
Settled.
Like someone else had stepped behind his eyes.
The room felt smaller.
Xheavend became still.
The ancient presence came forward.
Not hiding now.
Not fully.
Stevão noticed too.
Xima's hand lowered toward the spoon at her belt.
The man smiled.
"Goro?"
The name sounded completely different in his mouth.
Familiar.
Affectionate.
Amused.
"Oh, Goro does not fall easily."
Stevão frowned.
The ancient one folded the stranger's arms.
"If Goraxian was captured..."
Another laugh.
"...then Goraxian allowed himself to be captured."
Xheavend stared.
Stevão looked skeptical.
"That's impossible."
"No."
The ancient one's smile sharpened.
"It is very possible."
He looked toward the Book.
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
"He has survived things that would erase civilizations."
"He has escaped prisons designed by gods."
"He once spent three centuries trapped inside a dying star because he wanted to see what would happen."
Stevão blinked.
Xheavend did too.
"What?"
The ancient one ignored both.
"If Goro is in the Labyrinth..."
His voice lowered.
"...then he is waiting."
Certainty.
Not arrogance.
Not hope.
Knowledge.
Xheavend knew the difference.
Father had taught her that too.
The ancient one believed this completely.
"Waiting for something."
Then—
his eyes moved.
Toward her.
Xheavend froze.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Recognition.
Except they'd never met.
Had they?
The ancient presence looked at her like someone looking at a memory that hadn't happened yet.
"Or waiting for someone."
Xheavend's breath caught.
End surged.
Not aggressive.
Listening.
The four presences went utterly silent.
For one heartbeat—
Xheavend had the strangest feeling that everyone in the room knew something about her except her.
She hated that feeling.
Then—
the ancient one disappeared backward.
Not physically.
The stranger staggered.
Blinking.
He looked around.
"...Why do I always come back during the creepy part?"
Xheavend stared.
Stevão stared.
Xima stared.
The Book blinked.
The stranger sighed.
"Right."
That—
more than anything—
made Xheavend's suspicion crack.
Just a little.
Because if this were a trick—
it was an absurdly committed one.
The stranger was powerful.
Dangerous.
Carrying something ancient inside him.
Could erase people from existence.
Could hide from Yzer's soldiers.
Could probably hurt her if he wanted to.
But he was also—
apparently—
confused by his own Book.
Arguing with the person inside himself.
Covered earlier in dung.
Terrible at lying.
And had allowed a nine-year-old to throw dishes at him without grabbing her.
Those things did not equal safe.
Xheavend knew better than that.
But they did equal...
different.
Different from Yzer.
Different mattered.
The Book's purple eyes looked at her again.
Xheavend looked down.
"Goro."
The name came quietly.
She didn't know why she liked it.
Something about it felt warm.
Old.
Safe in a way she did not understand yet.
Stevão exhaled sharply.
"If the Book is telling you Goraxian is in the Labyrinth, then he's either alive..."
A pause.
"...or something inside that place wants you to find what's left of him."
Xheavend's stomach tightened.
The stranger grimaced.
"That is not comforting."
"Good," Stevão said.
"Comfort gets people killed down there."
Xheavend looked toward the window.
Yzer was still out there.
Searching.
The Markings.
The riders.
The blood-link.
The Labyrinth sounded impossible.
Terrible.
Maybe worse than the city above.
But Goro was there.
And the Book knew End.
The Book had spoken to her.
The stranger carried someone ancient who knew Goraxian personally.
And most importantly—
nobody in this room had tried to force her into anything.
Not yet.
Xheavend looked at the stranger.
He noticed.
Didn't ask what she was thinking.
Good.
She asked instead:
"You're going?"
His face changed.
He glanced at the Book.
Then Stevão.
Then her.
"Apparently."
"Into the Labyrinth."
"Yes."
"To find Goraxian."
"Yes."
Xheavend thought.
The sensible choice was no.
Stay in the tavern.
Hide.
Wait for Tavran.
Wait for Father.
Wait for someone older.
Stronger.
Safer.
Except waiting had put her in a cage.
Waiting had allowed Yzer to decide things for her.
Waiting meant other people choosing the road.
Xheavend was tired of roads chosen by other people.
"I'm coming."
The stranger immediately frowned.
"No."
Trust vanished.
Fast.
Xheavend's entire body hardened.
"There it is."
His expression changed.
"What?"
"You said you weren't stopping me."
"I'm not."
"You just said no."
"To taking a nine-year-old into a nightmare prison."
"That's stopping me."
"That's common sense."
"Whose?"
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Xheavend crossed her arms.
"Exactly."
Stevão's mouth twitched.
Xima looked suspiciously amused.
The stranger rubbed his forehead.
"You just escaped Yzer."
"Yes."
"You are injured."
"Yes."
"You haven't slept."
Xheavend said nothing.
His expression sharpened.
"You haven't slept?"
Wrong question.
Her fingers tightened.
He noticed.
Again.
And immediately stopped.
No interrogation.
No pushing.
Interesting.
He exhaled.
"Fine."
Xheavend blinked.
That was easy.
Too easy.
He pointed at her.
"But if we find somewhere safer—"
"No."
"You didn't let me finish."
"I knew where it was going."
"You are impossible."
"So are you."
The ancient presence inside him felt amused.
Xheavend noticed.
She looked through the stranger again.
Not fully understanding.
The ancient presence inside him felt amused.
Xheavend noticed.
Of course she did.
She still didn't know what either of them was.
The man was easier.
Strange.
Annoying.
Apparently determined to follow her into a nightmare prison despite possessing almost no survival instinct whatsoever.
But he had fought Yzer's riders.
He had put his weapon down when she became afraid of it.
He had given her choices.
And when she'd told him she wasn't going back—
he'd believed her.
Xheavend didn't trust him.
Not really.
But somewhere inside her thoughts, stranger had begun feeling slightly inaccurate.
Friend was worse.
Much worse.
She frowned.
Absolutely not.
She was not calling him that.
Even in her head.
The thought remained anyway.
Annoying.
Then her attention drifted deeper.
Toward the other presence.
Him, she understood even less.
Ancient didn't seem large enough.
Neither did old.
He felt older than Father's stories.
Older than ruins.
Older than things that had forgotten their own names.
Xheavend stared through the man's eyes toward something she couldn't actually see.
Old One.
The thought came by itself.
The presence inside him seemed to become very still.
Xheavend narrowed her eyes.
Could he hear that?
No.
Probably not.
Hopefully not.
She immediately thought it again.
Old One.
Something warm moved behind the man's expression.
Amusement.
Xheavend's eyes narrowed further.
Oh.
He absolutely could not hear her.
Obviously.
Probably.
She decided not to investigate.
He pointed toward her.
"Then what do we call you?"
Xheavend became still.
No.
Not her name.
Not yet.
She looked toward the Book.
HELLO END had vanished.
But she remembered it.
The apocalypse.
The voices.
The dead.
The thing Yzer had sensed.
The thing she still didn't understand.
She thought about what monsters feared.
What came before endings.
Signs.
Warnings.
Bad things approaching.
A word surfaced.
"The old one."
The stranger blinked.
"No, apparently that's him."
Xheavend frowned.
He looked toward the presence inside himself.
Then at her.
"Something else."
She thought again.
Nothing came.
So she shook her head.
"No name."
He studied her.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
No pressure.
No correction.
That was the moment.
Tiny.
Almost nothing.
But something inside Xheavend shifted.
Trust did not arrive like a door opening.
It arrived like a lock loosening.
One click.
Not open.
Not safe.
Not yet.
But possible.
Q did not know her name.
He did not demand it.
He knew Tavran's—
which still terrified her.
He knew things he should not.
The ancient one inside him knew Goro.
The Book knew End.
Everything was wrong.
But when Xheavend said no—
Q listened.
When she stepped away—
he stopped.
When she became angry—
he let her.
When she refused her name—
he did not take one from her.
Yzer had called that weakness.
Father called it choice.
Xheavend understood the difference now.
She looked at Q.
Then at the Book.
Then toward the window where Yeitshoja waited.
"How do we get into the Labyrinth?"
Stevão laughed once.
Not happily.
"You don't."
Xheavend frowned.
Stevão's smile turned crooked.
"You survive getting in."
The Book opened.
One line appeared.
GO BELOW.
Xheavend stared.
Q sighed.
"See?"
She looked at him.
"Your Book is annoying."
His face brightened with vindication.
"THANK YOU."
For the first time since Yzer took her—
Xheavend laughed.
Tiny.
One breath.
Gone almost immediately.
But real.
Q stopped.
He looked at her.
Didn't comment.
Didn't make the moment bigger than it was.
That helped too.
Xheavend pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
Outside—
another horn sounded.
Inside—
the Book wrote one final word.
LABYRINTH.
And this time—
Xheavend did not look for a place to hide.
She looked for the road forward.
The Book would not shut up.
Xheavend had decided that several minutes ago.
She sat on the edge of the bed with Xima's blanket wrapped around her shoulders and watched the horrible stitched thing argue with Friend.
Friend wasn't actually his name.
Probably.
She didn't know his name.
She hadn't asked.
Names were dangerous.
Yzer didn't have hers.
She intended to keep it that way.
So until she decided whether the stranger with two presences inside him could be trusted—
Friend.
It was temporary.
Probably.
The Book's purple eyes blinked.
Ink crawled across the page.
LABYRINTH.
Then—
GORAXIAN.
The words vanished.
Returned.
Bigger.
Darker.
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
Friend stared down at it from the table.
"You are aware repeating yourself does not make you less irritating."
The Book flipped one page.
Then wrote:
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
Friend pointed at it.
"That was personal."
Xheavend tilted her head.
"It's trying to tell you something."
"It has been trying to tell me something since I met it," Friend muttered. "Usually that something is that I'm incompetent."
The Book's purple eyes blinked.
Slowly.
Judgmentally.
Xheavend studied it.
"I think it likes you."
Friend stared at her.
Then the Book.
Then her.
"That thing has never liked anything in its entire stitched life."
The Book wrote:
GORAXIAN.
Stevão stopped smiling.
Xheavend noticed immediately.
So did Friend.
And—
the Old One.
That was what Xheavend had started calling the second presence.
Only in her head.
Never aloud.
She didn't know what he was.
Didn't know how two people could exist inside one body.
Didn't know why one of them felt ordinary—
well.
Mostly ordinary.
Friend was strange.
Very strange.
But alive in a way Xheavend understood.
He worried.
Complained.
Made terrible decisions.
Fell into animal dung.
The Old One was different.
Ancient.
Not old like Father.
Not old like Tavran.
Not even old like buildings or mountains.
Older.
The sort of old Xheavend didn't have a number for.
And now—
the Old One had gone still.
Stevão stared at the Book.
"Goraxian."
Friend immediately looked away.
Xheavend narrowed her eyes.
Suspicious.
"I've heard the name."
Lie.
Definitely.
Stevão seemed to think so too.
"You've heard the name?"
Friend shrugged.
"Maybe."
Worse.
Xheavend stared at him.
"You two are being weird."
"We are always weird."
True.
Probably.
Stevão folded his arms.
"Goraxian isn't a place."
Friend nodded slowly.
"Didn't think it was."
Another lie.
Adults really weren't as good at lying as they thought they were.
Stevão's expression changed again.
Not fear.
Something heavier.
His eyes drifted toward the window.
Toward Yeitshoja.
Toward the mountain.
"Because Goraxian was taken."
Friend stopped moving.
The Old One didn't.
Xheavend felt him change.
Cold.
Not frightened.
Angry.
"He challenged Yzer."
Xheavend's stomach clenched.
Her hand moved beneath the blanket before she could stop it.
Toward her arm.
The place where the needle had gone in.
Nothing happened.
The tavern wards held.
No blood-road.
No Yzer.
Still—
her skin remembered.
Stevão continued.
"He lost."
Something stirred inside Xheavend.
She froze.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
End.
She didn't understand End.
She wasn't even sure End was something she was supposed to understand.
Death.
Famine.
War.
Conquest.
Those four she knew.
Not completely.
But enough.
They were parts of her.
Had always been parts of her.
End was—
different.
Deeper.
Quieter.
Something beneath the others.
Something they listened to.
And at Stevão's words—
He lost.
End moved.
A slow stirring beneath Xheavend's ribs.
Almost—
disagreement.
Xheavend frowned.
Stevão continued.
"And they dragged him into the Labyrinth."
The Book's pages rustled.
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
Stevão swallowed.
"I don't know if he's alive. But if the Book is screaming his name..."
He looked toward the page.
"...then someone wants you to find him."
Friend laughed.
Once.
Xheavend's head snapped toward him.
Wrong.
Immediately.
Wrong.
His body straightened.
His shoulders changed.
His eyes became different.
Older.
Much older.
The Old One.
Xheavend pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself.
Not because she was scared.
She was.
But that wasn't why.
She wanted something between them.
Even if it was only cloth.
The Old One smiled.
"Goro?"
Goro.
Not Goraxian.
Xheavend remembered that.
"Oh, Goro does not fall easily."
Stevão frowned.
The Old One folded Friend's arms.
"If Goraxian was captured..."
Another laugh.
"...then Goraxian allowed himself to be captured."
Stevão stared.
"That's impossible."
"No."
The Old One's smile sharpened.
"It is very possible."
He looked toward the Book.
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
"He has survived things that would erase civilizations."
Xheavend listened.
"He has escaped prisons designed by gods."
Good.
That sounded useful.
"He once spent three centuries trapped inside a dying star because he wanted to see what would happen."
Xheavend blinked.
That sounded stupid.
Stevão apparently agreed.
"What?"
The Old One ignored him.
"If Goro is in the Labyrinth..."
His voice lowered.
"...then he is waiting."
End moved.
Xheavend's fingers tightened around the blanket.
There.
Again.
The Old One's amusement disappeared.
"Waiting for something."
End became very still.
Not asleep.
Listening.
Xheavend's heartbeat changed.
She didn't understand why.
Then the Old One looked at her.
Directly.
Xheavend stopped breathing.
The room suddenly felt—
wrong.
Not dangerous.
Not exactly.
Just too small for whatever was looking at her through Friend's eyes.
The Old One stared.
End stared back.
Xheavend felt it.
She didn't know how.
Couldn't have explained it if someone asked.
But something buried impossibly deep inside her had turned its attention toward him.
And the Old One—
noticed.
His expression changed.
Barely.
"Or waiting for someone."
Something inside Xheavend answered.
Not words.
Recognition.
Her stomach dropped.
She didn't know Goraxian.
She had never heard that name before tonight.
She didn't know why End cared.
Didn't know why the Old One was looking at her.
Didn't know why suddenly—
she had the horrible feeling that the Book wasn't only talking to Friend.
Xheavend looked at it.
GORAXIAN.
The letters didn't change.
Good.
She didn't want them to.
When she looked back—
Friend staggered.
The Old One was gone.
Not gone.
Back inside.
Friend blinked.
"...why do I always come back during the creepy part?"
Xheavend stared.
Definitely Friend.
Stevão told them what waited beneath Yeitshoja.
Xheavend quickly decided she preferred not knowing.
The Weeping Galleries.
Walls that cried black water.
The Hollow Choir.
Thousands of prisoners singing.
The Furnace Mile.
The Drowned Archives.
The Bone Elevators.
"Alive elevators?" Friend asked.
"Bone elevators," Stevão corrected. "Different horror."
"Of course."
Xheavend almost smiled.
Then Stevão drew a dark circle in the ash.
"The Heart Engine."
End moved.
Tiny.
Immediate.
Xheavend's almost-smile disappeared.
"That is where the Labyrinth takes people apart. Names. Memories. Loyalty. Fear. Hope."
Her body went cold.
"It strips identity down until only what Yzer wants remains."
No.
She stared at the circle.
Yzer's voice crawled through her memory.
Pet.
No.
Her name.
He didn't know her name.
That mattered.
It had to matter.
If someone took her memories—
would she still know it?
Would she remember Father?
Her brothers?
Tavran?
Would she remember home?
Would she remember Wisper?
Would she remember tomorrow was her birthday?
Would she remember that she hated being called pet?
Would she remember why?
Her throat tightened.
And suddenly—
End rose.
Not fully.
Not even close.
But enough.
NO.
Xheavend jerked.
Her eyes dropped to the ash.
The black circle had cracked through the middle.
She stared.
Had she—
No.
Nobody said anything.
Good.
She tucked her hands beneath the blanket.
Maybe nobody noticed.
The Old One did.
She felt his attention settle briefly on her.
He said nothing.
Good.
Friend looked at her.
Xheavend knew immediately what he was thinking.
"I'm not staying here."
"No one said you were."
"You were thinking it."
"I was considering the part where walking a child into the biggest nightmare prison in existence sounds stupid."
Xheavend lifted her chin.
"I escaped Yzer."
"Yes," Friend said. "Which was extremely rude of you. Ruined his whole evening. Very proud."
Her mouth twitched.
No.
Absolutely not.
She forced it down.
"I'm not going back."
"No."
Old One.
Xheavend's gaze snapped up.
Friend hadn't disappeared completely this time.
But the voice belonged to the other presence.
Low.
Ancient.
Certain.
"You are not going back to him."
Not reassurance.
Not comfort.
A promise.
End moved.
The Old One went quiet.
For one strange moment—
Xheavend felt them both.
End inside her.
The Old One inside Friend.
Watching one another.
Neither attacked.
Neither retreated.
Then End settled.
Xheavend swallowed.
She didn't know what that meant.
She was getting very tired of not knowing things.
When she stood, her legs betrayed her.
Her knees buckled.
Hands caught her.
Xheavend froze.
Everything disappeared.
The room.
Stevão.
Xima.
The Book.
Hands.
Someone was holding her.
Don't move.
Don't fight.
Don't make him angry.
Don't—
Friend stopped.
His hands stayed exactly where they were.
No tighter.
He didn't pull her closer.
Didn't touch anywhere else.
Didn't trap her.
"You're okay," he said softly.
Her breathing wouldn't work.
Xheavend stared at his hands.
Not gloves.
No eye markings.
No needle.
Friend.
Behind him, the Old One was silent.
And inside her—
End watched.
No warning came.
No danger.
Xheavend breathed.
Once.
Again.
Friend slowly released her.
"I can walk," she whispered.
"I know."
Her jaw tightened.
"You don't."
"I believe you."
Xheavend looked up.
Oh.
That was—
different.
She didn't know what to say to that.
So she narrowed her eyes.
Friend seemed to understand anyway.
Xima came over and wrapped a smaller cloak around her shoulders.
"Keep close to him."
Xheavend immediately frowned.
"I don't need—"
"Close does not mean weak."
She stopped.
Looked at Xima.
Then Friend.
Then nodded once.
Fine.
Close.
Not helpless.
There was a difference.
They climbed from the window.
Yeitshoja was chaos.
Horns screamed through the eastern district.
Red alarm sigils pulsed overhead.
Chains rattled.
Varkhünen moved through the streets below.
Friend pulled the silver cloak around both of them.
Xheavend stiffened when it settled around her.
Then realized something.
The world became quieter.
Not sound.
Attention.
It was like the universe itself had forgotten to look at her.
Xheavend glanced at Friend.
So this was how he had hidden.
Interesting.
She stayed close.
Not touching.
Close.
She could move away whenever she wanted.
That mattered.
They crossed rooftops.
Friend followed Stevão's directions.
Xheavend memorized them.
Left.
Three roofs.
Broken chimney.
Down.
Across the market.
Collapsed spice house.
Trapdoor.
Always know the way back.
Father had taught her that.
Even if you didn't intend to use it.
Especially then.
Friend pulled open the trapdoor.
Heat breathed upward.
Xheavend stepped back before she could stop herself.
"You don't have to go first," Friend said.
She glared at him.
"I wasn't scared."
"I didn't say you were."
"You thought it."
"I think many things. Most are stupid."
Xheavend stared.
That was difficult to argue with.
Annoying.
They descended.
And descended.
And descended.
Until the walls started crying.
Black water slid down the stone.
Xheavend remembered Stevão.
Don't touch it.
Easy.
She had no intention of touching anything in this horrible place.
Then came the cells.
Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
Some empty.
Some—
not.
Hands reached through the bars.
Thin hands.
Claws.
Fingers shaking from weakness.
Nobody begged.
That was worse.
A voice whispered:
"I had a name."
Xheavend slowed.
Another voice.
"I had two children."
Another.
"I did not steal the bread."
She moved closer to Friend.
Didn't realize she had until her shoulder nearly touched him.
He pulled the silver cloak tighter around her.
Didn't mention it.
Good.
The Old One had become silent again.
Dangerously silent.
Xheavend could feel anger building beneath Friend's skin that didn't belong entirely to him.
Then—
someone looked at her.
A prisoner.
Xheavend stopped.
He was chained against the wall.
Thin.
Too thin.
His face was half hidden beneath filthy hair.
But his eyes—
his eyes found her.
Through the silver cloak.
Through the concealment.
Past Friend.
Straight to her.
His lips moved.
"End."
Xheavend's blood turned cold.
Inside her—
Death looked.
Famine looked.
War looked.
Conquest looked.
And beneath all four—
End opened its eyes.
The prisoner screamed.
Not loudly.
One sharp, broken sound.
He scrambled backward until his chains snapped tight.
"No."
Xheavend couldn't move.
The prisoner stared at her.
"No, no, no—"
Friend's hand touched her shoulder.
Gentle.
"Keep moving."
She couldn't.
End was awake.
Not fully.
But more than before.
And everywhere around them—
the Labyrinth reacted.
Black water stopped running.
For one heartbeat.
Just one.
Every drop hanging motionless against the walls.
The prisoners nearest Xheavend went silent.
One lowered his head.
Another began crying.
A creature in the cell across from them crawled backward into the darkness.
And somewhere—
far beneath their feet—
something enormous moved.
Xheavend felt it through the stone.
Once.
THOOM.
Friend felt it too.
His head snapped downward.
"What was that?"
Xheavend didn't answer.
Because she knew.
Not what it was.
But why.
End had answered the Labyrinth.
And the Labyrinth—
had answered back.
Then the water fell.
Everything resumed.
Xheavend grabbed the edge of Friend's cloak.
"Go."
He looked at her.
She hated how frightened her own voice sounded.
"Go."
He didn't ask questions.
They ran.
The Hollow Choir was worse.
Thousands of voices.
Thousands.
Cells climbed higher than Xheavend could see.
Everyone sang.
The same low, exhausted sound.
She covered her ears.
Didn't help.
The song was everywhere.
Then—
another voice joined.
Small.
Soft.
Familiar.
Xheavend stopped.
No.
Her own voice sang somewhere above them.
She clapped both hands over her mouth.
She wasn't singing.
But the Choir was.
With her voice.
Then another Xheavend joined.
And another.
And another.
Until dozens of her voices sang from the cells.
Xheavend's eyes filled with terror.
Friend grabbed her hand.
"Run."
This time—
she let him.
They ran.
The voices followed.
But End—
End didn't like them.
Xheavend felt irritation.
Deep.
Cold.
Ancient.
The Choir grew louder.
Then End pushed back.
Every voice using Xheavend's voice stopped.
At once.
The rest of the Choir continued.
Thousands singing.
But none sounded like her anymore.
Xheavend looked down at herself while running.
"What are you?"
She hadn't meant to say it aloud.
Friend looked at her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She ran faster.
Heat hit them.
The Furnace Mile.
Friend shoved a vial into her hand.
"Drink."
"What is it?"
"Something that probably prevents us from dying."
"Probably?"
"Stevão gave it to us."
Xheavend considered this.
Fair.
She drank.
It tasted horrible.
Mint.
Metal.
Something spicy.
Her lungs opened so suddenly she coughed.
Then she saw the workers.
Slaves.
Adults.
Creatures.
Children.
Xheavend slowed.
Children.
Chains.
One boy couldn't have been older than her.
A guard stood above him holding a shadow whip.
War moved.
Xheavend's hand curled into a fist.
Conquest followed.
Then Death.
Friend's hand had tightened around his weapon too.
The Old One spoke quietly through him.
"Not now."
Xheavend looked at Friend.
He hated those words.
She could tell.
So did she.
But they kept moving.
Not now.
She remembered that.
Not never.
Then they reached the lava river.
The bridge was gone.
Friend looked at the lava.
Then at a giant sheet of broken metal.
Xheavend looked at the metal.
Then at him.
No.
The Old One apparently agreed.
Friend pointed.
"Yes."
Xheavend stared.
"Are you talking to him?"
"Yes."
"Is he saying no?"
"Yes."
"Then maybe listen."
Friend ignored both of them.
He built a raft.
A raft.
For lava.
Xheavend watched him attach the silver cloak underneath it.
"This isn't going to work."
"I've survived worse plans."
"How?"
"Mostly by screaming."
Xheavend stared.
She was going to die because she followed an invisible stranger into a prison and allowed him to build a lava raft out of garbage.
Father was going to kill her.
Assuming the lava didn't do it first.
Friend pushed the raft toward the river.
The lava hesitated around the cloak.
Xheavend blinked.
Friend grinned.
"See?"
She crossed her arms.
"I still think this is stupid."
"Correct. But it is functional stupid."
Then—
a horn sounded.
Everything inside Xheavend died.
Her body knew before she turned.
No.
No.
No.
No.
Her fingers went numb.
Her lungs stopped.
The workers dropped to their knees.
The guards bowed.
And at the far end of the Furnace Mile—
Yzer stood alone.
Xheavend couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
His eyes found her.
Immediately.
Of course they did.
His expression softened.
No.
"Pet."
The word entered her like the needle.
Xheavend made a sound.
Tiny.
Humiliating.
Yzer stepped forward.
"There you are."
Her legs shook.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
He wasn't touching her.
He wasn't close.
He couldn't—
"I was worried."
Liar.
"You frightened me."
Liar.
"You should not wander off."
Her arm burned.
"This world is full of things that would hurt you."
Liar.
Liar.
LIAR.
End surged.
For the first time—
End was furious.
Not cold.
Not watching.
Furious.
Death rose with it.
Famine.
War.
Conquest.
All five forces inside Xheavend turned toward Yzer.
And Yzer—
smiled.
"Come here, pet."
No.
Her foot twitched.
Forward.
No.
Her blood remembered him.
The road.
His road.
No.
Her body leaned—
Friend stepped in front of her.
The command broke.
Xheavend gasped.
And then—
Friend disappeared.
Not physically.
The Old One stepped forward.
Everything changed.
The Furnace Mile became too small.
The lava lowered.
The air thickened.
Xheavend stared at Friend's back.
No.
Old One.
Definitely Old One.
End went completely still.
Not frightened.
Watching.
Yzer watched too.
His smile changed.
Interest.
Hunger.
The Old One spoke.
"So."
The entire Furnace Mile trembled.
"You are the Fragment of the Third Universe."
Xheavend's eyes widened.
Fragment.
Yzer smiled.
"Ah."
He wasn't looking at her anymore.
Good.
Good.
Good.
"I wondered when I would feel something worth my attention."
The Old One didn't move.
"I have wanted to meet you."
"How flattering."
"It was not meant as flattery."
"No. I imagine not."
Yzer looked at Xheavend again.
"Come here, pet."
End erupted.
The Old One moved at the same instant.
His presence sharpened.
Yzer's command vanished.
Not weakened.
Gone.
Xheavend sucked in a breath.
The Old One stepped forward.
"I could kill you now."
Xheavend stared at him.
Yzer smiled.
"Could you?"
"Yes."
No bragging.
No anger.
Just—
yes.
End recognized that too.
Certainty.
The Old One continued.
"I know why I cannot."
Yzer's smile deepened.
"How tragic."
"That does not mean I will not enjoy destroying everything you have built."
Yzer stopped smiling.
Good.
Then the Old One let something out.
Xheavend couldn't describe it.
Power wasn't enough.
Magic wasn't enough.
It felt like the world suddenly remembered it could end.
The Furnace Mile collapsed into silence.
Lava sank.
Chains bent.
Pipes burst.
Walls cracked.
Every shadow whip vanished.
The distant blue flames turned black.
And Yzer—
fell.
One knee struck stone.
Xheavend forgot to breathe.
Yzer.
Yzer was kneeling.
The thing that had walked through her memories.
Put blood inside her.
Called her pet.
Touched her future.
Made her body stop belonging to her whenever he entered a room.
Was on.
His.
Knee.
Something inside Xheavend changed.
Not healed.
Not safe.
Not suddenly brave.
But the impossible became possible.
Yzer could be forced down.
End stared through her eyes.
And for the first time since Xheavend had escaped—
End felt pleased.
Yzer lifted his head.
Then laughed.
Xheavend's tiny piece of satisfaction vanished.
"There you are."
The Old One turned.
Came toward her.
Xheavend should have recoiled.
Didn't.
He picked her up—
firmly.
Carefully.
And placed her on the ridiculous metal raft.
Xheavend let him.
Because Yzer was behind him.
Because the Old One had made Yzer kneel.
Because End was not warning her away.
The Old One looked down at her.
"Hold on."
Xheavend grabbed the metal.
Then—
Friend came back.
His entire body jerked.
He gasped.
Looked around.
Looked at her.
Looked at the lava.
Xheavend almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Yzer stood.
His eyes found Friend.
"And who are you?"
Xheavend looked at Friend.
She wanted to know too.
He smiled.
"Nobody."
Then he shoved them over the edge.
Xheavend screamed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Friend jumped after her.
The raft fell.
Lava rushed upward.
Xheavend screamed louder.
They hit.
They did not die.
The silver cloak flared.
Fire split around them.
Friend crashed onto the raft.
"I told you it would work!"
"This is not working!"
"We are alive!"
"THAT IS A LOW STANDARD!"
They shot down the lava river.
Xheavend held on.
Chains whipped overhead.
Gears turned beside them.
Fire exploded.
Steam screamed.
The raft dropped over a waterfall.
Xheavend screamed.
Friend screamed louder.
Why was he screaming louder?!
They hit another river.
Spun.
Shot beneath hanging prison cells.
Someone yelled:
"Is that a child?"
Another voice:
"Is that a raft?"
A third:
"I want one!"
Xheavend couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.
Then something jumped onto the raft.
Long limbs.
Furnace mask.
Hooked hands.
Friend erased one.
Another landed beside Xheavend.
She grabbed a pipe.
Swung.
CRACK.
The creature's head snapped sideways.
Friend erased it.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
"What?"
"You hit it."
"It was rude."
Friend laughed.
Then the raft spun.
Xheavend grabbed the edge.
The river narrowed.
Fire sprayed around them.
The silver cloak snapped beneath the metal.
Another drop appeared ahead.
No.
No no no—
They plunged.
Something escaped Xheavend.
A sound.
She didn't recognize it.
Not immediately.
Then she did.
A laugh.
Her laugh.
Xheavend stared at herself.
What?
The raft hit sideways.
Friend nearly fell off.
She laughed again.
She couldn't stop it.
This was horrible.
This was stupid.
This was absolutely going to kill them.
But Yzer was behind her.
For once—
behind.
The chains were behind.
The room was behind.
The needle was behind.
His hands were behind.
And she was moving forward.
Not home.
Not safe.
But away.
End settled inside her.
Death quieted.
War quieted.
Famine quieted.
Conquest quieted.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But listening.
To her.
Her laughter.
Friend looked over.
"Having fun?"
Xheavend stared at him.
Insane.
He was insane.
"No!"
That only made her laugh harder.
The raft plunged into darkness.
Xheavend screamed and laughed at the same time.
And somewhere deep inside her—
End listened.
Not to Yzer.
Not to the Labyrinth.
Not to the prisoners calling its name.
To her.
For once—
Xheavend was louder.