I open my eyes. The ceiling above is oddly shaped, consisting of stalactites that look as if they've been skillfully carved and polished.

My mind is fuzzy, yet whole. Somehow, I've avoided becoming a slave to the Noble-lords. Syndel saved me. That, however, doesn't mean we're out of danger.

I try to sit up, but my muscles are weak and ache with the slightest movement. Wincing, I turn my head, seeing Syndel beside me. She is kneeling on the ground, her head resting against the edge of the sofa where I lie. Her eyes are closed and one of her arms is on my chest. Our hands are entwined just as they were before I lost consciousness. I'm not sure I understand what happened, but if Syndel and I are still together, as well as alive, I'm starting to doubt Noble-lords are involved.

With deliberate slowness, I lift our joined hands and tentatively touch the back of hers to my lips. Heat fills my face and my heartbeat sings, urging me to do it again. I resist.

Her eyes open and immediately find mine. We stare at each other. I have many things to say and questions to ask, but for the moment I simply wish to see my reflection in her eyes. But we mustn't stay. There's no telling what might be waiting for us next. Getting to my feet, I pull her up with me.

“Let's leave this place,” I say, turning toward the opening where I'd come from. Syndel doesn't move with me. I look at her again, but her eyes are fixed on our clasped hands. “Syndel?”

She doesn't look up. Her free hand moves across her cheek, wiping away fresh tears. “I'm sorry,” she says, almost too quietly for me to hear. “He told me we had to come here, but I couldn't tell you.”

This is the second time she has apologized as if all this is her fault. Did she know what would happen? Is this what she was hiding from me this morning? Uncertainty creeps into my heart, making my insides cold. “What's going on, Syndel?” I ask, trying to hide the desperation I feel.

“The two of you have been chosen,” a deep voice says from somewhere in the chamber. “And now you've been found worthy.”

I know that voice. It spoke to Syndel while I struggled to reach her. And that's not all. I heard it many times during my strange vision of the prince. I pull Syndel behind me and stand as a shield, ready to use my enhanced strength and agility as a Soulless to fight. “I know who you are,” I growl. “You're the sorcerer's servant.”

“Interesting,” the voice says. “You witnessed it all, did you? Good. It will save me the trouble of having to tell you myself.”

“What do you want with us?” I demand, searching the room for the stone man's hiding place. I see nothing, but now I can smell him. The scent is like old earth with the slight decay of dead plants. “Is your wretched master on his way?”

“No. I haven't seen Mulogo in almost a century. You're here for a very different reason. I wish to help you.”

I shouldn't trust him. Every instinct tells me to grab Syndel and run. Yet for a reason I can't explain, I'm compelled to stay. I look at Syndel again and she nods.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Say what you must, but if I don't like it, I will not hesitate to rip you apart.”

“I have no doubt you'll try,” the stone man concedes, still unseen, “but at least you'll know what awaits you. Please have a seat.”

Releasing my hand, Syndel is the first to obey. Losing the heat of her touch is almost painful, but I quickly follow suit.

“Excellent,” the stone man says. “First, a question. Why do you think you were allowed to witness the transformation of the first Soulless?”

I raise an eyebrow. So Bronek really was the first. I shrug. “I have no idea. It's in the past. Why should it matter now?”

“Don't be a fool,” the stone man retorts. “It may be in the past, but it is connected to the impending fate of us all. Tell me about the end of the vision.”

I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. The stone man should know; he was there, after all. “The prince went mad. He destroyed the sorcerer's chamber, knocking the body of his beloved to the floor in the process. His grief was too much to bear, so he cut out his own heart.”

“Did he die?”

I shake my head. “We cannot die. He just didn't want his heart to ache any longer.”

“You and the prince have something in common. You both resisted the urge to take the soul of another. Unfortunately, losing his heart didn't free him from heartache. Instead, he lost all trace of humanity. His sole desire was to make others suffer as greatly as he does. Using a method similar to that of the sorcerer, he gathered souls, filling his black emptiness with power, but not relief. So it is with all Soulless. Except you. Your compassion, Crescent Moon, is rare indeed. That is why you were chosen.”

I'm startled that he knows the origin of my adopted name. He seems to know a great deal about me. “Chosen for what?”

From the shadows of the room, I feel the approach of something hot and bright. The blood-fire. Gritting my teeth, I watch it float closer and anticipate a wave of pain to come with it. The light, however, doesn't attack. It merely hovers in the air like a miniature sun. I'm confused.

“You see it, don't you?” the stone man asks.

“What is it?” I ask, my throat tightening.

“When the prince removed his heart, three drops of his blood fell upon a candle flame. Do you recall?”

I nod.

“The flame solidified and the blood crystallized, creating an amber-colored talisman.”

Syndel and I look at each other. “My mother's pendant,” she whispers.

“Sikari of old kept it safe,” the stone man goes on, “passing it down for generations, knowing it was important, but not its true purpose. It has offered Syndel a measure of protection more than once over the years.”

Her eyes widen. “The Soulless attack in the east. It helped me escape?”

“Indeed,” says the stone man. “It waited for the right moment to ensure you and Cress would cross paths. The blood of the first Soulless is ripe with emotion and humanity. It has been waiting for a kindred heart. You, Crescent, have that heart. You have fought long and hard against the life thrust upon you. The talisman will now fight with you in order to save us all.”

The silence that follows deepens with every second. There must be some mistake. I clear my throat. “What, exactly, am I saving us all from?”

“Have you not witnessed the scourge creeping over the land? The death and darkness? He is responsible. He must be stopped.”

“He?”

“The Soul Thief. The more he takes, the faster the world will fall.”

I assume he means Mulogo. The thought is laughable. Me, save the world from that deranged sorcerer? My head moves from side to side. “How can I save anyone when I'm forever damned?”

“Syndel was right. You are too negative,” the stone man says, finally moving into view.

He's just as I remember. His golden eyes twinkle beneath the glow of the pendant. He reaches up to grasp it and carries it toward me. Pausing a step away, he releases it again, allowing it to hang in the air directly in front of me. It's light slowly grows until it encompasses my entire body. I'm suddenly awash with fear, unable to move or think. I can't survive another assault. Pain doesn't come, nor does the brightness hurt my eyes. I blink as I gaze into the center of the light, seeing the distinct outline of a face. The image becomes clearer. It is a young man, though there are creases in his skin like that of someone old and worn. Deep sorrow shimmers in his gray eyes.

It's Bronek, or at least a shadow of him. A remnant of what he once was, left behind by the blood of his heart.

He opens his mouth. “The cycle must end where it began. Only you can do this.”

His image begins to fade.

“Wait!” I yell. “I don't know what to do.”

“You will.”

The light suddenly shrinks, collapsing into itself until only an amber stone and its three red gems are left. Without thinking, I reach for the chain and place it over my head. A jolt passes through me. My heart gains momentum, pumping warmth through my veins. A sense of peace envelops me. I feel alive, almost whole. Blinking, I quickly turn to Syndel. Her eyes are wide, her hands clutching at her chest.

“What's wrong?” I ask in concern.

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Perhaps you should see for yourself,” the stone man says, offering a framed mirror with a jagged crack down its center.

I take it from him, my hands shaking. I peer at my reflection. My eyes have no trace of red, and the subtle glow of the talisman at my chest is identical to the aura of a soul.

After nearly three decades, I once again look like a normal human.