The dream drains … until there’s nothing left.
A deathly hollow that’s bludgeoned by a roaring love. A wild force of silver light that nuzzles so deep within my soul it recasts the essence of my being, turning me into something …other. Something only hindered by the bounds of my mind, pitted by a different sort of cold.
Something—
Whole.
The ancient silver Sabersythe soars across the Loff, scales aglitter like the crush of a thousand stars. In her wake, the equally silver ribbon droops and sweeps about, trailed by the other threads—tangling as they dance.
Together in their misplacement.
It dipsalmostlow enough to kiss the tip of a lookout perched atop a rounded, rust-colored mountain … nipping at the heels of the magnificent dragon now scooping into the coppery embrace of The Burn’s illusive capital. Urging her farther south with delicate flitting motions.
The Sabersythe doesn’t jolt or even so much as slash her tail at its presence, already so innately familiar. For it wasshewho the ribbon gave some of itself to so many phases ago.
Not that the Sabersythe seemed to mind. She gleaned the gift for what it was.
A plea for help.
The ribbon may be pretty—ever orbiting the world that does not spin, helping folk track the passage of time—but it’s not there by choice. It’s shackled to the sky. For the ribbons were once part of somethingmore.
Somethingwhole.
And threading the many lost pieces of Caelis back together could not be done without solid entities to do the stitching. The ribbons know that. Have been doing their part to make things right.
Slow-going as it is.
Another dip. Another herding flick as the Great Silver Sabersythe cuts past the Imperial Stronghold for the first time in eons.
Folk flood the streets to watch the once-in-a-lifetime spectacle. Many gasp when they notice that, riding between her massive wings slashingthe air like axes, is a white-haired fae with a tense jaw, staring south through eyes like cuts of ice.
The silver ribbon hopes Grihm understands—if not now, theneventually—that everything has a place, a purpose. And some things …
They were always meant to be.
Iswing the heavy sack up through the entry hole and let go, breathing a sigh of relief when it thuds against the floor inside. Still gripping the ledge, I use the back of my free arm to wipe the sweat from my brow—
A gust of wind powers past me so fast it almost smacks me off the wall.
I slap my other hand up and claw at the ledge while my heart takes big, fisted swings at my insides, wondering if Clode saw the opportunity to try and make me shit myself and thought,Fuck it. Why not?
Gulping breath, I look down past my ruffling cloak to the jagged ground far below. To the toothy stones poking up from the snow, perfect for spearing through falling bodies. A grisly end I’dverymuch feel before gurgling my final breath.
Not for the first time, I curse Raeve’s questionable choice of lodgings.
If I’m going to keep up with Gruffin’s growing appetite, I need to construct some sort of pulley system. Or eventually fall to my death trying to haul a sack of plump vermin up here every dae, twice a dae.
I sigh and heave past the glamour hiding the hole, into the warmth. Glimpse Essi from the corner of my eye—hunched over her worktable, just as she was when I left.
Just as she’s been since the aurora rose and fell, then rose and fell again.
Swinging my other leg up, I shift into a seated position and work to catch my breath while unlacing my boots. “If you heard me squeal out there, no you didn’t.”
When Essi doesn’t respond with one of her usual quips—or at all—I kick off my second boot and move through the room, shucking off my bow, quiver, and satchel of looted supplies. The moment Essi’s profile comes into view, I stop.
A smile breaks across my face.
I take her in: eyes shut, hair a bloodred blast about her face. Her cheekis pressed flat on a stack of leather-bound books she was pawing through before I left, mouth open as she breathes soft and slow.
