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“I’m sorry, no. Look up.”

Finding the coming moonlight and moth on their descent, Lunara followed their path into the sky and gasped.

A legion of creatures floated above on feathered wings like Endellion’s. Their excitement was palpable, all of them leaning forward, waiting for something. All different, as otherworldly as she was. Just as stunning, each in their own way.

“Celestials.” She knew it to her bones. “How does no one see them there?”

“I see so you can see, my friend. Our sisters may choose whether or not to reveal themselves. Most often, they choose not, but they cannot hide from me. Nor you anymore, now that your metamorphosis is complete.”

Wait. Our sisters…

In the library, Lunara had the wild thought that she was one of them, but she meant it in more of a tenuous sort of way. Half the time when Endellion was telling her to do things like burn and shine, it seemed like she was talking to Illamiata, since it was always triggered at those moments. In the chasm, it even spoke to the Oracle directly before they saved Brand.

She assumed the Tear Stone merely gave her certain qualities or understandings, more power, not that she was literally a Star Goddess. Was this Endellion answering in her own, backwards way? Was there more to Illamiata than crystal and tears?

The truth settled into Lunara, though it bent her mind. Somehow, contained within her, was the power of the Sisters. Deeper than the Tear Stone, her very particles were imbued with cosmic power now. Free, but one with that glittering diamond as never before.

Shite.

Fern would never let her hear the end of it.

“It’s complicated,” Endellion murmured. “Nothing is ever black and white, good or bad, goddess or not goddess. The world is not so clean as that. All of us, worlds over, exist in the unsure grey. In the Unknown.”

“Am I about to grow wings and start doling out prophecies?” Lunara asked, hardly able to push the words from her mouth.

Endellion snorted. “That’s rather up to you, but it’ll be a long while until you understand enough to make that happen. Put it from your mind. It’s useless for now.”

It was all too much. “What are we doing here, Endellion?”

Endellion reached out to brush Illamiata. “You and the others were foretold long before the formation of this world. Long before I came. I only hold a small part. The why and how is not something I can freely give, and is one riddle you have no hope of understanding yet, but to put you at ease…”

Endellion pointed up at the Celestials again. “They watch the fulfillment of one of their own prophecies, so long in the making you couldn’t possibly comprehend. Those hovering there will never again know such relief as they did this day. Such utter peace. Their part was done the moment that small creature made its landing.” She bumped her feet into Lunara’s and gestured all around them. “It never stops, though. One leads to another. As they watch their end, you watch your beginning.”

Lunara snapped her gaze to the little girl, puzzle pieces falling together.

Endellion hummed, a deeply satisfied sound. “And I watch all, doing my best to ensure this beginning has its proper middle and rightful end. You’re almost there, moth. Your part is dwindling, that same peace on the horizon. You’ll have it for a little while until you’re needed again.”

Brand’s face entered Lunara’s mind at the word peace—a vision of him smiling down at her. “Will I ever not be needed?” she asked. “Will we ever know our true and wanted end?”

“I don’t know yet, my friend. How about a little fun to distract you while you sleep?” Endellion snapped her fingers and the scene started again. “Just enjoy it.”

The moth landed again, and Lunara stared with wide eyes at that tiny version of herself, trying to recall if she’d ever noticed it there. If she’d felt it.

There was nothing.

She huffed. “I’m having trouble believing that’s⁠—”

“Lunara!”

Her head snapped around, heart stopping at the rumble of that gentle bass, and she watched her father stroll across the lawn towards her. Close enough to touch him. To see the lines in his handsome face.

“Da…”

Stellan the Gemwright blew past, chuckling as he reached behind. A hand appeared and laced with his, those elegant, manicured fingers a dead match for her own.

“It’s your turn to get her dry,” Almaura teased. “I had to do it the last time she fell in.”

Sweet Sisters save her. “Mum.”