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anius had arranged a feast to be laid out for his bronze warrior’s homecoming. The hall was decorous and darkly opulent with polished granite and ornamental moulding chiselled from brass. Under typical circumstances, there would have been an array of meats put on display until the table was overflowing—a few whole chickens, a suckling pig, several haunches of venison.

However winter had dwindled them down to a more modest offering: hot blood soup served with onion and flecks of putrid cheese; marrow roasted soft in its bone smeared with chive butter and a dollop of caviar. The main course had been Lanius’ own personal quip at his son’s expense—braised hearts from a whale carefully stuffed with mushrooms, truffles and fatty goose liver.

The meal had come from Darius’ own private deal with the Vidua Nocte and cost him several pounds of flesh. But with the winter being what it was there were more than enough starving qarna willing to throw themselves beneath the sacrificial blade. And if not themselves, then they’d just as desperately offer their sons.

Darius helped himself to an appetiser of blini topped with lox and caviar, directing a ghoul to pour him graviji wine whilst he sat on a velvet chair.

Vasilisa Regina, his father’s bride, sat on the opposite side of him. She was festive in a cranberry red letnik with silver-embroidered lilies to match her elaborate kokoshnik. She remained poised like a wax sculpture in a mausoleum, mummified through age, for it was an age she had waited for her beloved son to return to her.

There was a link missing from their royal chain, one Darius could never quite mould himself to fit. It was as if he was manufactured of different metal than their regal steel. A crude iron, more earthly and common.

Dominus announced himself like thunder, the floorboards rocking with his powerful footsteps moments before he arrived.

Vasilisa was up in a blur to embrace her son at once.

Dominus lifted her into the air with his bearish embrace, his hold so tight on her he may have cracked her spine were she mortal.

“Welcome home, my son,” Vasilisa cried once she’d descended, pinching his cleft chin between her pincer grip.

“Don’t crowd the boy, Vasilka,” Lanius scolded, appearing immediately after.

Vasilisa folded herself inwards like a fan, stepping obediently to one side with her head bowed.

Dominus turned to his brother next with his head slightly bent. This was by far the reunion he had been most nervous about. “Dara.”

“It’s been a while, little brother,” Darius said, a wry smile teasing on his lips. He raised his wine goblet in salute. “Not to worry, I’ll withhold my ‘I told you so’ for a later date.”

Dominus chuckled. “Very gracious of you.”

“Well now, I want to hear all about your exploits.” Vasilisa tugged firmly on her son’s shoulder so he might be seated beside her. “Tell me everything.”

The ghouls served them wine as Dominus informed them all of his thwarted battle with the ice whale and subsequent icy imprisonment, until he was rescued by a mysterious creature who belonged to an unknown realm. An enigmatic beauty of sunlit hair and evening-violet eyes plucked and delivered ripe from the heavens. Even her very name seemed to cause Dominus’ eyes to become stricken with stars as he spoke it.

Throughout it all Vasilisa was utterly riveted by him—enthralled with the sort of encompassing adoration only a mother could provide.

Darius watched them the way someone looked at anything as foreign and unfamiliar as a maternal bond was to him: with a soft and subtle perplexity. He’d never had this side of Vasilisa or anything other than the requisite words of cordiality.

Seated all on one side with his father at the end, they were a chain once more linked. While Darius was the ill-fitting spare cast over on the other end, like always.

He took another sip from his wine goblet. “So just to reiterate, you and this mysterious maiden of yours arrived here how, precisely?”

“By flying ship,” Dominus revealed, stuffing himself with black bread. “And what a magnificent skycraft it was, Dara. I only wish you could’ve boarded it for yourself. Well until it was destroyed by a storm, that is.”

“Hm, indeed,” Darius said, swirling his wine goblet. He could sense the burn of his father’s stare upon the realisation of the ship they spoke of and he knew this wouldn’t be the last he’d heard of it for the evening. “Such a shame.”

“Though I’m sure you know all about that already, don’t you?”

Vasilisa glanced nervously between the sons of her husband. “Oh come now, you two. Let’s not quarrel.”

“Yes, you know well enough what customs we have for trespassers, Doma,” Lanius reminded him, his expression stern. “I am willing to make an exception for your little princess, for now. But we shall have to discuss how we are to… handle this, going forward.”

“Papa, I beseech you,” Dominus said, and never before had such a tenderness splintered through his rock-solid austerity before the arrival of that girl. “Laila is my guest and it would please me to claim her under my protection. I must ask that you do not harm her.”

“Hm,” Lanius considered.

“Please, Lanius,” Vasilisa asked, reaching out to cover his hand with her own. “Show mercy to the girl. I am sure there ought to be some arrangement we can make for the event she returns home. A vow of secrecy perhaps. Or a spell to alter her memories.”

“Or we could treat with her,” Darius suggested, “see what her country has to offer.”

“We require nothing from her realm,” Lanius bit back sharply.

“But of course.” Darius kept his expression perfectly neutral. “Still it wouldn’t hurt to explore…”

“Say, where is this new maiden of yours?” Vasilisa asked, abruptly steering the conversation away from the inevitable fracas. “I’d quite like to meet her.”

“Still getting ready, I’d gather,” Dominus said, withdrawing his seat from the table. “Shall I go fetch her?”

“No need,” Darius said, standing before he could. “I’ll do the honours.”

“You?” Dominus’ eyes narrowed.

“Something tells me she’ll come to appreciate one who can speak her language,” Darius replied in Soltongue. Then he waggled his brows.

Laila rose from the stone pool with her body gasping wisps of steam. Rather than bath tubs, the washrooms in the Citadel consisted mainly of hot springs situated in the floors that continually filled and drained themselves.

She had soaked in the water for an age and emerged like a peach skinned of its rind: soft, stark and rosy with warmth. She wrapped herself in a towel and wrung out her wet hair, feeling much lighter than she had when she went into the water, as though some intangible weight had melted off her back from the steam.

Turning back towards where she’d left her clothes, she rummaged in her boot for the vial of moonwater she’d been keeping hidden throughout the journey and picked up a clay basin left near the pool.

She uncapped the vial and filled the bowl with moonwater, watching the liquid inherit a reflective silver quality. Softly, she performed a chant and hovered with her hands over the water until it solidified into glass. She removed it thereafter and lifted it up to her face, observing her damp reflection in her newly crafted mirror.

“Amira Rose,” she said.

The mirror gleamed once before her reflection was replaced by the face of her mother.

“Well, it’s about time I heard from you,” Amira said.

Laila couldn’t help but cry out in relief at the sight of her. Not even her mother’s formal disposition could counter the elation she felt. “Oh, you don’t know how glad I am to see your face.” She traced her fingers along the outline of her mother’s high-boned cheek.

“Yes, that’s very nice, aurore,” her mother sighed, “and I am glad to see you still in one piece. Though one would hope you would have something more substantial to contact me about?”

“Yes, yes, I—” Laila nodded her head frantically. “Maman, I’ve found it. I have found Mortos. The isle of myth is indeed a reality.” She bit her lip to conceal her squeal of delight as she bounced once on her feet. Before she knew it she had gushed the entirety of her journey up to the airship crash and beyond while her mother listened intently.

“Dominus a prince? Now that I hadn’t been expecting.” Amira’s lips scrunched to one side. “Still it is unfortunate about the Stellaria, I had been hoping we would’ve been spared that loss. Are you at least still in the safety of your Lightshields?”

“Yes, Ser Lyra and Léandre are with me and—”

“That’s good. I’d advise you to stay vigilant while in the company of these creatures, Laila. At least until we are able to ascertain their true nature.” Amira said. “And what of the Great Northern?”

“Eliminated,” Laila sighed. “Dominus all but confirmed it.”

“Yes, what you tell me about how they treat foreign vessels is… concerning to say the least. We shall have to tread carefully, in the event we travel there.”

“T-travel there?” Laila stammered, before coaching herself back to eloquence. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been having talks with the Archwitch of Odaka and we agree that, in the interest of preserving our safety, we ought to look more into these creatures and assess their level of threat. For that reason I’m going to continue to invest in more funding for the northern expedition.”

“You can’t possibly be considering sending more people here after everything I’ve informed you of? Maman, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you have wandered right into uncharted territory with exposure to a threat that may seek to endanger us all. I’m thinking I ought to gain the upper hand of this situation before it has surpassed me.”

“Maman, the very last thing we need is for you to establish a hostile contact. Allow me to pave the way first by acting as an ambassador on Soleterea’s behalf. I guarantee you I can create an amicable relationship with this country, through the crown prince himself.”

Her mother stared at her for some moments, her eyes narrowing.

Laila bent her head low in deference. She knew what her mother was, after all: an empty beach of sand where no footprint may linger, a thick bramble of roses no blade may penetrate. Something so unbreachable, so unconquerable, that to even entertain it merely exposed the height of one’s vanity.

“Fine, I will arrange for you to travel once we’ve established peaceful contact. But I will remind you, Laila, that being my successor is a privilege, not a given. Should you prove yourself unworthy in the eyes of the Elders I could just as easily remove you and convene with them to select another. Do you understand?”

Laila swallowed thickly. “I promise you, Maman, I will not let you down.”

“See to it that you don’t.”

The transmission ended, leaving behind only Laila’s reflection. She sighed as she hid the mirror among her clothes and then exited out into the bedroom.

Awaiting her on the bed was a peach-coloured frock embroidered with a spray of pearls, and a matching kokoshnik. Laila slid her hands along the material, admiring its cloud-like texture; soft as dandelion down.

“The ghoul left it,” Lyra mentioned from behind her, “I had them sent away while you bathed as I gathered you wouldn’t be partial to having them dress you. May I?” She gestured towards the garment.

“Of course,” Laila said, removing her towel to put on her undergarments first. She let Lyra help her into the letnik and wove her hair into a Soleterean braid before the kokoshnik was fastened over the top.

She found herself mourning the extensive collection of her toiletries set aflame on The Stellaria. Her skin felt conspicuously dry without her cocoa butter. And while she could take advantage of the current damp state of her hair, she knew she would regret the neglect of moisturising in the future when the frizz had time to set in.

“Well?” Lyra asked, awaiting her verdict.

Laila twisted to and fro in front of the mirror with a sigh. “I suppose it will have to do.” She adjusted her braid. “Where’s your uncle?”

“They won’t permit an unrelated male into the wing so he’s standing guard elsewhere.”

“Alright.” Laila nodded in response. “I managed to make contact with my mother.”

“And?” Lyra raised a brow.

“She has agreed to let me lead for now but I doubt I will be able to keep her placated for long unless I make fast progress.”

“And you’re sure Dominus can be trusted to vouch for your safety?”

“Of course he can, he’s infatuated with me.” Laila adjusted the position of her kokoshnik. Then she held out her arm, head tilted playfully. “Now, join me for dinner?”

Lyra glanced down at it with a smile before she slung her arm in.

Laila fastened their arms together and rested her hand on Lyra’s. “So how long do you think we have before they’ll come calling on me?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I intend to have a little look around, of course.” Laila grinned, then pivoted on her heel towards the door.

Lyra sighed heavily. “Of course.”

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Navigating the maze-like corridors of the Citadel was, of course, easier imagined than accomplished. For several aisles they walked among macabre tapestries and glistening web-netted corners, finding rows of aged wooden doors caged in rusted iron.

“My longing for home surely increases with every millisecond I dwell in this miserable place.” Lyra grimaced as she swatted away a rather prominent cobweb.

“Come now, Lyra,” Laila jested with her trademark youthful buoyancy, “their interior design may be appalling. But at the very least the place holds… character.” Her hands spread as though to encapsulate the stained glass painted in grisaille and silver stain and savagely hewn furniture decorated with colored marble before them.

“Ah yes, but whose character is the question.” Lyra leaned against the wall, slightly jostling one of the sconces. The wall gaped open into a doorway that sent her hurtling right through before she even had the chance to yelp, righting itself without even the wisp of a breeze.

“Oh you’re funny, you are,” Laila chortled. Though it wasn’t until she turned on her heel that she noticed the empty spot where her friend should be. “Lyra?” Her brow furrowed in concern as she took a tentative step forward. “Lyra?” Her mirth diffused, eyes skittish and watchful in the event Lyra was trying to trick her. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

When she did not answer, Laila opened the first unlocked door available to her and found herself within a library. The bookcases were stacked with dust-sugared tomes preserved in calfskins and swarming with an infestation of bats. They flitted from shelf to shelf with inhuman screeching, swooping low to claw at her in hostility.

Laila cried out in surprise as a bat launched itself at her with malicious intent and quickly swerved out of its path. She clutched a hand to her thrumming pulse as the bat perched itself on one of the marble bannisters on a balcony, a satisfied gleam twinkling in its many eyes.

“You look a little lost, princess.”

She swerved once more in the direction of the voice and found herself facing what could only be another occasso. He stood imposingly tall against the bookcases, lean musculature concealed in a kaftan that similarly matched her own frock.

The sight of him twinged some nervous reflex in her stomach, though whether it was one of dread or relief at not being alone she wouldn’t be able to say. She couldn’t help but notice how exceptionally pretty he was, almost to the point of distraction. Looking at him had a similar sensation as being at the edge of a cliff and feeling a conflicting medley of excitement and terror at the long drop ahead.

Ah but she’d never jump, would she?

“You speak Soltongue?” Laila asked, her brow furrowing at the sound of her language on his lips.

Darius shrugged one shoulder. “I happen to be proficient in many dialects.” Then he was stalking towards her with his sleek black panther prowl, leaving her feeling pink and exposed. “I assume you are then? Lost, I mean.”

“Oh, not at all I was just with- I was just—” His proximity had her blushing brighter than raspberries in the summer. She stoppered her tongue to keep from embarrassing herself further. “Who are you?”

“Only a mere courtier like yourself. Consider me to be your belated escort,” he responded, weaving his way around her in a circle to admire how well she wore the court fashion. “I’ve come to deliver you to dinner with the rex.”

“I see,” Laila said, swallowing.

She kept pivoting in his direction, not wanting to show him her back. There was something about him she found unspeakably unnerving. He shouldn’t know her language with such fluency but there was a rightness in the way his tongue wrapped around the vowels, smooth as ironed silk. His features also seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t trace.

“Shall we?” He offered his arm for the taking.

Before she could think to respond a bat descended upon them from overhead with an audible lashing of wings and landed on a bookshelf.

“Seems unusual you’d keep bats in a library,” Laila said, her brow arched in questioning.

“They keep the insects from getting at the manuscripts,” Darius replied with another shrug. His eyes reminded her of the hidden lagoons in Soleterea, that same pellucid turquoise-blue. “Many of these documents are centuries old, some even older than that. We do our best to keep them preserved.”

“Ah,” Laila said, “well you see, Monsieur Courtier, I happen to already have an escort. I was wondering, in fact, if you could help me find her.”

He smiled at her, his bright eyes scintillating. “Oh?”

“Yes, my Lightshield guard, Lyra, she… was with me right up until a moment ago. Just mysteriously vanished.”

He chuckled in response. “Malborg has something of a… trickster nature, shall we say? One must stay vigilant to ensure you don’t get swept up in its twists and turns.”

His answer did little to soothe her worries. “Well it seems I had better stay close to you then.”

“Of course,” he said, securing her arm through his elbow. “I’ll ensure you won’t be led astray.”

He had the sort of beauty that caused catastrophe in its wake. Still she let him guide her for now for whatever turn of fate that allowed him to speak her tongue made him a potentially invaluable asset. One she intended to have on her side.

How ironic then for Darius to have made his way towards her under those very same motivations.

“You never did tell me your name?” Laila asked once they’d descended the steps of the library.

“Ah, of course. Where are my manners?” Darius scolded himself in jest. “My name is Darius Calantis, the Prefect of Defence.”

“Defence? So you lead the armies?”

Darius chuckled. “Something along those lines.”

Laila filed it away for future knowledge. “Sounds like a fascinating line of work.”

“It’s a lot less glamorous than it would appear,” Darius replied, “now you, on the other hand, have been quite the talk of the table, princess.”

“All good I hope?”

“Let’s say our country doesn’t tend to see too many visitors. That rather makes you a subject of fascination. Though I, for one, quite welcome the new blood. I’ve always been appreciative of foreign cultures and the few travellers we’ve managed to receive here in Mortos I’ve always enjoyed becoming intimately acquainted with.”

“Is that how you became so proficient in so many tongues? Your intimacy with these foreign travellers?”

“You could say that.”

“So I would assume then that you happen to keep track of all the comings and goings at your ports?” Laila asked. “Ever happened to hear of a vessel known as the Great Northern?”

Darius paused, as though he was taking a moment to truly consider her request. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Truly?” Laila looked sceptical. “Because it was the disappearance of the ship that happened to lead me here. We managed to trace it directly to the White Sea prior to the destruction of our own mode of transport. You really know nothing of it?”

Darius shrugged one shoulder. “It’s an unfortunate truth of our isle that the White Sea happens to be a treacherous creature. A fair few vessels traverse it and survive. You do, of course, have my condolences for your loss. If you’d like I could look into it a little further, see what I can find?”

“That would be very much appreciated, thank you,” Laila said, her smile treacle-sweet. Though she trusted his magnanimity very little.

The journey brought them across a very disgruntled Lyra who, upon seeing Laila on the arm of a stranger, began to tense in suspicion.

“Ah, there you are,” Laila declared brightly, rushing to embrace her friend. “Where on earth did you get off to?”

“Turns out our hall of horrors has a couple of trapdoors up its sleeve,” Lyra muttered, then jutted out her chin towards Darius. “Who’s the giant?”

“This is Prefect Calantis,” Laila said, hastening to add, “he happens to be fluent in Soltongue.”

“I see,” Lyra said, her suspicion intensifying upon the realisation she would have to be more conservative with her tongue. “Ser Lyra de Lis, of the Royal Lightshield Guard.”

Darius dipped his head in greeting. “A pleasure.”

“We were just on our way to dinner,” Laila explained, “please, come.”

Lyra folded her way in line with swiftness, not needing to be told twice.

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Back in the dining hall, Dominus had risen from his seat and began to pace.

“It shouldn’t be taking him so long,” he muttered aloud as he completed his tenth circuit around the dining table.

“Doma, please, I beg of you to sit,” Vasilisa sighed.

Dominus refused to be soothed. He didn’t like to think of his brother Darius in the company of Laila for longer than he needed to be.

Fortunately, his concerns were soon put to rest as he heard the light footsteps of Darius enter in tandem with Laila’s own.

Lanius was the first to acknowledge her. “Ah, your princess arrives.”

“We had a little impediment,” Darius explained in Mortesian, beginning to pull out a chair for her beside him.

Dominus sped forward to beat him to it, holding out the chair for Laila to sit with a smile.

“Oh, thank you,” Laila said, one of the few fragments he’d learned of her language during his time with her. She glanced between either occasso, detecting the ripple of tension between them. Only in seeing them together did she realise how much their looks resembled one another to a point she decided they must be brothers.

“Apologies, if I’d kept you all waiting,” Laila said, her finest smile adorned as she sat. The furniture was much larger and higher than she was accustomed, likely to accommodate the size of its inhabitants. She could feel her legs dangling above the floor. “Hopefully the food is still warm.”

“She sends her apologies,” Darius adeptly translated her words.

“Hmph,” Lanius grunted, “well, let us not delay any longer.”

The servers proceeded with the meal by spooning out servings of blood soup into their bowls.

Laila picked up her spoon and nudged at one of the onion lumps with a grimace.

“Is something the matter?” Vasilisa asked, her lips already stained with the hue of the soup.

Laila feigned a state of bewilderment before Darius leaned over to translate.

“Oh, not at all,” Laila said, nudging at the lump again. “Is this… blood?”

“Indeed,” Darius responded, as though it were silly of her to ask. “An old Mortesian delicacy. This should’ve been squeezed fresh. Go on, try it.”

Fresh from what? she wondered but didn’t have the bravery to ask.

Laila swallowed in reluctance but upon seeing how ravenously Dominus was devouring his bowl she felt inspired to at least have a sip. She brought the spoon up to her lips and took a small taste; the iron flavour was considerably muted by seasoning but not by much.

“Mm, it’s—it’s very distinctive.” She took larger spoonfuls from that point, slurping them down regardless of how her stomach roiled.

“You certainly managed that well,” Darius said, “though I do wonder how your palate might adjust to our other offerings. Occassi are a carnivorous species, you might find a few of our customs strange.”

“I’m open to trying new things,” Laila said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “But while we’re all here, I was hoping I might open a dialogue with His Majesty. Prefect, if you would care to translate?”

“Of course.” Darius then turned to his father. “The princess wishes to treat with you.”

“Oh?” Lanius asked, a brief flicker of amusement flexing on his lips.

“I was hoping we could seek a peaceful arrangement between our nations,” Laila said. “I wanted it to be made certain that we seek no harm towards you and your country and that we hope these intentions might be shared.”

Darius and the rex exchanged words before he spoke. “How do you propose we move forward?”

“Soleterea would like to offer an opportunity of trade and free travel. We are a land of plentiful resources and fertile crops. Perhaps you might find we could be of benefit to you.”

Darius spoke some words to Lanius whose eyes grew hard in response. She wondered what she’d said to offend him. Her eyes sought Lyra to see if she noticed it too.

“Mortos has plenty of resources on its own: metal, timber, coal and oil to name but a few.” Darius responded in lieu of his father. “However, you make a persuasive argument. Let us discuss this further.”

“Well, first things first I’d want to discuss ensuring safe passage between our nations—” Laila found her train of speech interrupted when a corpse servant arrived carrying a cake tray. She perked up in immediate interest, straining to see if their desserts would be more to her liking.

However, the moment the cake was served, Vasilisa Regina made a show of scrutinising it.

“Do forgive me, but is that poppyseed I see before me?” Vasilisa looked as though the greatest offence had been enacted. Her upper lip curled in displeasure.

“I believe so, Your Highness.” Darius said, glancing down at the cake with a swallow. “Is something the matter?”

Vasilisa wrung her hands together, a habit she was prone to do in apprehension. “I specifically requested a black cherry sponge to be served. The kitchen staff were under strict orders that—”

“I thought it was your favourite?” interjected Lanius.

“No, Lanius,” Vasilisa replied, “no love, you are mistaken.”

“Oh, of course,” Lanius chuckled in revelation. “It is Serafina I must’ve been thinking of.”

Darius received his mother’s name with a physical flinch, his fork dropping onto his plate with a clatter.

Vasilisa’s face had darkened, not helped by how invigorated his father seemed in the face of her distress. It was as though he were parasitising this for sustenance.

Knowing better than to fuel him further, she smoothed down the front of her gown and turned towards the nearest ghoul to declare: “Take it away.”

Darius cleared his throat. “Your Highness, it seems a waste to dispose of such—”

“I said, take it away.” Vasilisa punctuated her declaration by removing the plate and handing it to the servant. “All of it.”

The ghouls made no hesitation of removing every trace of the offending dessert and by the time they were done, not even the crumbs had remained.

After that debacle, it was decided negotiations would reconvene at a later date.

🎶 click to play scene track

Once dinner had concluded, Laila was returned to her guest quarters and prepared to dress herself for bed.

She unwound her long braid before the vanity mirror, catching sight of Lyra over her shoulder. “How do you suppose that went?”

“Could’ve gone worse,” Lyra said, unstrapping her infantry lightning bolt-sword and leaving it by the bedside. “I couldn’t help but notice how silent the queen was throughout dinner. He scarcely consulted her at all.”

Laila nodded. “It was odd to be certain. It’s clear they do things differently in this country. Did you notice the way he reacted when I brought up the topic of trade? It was as though I’d slapped him.”

“Yes, I’d certainly tread carefully around that one.” Lyra grimaced. “Though not as carefully as I’d tread around the translator.”

“It was strange the way Dominus was reacting around him,” Laila said once she slipped into her nightgown—a simple cotton affair. “He seemed almost… jealous. But you’re right in saying there’s something not quite right about him. I can’t imagine where he learned to speak Soltongue so well. Unless more people have attempted a voyage here than we realised.”

Lyra climbed onto the bed and folded her hands behind her head. “Certainly provides an answer to all the vessels that went missing in the White Sea prior to the Northern.”

“Yes.” Laila regarded the implication with a shudder. Then she walked towards the bed, practically vaulting herself over the prodigious frame onto the mattress. She swaddled herself beneath the sheets and sidled over to Lyra with her head propped on her hands.

“I’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to worry.” Lyra vowed, reaching over to tuck a curl behind Laila’s ear.

“I’m not,” Laila said. Though she kept hold of Lyra’s hand long before she was able to pull it away and drifted off to sleep with it in her grip.

As the night lengthened and the activity of the Citadel’s denizens declined into patterns of rest and relaxation, the more incorporeal occupants grew woefully roused to awakening.

These long-suffering wraiths announced themselves by a rattle of the windows, causing arthritic creaks to sound between the crumbling boards of wood. These were the spirits of Malborg’s prisoners, bound by eternal torment, and they bemoaned their confinement to the stronghold with low wails that reverberated through the gaps of cold stone.

Their breaths strengthened the draught—leaving a chill that lingered long behind in oft-neglected chambers—before seeping out into the wind whistling and whirling between the towers and sending the bats off into flight.

Throughout this spectral unrest, Laila twisted and turned, desperate to deafen her ears to the continuous noise of the Citadel. She lifted the pillow beneath her head and smothered herself with it, keeping her eyes squeezed shut to not be lifted into consciousness.

Whilst she wrestled with sleep, a lone wraith rose up between the floorboards of her bedroom. It drifted towards her, relentless with despair, placing ice-cold hands beneath the warmth of her nightgown.

Laila sat up suddenly with a gasp, clutching the bedsheets to her. She glanced around in search of the one responsible for the glacial touch.

“Who’s there?” she demanded before her eyes settled on the fuzzy impression of the individual at her bedside. She blinked for some moments to make the image clearer, and then she gasped. Before her was none other than Dr Hariken.

“Is this a dream?” She reached forward to clasp the scholar’s wrists. “Oh, you’re freezing.”

“Cold,” Dr Hariken agreed, her voice wispy and faint.

Laila used an enchantment to try and infuse heat into her body but it evaporated just as quick. “Oh, Dr Hariken. What happened to you? If you had any idea of how much we’ve searched and searched. How much Dr Isuka has worried—”

“Akira…” Hariken’s face fell at the mention of her friend. “I cannot be found… Lost… forever…”

“I’m so sorry,” Laila whispered tearfully, “if I hadn’t let you come here, none of this would’ve happened. It’s my fault, all of it. I should’ve paid you more mind.”

“Lost… so lost…” Dr Hariken’s eyes spilled over with tears. They were black as tar.

“Tell me what happened to you,” Laila pleaded, gripping tightly onto her wrists. “Please.” She could feel Hariken fading in her hands but still she clutched her tighter, shaking her, her own voice cracking with her desperation. “Please.”

“Let me die…” was her final outcry before Hariken evaporated into the ether.

Laila awoke with a sharp inhale, chest heaving. She glanced about her room for Dr Hariken but could see nothing except Lyra beside her and the vast blackness of empty space. She lifted her hands and found them trembling, still heavy with the phantom weight of Hariken’s wrists inside them. Then, softly and quietly, she began to weep.