“Oh no. The cat wants a 401k.”
“Why is Keith so... corporate?” I ask suddenly. “Like, specifically corporate? Not just integrated but full-on middle management?”
Keith looks up from his cards. “Keith finds structure comforting! Keith was formless for eons. Now Keith has quarterly reviews!”
“You were formless?”
“All shadows were. Until we found purpose.” Keith straightens his tie. “Keith’s purpose is optimization.”
Stenrik and I exchange glances. There’s something important here, but we’re missing it.
The temperature drops another degree. I still don’t feel cold, which should worry me more than it does. When I breathe out, my breath is visible, but I’m comfortable in just my sweater.
“We should read the Chronicle again,” Stenrik says. “There has to be something we’re missing.”
I groan but follow him to the desk. When I reach for the Chronicle, it opens on its own, pages flipping wildly before settling on a section we’ve never seen. The text shimmers, reorganizing itself not into a rule, but a verse.
I read it aloud, my voice hesitant.
“The bond is claimed not by the hand
That grips an anchor in the storm-wracked land.
But by the soul that seeks the shore,
When tempests fall and rage no more.”
I stare at the page, a knot forming in my stomach. “An anchor in the storm-wracked land. That’s us. Right now.”
“It’s a test of strength,” Stenrik says, his focus intense. “The magic needs to know we can hold on, that we can be an anchor for each other through this crisis.”
“So we have to grip tighter,” I conclude, the fear making the interpretation feel certain. “We have to prove we can endure the storm.”
The Chronicle’s light pulses once, then dims—not bright approval, but something quieter. Uncertain.
I wait for the foundation stone to boom agreement from below, but there’s only silence.
“This is on us, then.” I turn to face him fully, pushing away the strange quiet. “It’s not just about saving the town. It’s about being strong enough. Stenrik, I can do this. I’m not going to let you down.”
“Perhaps we should read it again,” Stenrik says slowly.
“We don’t have time. Four hours until midnight.” I square my shoulders. “We know what we need to do. Be strong. Hold on. Don’t let go.”
The Chronicle’s pages flutter, but no new text appears. The light dims further.
Carl nods slowly, but he looks uncertain.
My cat stands up from the poker table, having cleaned out every shadow creature. He walks over and drops something at my feet, a shadow creature’s wallet.
“Poof, you can’t take their wallets.”
He meows indignantly and points at his winnings.
“Fair and square doesn’t mean you should, never mind.” I look at Stenrik. “So we have to be an anchor. We just have to be strong enough, right? Hold on with everything we’ve got.”
“During the ceremony, yes. Absolute commitment.”
“Because we have the strength to hold on.”
