“Where?” Petra darted to the window, but Ariksi shoved her away.

“Get down, all of you.”

Ariksi shooed them away from the table and windows just as a rush of hollers and stomping feet passed by.

“Take cover in there.” She pointed to the curtained stalls in the back. “Someone might come in—”

“Oi, Ari!” A voice called from behind the door. The handle jiggled but the wood grunted against his shoving.

“Dah?” Ariksi waved her arms and the party dove behind the curtain just in time for the door to unjam.

An excited halfling donning a long shawl attempted to hurry through, but his dragonhead-shaped headdress caught on the top of the doorframe and knocked him backwards.

“What is it, Ozma?” Ariksi asked in Nordic, stabilizing him outside the door.

“Aren’t you coming? You can see the flames already.”

Ariksi faked a scowl and waved and firm arm at the empty table.

“Do you see this table? You know what’s wrong with it?”

“What, is it broken again?”

“It’s bare! How am I supposed to feed all of you with a bare table? Now go and let me prepare for you leeches.”

Ozma chuckled and backed off, carefully bowing the sculpted head atop his own.

“I’ll bring the herbs, then.”

“Good, just make sure they’re completely dry this time.”

The door closed and Ariksi waited for the streets outside to quiet before drawing back their curtain.

“It should be safe now. But, I’d like to take one more precaution.” She glanced between Aidan and the twins, sizing them up. “You three are just way too tall to go unnoticed.”

She turned to a large chest by the wall and drew from it a shawl like her own and three dragonhead shawls similar to Ozma’s, but shorter.

“Syra, you take the smaller one. You three can take your pick of these—make sure it covers your face. Leave your weapons here—they’ll only cause suspicion. Leti, if anyone asks, you’re escorting them to pay respects before the festival.”

"Now, what to do about your skin?" Arikisi asked herself, eyeing Syra's olive complextion. "I guess we’ll just have to paint it or something.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Syra said, looking over at Leti. “But I will need to borrow Leti’s finger for a moment.”

***

“You just keep getting smaller,” Petra teased the nordess who was now shorter than Leti.

“That’s just how it works, alright?” Syra spat and wrapped the shawl around herself. “Now let’s go before I overheat from all this fur.”

“But your eyes are still green,” Aidan said. “Aren’t they supposed to be—”

“That’s what hoods are for.”

“Hopefully it won’t matter,” Leti said as she led the costumed party away from the settlement and towards the outer city. “We’ll take the scenic route around. It’s a longer climb, but mostly forested so we shouldn’t run into anyone.”

Syra normally wouldn’t have minded the hike—and her new stocky body came with extra strength in the legs—but the thin air and extra fur made her pause more than Leti liked.

“Look, I know you’re new to this body hair thing, but we have got to keep moving if we want to get back before the festival starts.” She grabbed Syra’s furry arm and tugged her up the next incline to the overhanging boulder. “We can rest and watch The Hunt pass from here, but then it’s double-time to the shard. Understood?”

Syra pounded her chest in a silent salute as she wiped the sweat from her brow, and neck, and arms, with her shawl.

“At least we get to see some of The Hunt,” Cassius said, plopping down next her to watch their clanmates hunt the aerial grazers in precise choreographed movements.

“I’m sorry you two had to miss it. I know you were looking forward to participating.”

“It’s fine, we’ve helped before. It was just going to be Petra’s first time giving direct orders.”

Syra gazed over at her sister who was glued to the sky, her muscles twitching in response as the patrol of dragons circled, dove, and rained fire down on the school of gliding rays feasting on airborne seedpods. Even at this distance, the breeze smelled faintly of egg as punctured flight bladders burned and drove them downward to the nets below.

“You know, I never got to see it before I left.”

“Really?” asked Cassius, “But you were older than us.”

“I was still too young, apparently. So, I was sentenced to watch you two and the other hatchlings while the patrols were gone. It was even more of a chore after Mother died.”

“But you would always tell us stories about it.”

She gave a dry laugh and tapped her forehead, “Imagination. And just repeating anything I heard from the patrols. I waited for it every year, though—to watch Papa lead the charge and bring us food for the winter. And yet now, finally watching it, it feels somehow empty.”

Cassius leaned his shoulder against hers in quiet comfort.

“I wish he was here, too.”

Syra startled at the calm in Petra’s voice.

“And Mother.” Petra’s gaze watched the imaginary gold and silver couple swim through the sky in a synchronized dance. “I wonder, if they could see us now—all the shit we’ve been through—would they be proud?”

“Of course, they would,” Cassius said. “You’ve become the youngest Vayguard in clan history—something you’ve always wanted. And Syra, you got study magic and become an actual mage like you’ve always wanted to do. And I…I have kept you two from trying to kill each other this entire time.”

“You’ve done more than that,” Syra said.

Aidan gripped Cassius’ shoulder, “Agreed.”

Petra failed to contain her laugh, “But that is quite the accomplishment.”

Cassius glowed from the smiles around him, “Exactly. Sure, it’s probably not what they expected, but I think they’d be happy with it.”

Syra patted the pearl that was still warm against her chest, “I think they would be, too. And Ethan,” she said to Aidan, “and Valen. Especially now that we’re one shard away.”

“We have to get the shard first,” Leti said, standing and stretching.

“Now Leti,” Syra teased, “would your uncle be proud of your eavesdropping?”

Leti paused, then nodded, “Probably. Now, let’s get going.”

Unfortunately, the logging crew over the next hill took the cleared city streets as a transport opportunity, leaving their path exposed and swarming with eyes.

“So much for a quiet scenic route,” Aidan said, watching the crowd of uniformed workers chop, saw, and heave across the clear-cut meadow.

“We’ll just have to find another way,” said Syra. “Can we go around? Maybe farther west?”

Leti frowned at how far the clearing stretched, “We’re already west as it is—we’d lose way too much time.”

Her eyes searched the peaks and valleys but continued to come back to forge’s smokestack.

“There’s no smoke,” she said to herself.

“What?”

“It’s cold. The forge is cold.”

“Meaning?”

“I know another way. But it goes through the city.”

“Isn’t that what we’re trying to avoid?” asked Petra.

“We’ll take the miner’s road. It’s dirty and smells like bad eggs, but that’s why no one goes there by choice.”

“But won’t the miners be working?”

“Not if they don’t have to. And today is the one holiday they do get.”

***

The shadows had grown by the time they reached the narrow streets of the city, and they took shelter in them whenever possible. Though the stone walls echoed the faint cheering of the crowds southward, the sooted streets by the forge were indeed empty.

“Now listen,” Leti whispered as she pulled everyone into the smelly, but shadowed, dumping ally. “We’re about enter the North Ward which does not take kindly to Scree—or any ‘settlement scum’ for that matter. These shawls are ceremonial, so you’ll stick out like dirty nails.”

Petra balked, “Then why are we wearing them if we’re just going to sti—”

“Because it’s expected.” Leti tugged on everyone’s hood until only their chins were visible. “The Bud Moon festival is a time of appreciation, so many of us visit the cave to pay respects to those that were lost in Dorrak. The terrace snobs may blaspheme the old ways, but we’ve all lost loved ones at some point, so most will let you slide by with a curse or two.”

“That’s horrible,” Cassius scowled in disgust. “How is that even acceptable?”

Leti just shrugged and adjusted his headdress one last time, “Wide hips and deep pockets, I assume.”

“But for you four, it is very important to follow their etiquette, else they get suspicious or worse, haughty.”

“Etiquette?” Syra raised a brow, recalling with no fondness her own etiquette classes.

“Basically, just be silent and keep your head down—they don’t want to see your faces. And yes, it’s disgusting but we need the shard, so—” she clamped her hands down on Petra and Cassius’ shoulders, “—let me do the talking.”

They kept to the alleys as far as the forge and mills could take them. But, as the incline steepened, the streets and terraces widened into promenades, patios, and parlors. The largest ledge—and the best view—was reserved for the Grand Hall and its arguably generous patrons. Some of whom had taken sweet liberty to claim their—and most likely others’—seating before the festivities even began. And by the lines in their powdered brows, were quiet territorial.

“Could you leave?” barked the nearest nord with the voice like crow. “This is a private gathering.”

They kept their faces lowered, but Leti offered a silent bow before leading them off again.

The indignance rose and spread across terrace. Most remained silent, but their scowls and sneers burned Syra’s ears.

“Are you truly stone-headed?” The nord slammed his goblet on the table and shuffled out of his seat, waddling over like a toddler in a tantrum. His braidless mane was teased into a sculpted cloud with a solitary—and unnecessarily large—Kiithran feather pinned at the hairline. And to Syra, looked like a very upset cockatoo.

“I said ‘leave’. As in ‘that way’. Back to your huts where you can’t dirty the floor any more than it already is.”

Syra bit back a laugh as the feather jiggled with every bob of his head.

He forced a calming breath, but his nose wrinkled at the sooty footprints they had tracked onto the cream tile. “That’s mighty filthy, you know that, right?” There was almost a hint of pity to his croaking.

Leti bowed again, eyes on the “artisanal” tile, “We are merely passing through on our way to the memorial.”

“As you should. But you should also use the scenic route that we built for you. And frankly, I’m a bit offended that you would choose not to.”

“The path is currently being blocked by loggers, sir. Your loggers if I saw their colors correctly.”

“Oh,” he said, genuinely surprised. “Oh, right, I did order the transport for today, that’s right. Well, that’s really too bad. Perhaps it is just “Erd’s way” of telling you to stay home, instead of coming all the way up here and bothering these fine folk.”

He nodded in approval of himself, “Yes, that would make sound, reasonable sense. Now, wouldn’t it? So, why don’t you skuttle back down and leave us be—we’d like to keep our appetites up for the feast.”

“Please, sir, I humbly ask that you let us pass. We will keep to the back alleys and be gone without anymore notice.”

“Ha! Like anyone wouldn’t notice those gaudy rags. However,” he paused to eye them over, “seeing as you are already in costume, why don’t you put on a little show for us? Provide some sorely needed entertainment before the real show begins. I think that will suffice.”

“Apologies, sir, but that would be disrespectful to our—"

“And you’re disrespecting our time and my patience by remaining here. Now, I have been more than gracious with you, so either be of some service or leave before I send for—”

“Would a song be sufficient?”

All eyes, hooded or otherwise, snapped to Petra who channeled all her rage into the fists balled under her shawl.

“A song you say?” He announced to their growing audience about the courtyard, the majority of which raised hands in approval. “Yes, I believe that will do nicely, given you can actually carry a tune.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, but she forced them into a faint grin.

“I shall let you be the judge on that, then.”

“Excellent!” He sauntered back to his chair and nestled his cup into his fat little fingers, content in his validation. “And what tune will you be offering? A little jig, perhaps? Or a—”

“A ballad.”

“Oh, so slow and calming, then? Alright, I could certainly use the calm after this little stunt.”

“And a duet.” She added, nudging Syra with her boot, “if you don’t mind.”

“A two-for-one? Oh, yes. Please, begin.”

And sing they did, for sound leaves no trace of magic to the untrained ear. And as they sang, the walls and ledges resounded the foreign lullaby until the patrons’ eyes grew heavy and their heads bobbed, and eventually came to rest cheek-first in their beloved fish stews.

When silence returned, the sisters were winded, but smiling.

“That was amazing, Petra. Risky, but amazing. I didn’t even know you could act like that.”

“All I did was act like you.” Petra smirked. “I also just happen to know way more Nordic than you.”

But while they were half out-of-breath, Leti was on full alert.

She grabbed the girls by the arm, “We need to run. Now.”

“What?”

“Now!”

Leti yanked them forward and they all dashed across the courtyard and up the promenade stairs, two at a time. But the windows were already opened, and the guard most certainly called.

“This way,” Leti veered down the western walkway and herded them through the broken porch lattice of a smaller A-frame cabin.

“What happened to ‘no magic’? Did you really think that Scree were the only ones who could recognize songspells?” Leti huffed at Petra, too worried to stay angry.

“They’re not?”

“No! Remember Blyth’s contract? Well, he’s not the only Gifted under contract. And half of them are from the North Ward—as in here. As in—”

“They ran down that way!” Voices called from down the street.

“As in we’re fucked?” said Aidan.

“No,” Syra smacked him in the arm, “as in we need to get to the cave. That hasn’t changed. We just…need to get to the glacier, right? Can we still go the way you planned?”

Leti scanned the map in her head, “No, it’s too open. But the hot springs have forest access. There’ll probably be a crowd, though, so no dawdling.” She shot a warning look at the boys, “Or gawking.”

They followed Leti up the narrow path of cobbled stairs and walkways. The hum of relaxed conversation grew as they neared the walled-off terraces with steam misting the surrounding stones.

“Watch your step,” Leti warned as they crested the final staircase and barreled down the slick stone path that wound between the steaming pools.

“Pardon! Pardon us, sorry!” They said, hiding their eyes as they ran past the screeching horde of naked nords—their faces now red from both steam and offense.

“Through here!”

Leti skittered down a ledge into a small garden area and broke through its surrounding hedges into the forest.

“How much farther?” Syra asked as the curses faded into the trees.

“The path’s just up there,” she pointed to the ledge a few bounds above them. “It’s a clear shot from there.”

The narrow path of the western slopes brought them to a mountain pass. But when they broke through the treeline, only white faced them. The river of white contrasted the dark gray ridges towering around them, and the sky merged with the teal pools that pocketed the marbled plain encrusting the mountainside.

“The White Waste,” Leti said, transfixed as they all paused a heartbeat to take in its gravity and splendor. “And the cave is in its belly.”

“—this way!”

Yelling from the hot springs below broke their trance.

“Shit, they’re still coming,” Aidan said.

“The cave’s through here.” Leti ran up to the ice wall and disappeared behind a boulder. “You might have to duck, though.”

They followed after her into the teal-and-white tunnel, its ceiling and walls dripping and scarred by the work of flameweavers. If it weren’t for the hostile mob behind them, Syra would’ve liked to explore in more detail. But, Leti threatened to disappear behind every turn and the walls echoed the approaching footsteps.

“Won’t they just follow us in?” Cassius asked. “Even if we get the shard, we’ll be trapped.”

Leti slid a small dagger from a hidden pocket in her vest, “We’ll just have to fight back.”

“But we have no weapons. We can’t—”

Syra stopped and stared as they entered the domed cavern outside the cave entrance. Above them, the sunset filtered through the ice and cast everything in a glistening blue hue.

“Pretty,” Syra hushed to her herself.

“Yes, it’s very pretty, but we can admire later.” Petra said, tugging her arm. “Let’s get inside before—”

Stomping and huffing grunts filled the cavern and all turned wide eyes back to the empty tunnel.

“Too late.” Leti pivoted and readied her blade.

No, not when we’re this close!

Syra charged her hands, but the growling tunnel warned of a larger patrol and she turned her attention to the crevice behind them.

“Get in. Now,” she hushed and shoved everyone into the narrow gap in the ice wall.

Leti stumbled back as they fell into the shadows, “What the hell are you—”

“Hush!” Syra commanded and slammed her palms against the walls of the crevice.

Ice shot from the walls and merged into a sheet in front of them. She backed away from the ice curtain and into its shadow just as the blurred figures poured into the cavern.

“Into the cave,” one said, and led them into the stony depths.

Syra let out her breath but kept a silencing finger against her lips.

Wait, she mouthed.

Moments later, grunts of frustration preceded the patrol’s retreat from the cave.

“They must’ve run off into the forest, then.”

“Great, we’ll never catch them now.”

“Not unless you move your ass instead of whining.”

The shuffling of boots faded but Syra still spoke in whispers.

“Sounds clear. Let’s go.” She placed a hand on the ice wall but Petra scoffed from behind her.

“You’re really going to try that again? We don’t have our swords, remember?”

But Syra shook her head and held out her other hand to her, “I have an idea. I just need your hand, and a little imagination.”

Syra’s sly grin made Petra nervous and she hesitated to take her hand.

“Imagine…what?”

“Fire,” Syra said, remembering the hot touches of Piper and the children back in Renguard. “I want you to imagine what it feels like to breathe fire. Imagine its heat building up inside, warming your chest, and aching to burst out.”

Petra sighed but closed her eyes, focusing. “Alright. Now what?”

Petra’s skin flushed red and Syra felt her hand warm like hot bath. But the bulk of the heat still churned inside her chest.

“Now, instead of sending that heat to your throat, send it here—to your hand. I’ll take it from there.”

“You sure it won’t burn you?”

“No, it might. But I’ll worry about that once we’re out.”

“Alright then.”

Petra’s comforting grasp became a hot coal and Syra flinched from the sudden surge shooting up her arm. She clenched her jaw against the initial burning but let the heat flow from one arm to the other, cooling as it dissipated through her body. She took a long, deep breath, then opened the floodgates in her icy hand. Her pulse raced as the heated mana rushed from Petra, through her, to the wall.

“You alright?” Aidan asked, seeing her skin redden.

“Yes, it’s fine. Just a little toasty, is all.”

The ice steamed and melted with each stroke of her hand until a nord-sized hole was carved away.

“So much for magic, indeed,” said Leti, watching Syra rub her hand against the remaining ice to cool it back down.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“I just hope that’s the last time we’ll need it.”

Leti led them through the cave entrance and down the crystal-lit tunnel hewn from the mountain a century ago.

"Was this a mine?" Aidan asked, grazing his fingers across the plumose blue crystals growing from the scrapes in the wall.

“Once,” Leti said, “A rich xeric vein, I’ve been told. But after Dorrak, it was sealed along with the shard."

"No wonder I've never seen these in-person before," said Syra, admiring how they dusted the cave in mossy clusters.

"They used to be commonplace here. Muhmuh still tells the story of how Dom would put a cluster by her bed to help her sleep." Her faint smile faded. "But now, we’re all reliant on the forge and its coal mines.”

“You think that could change once the shards are destroyed?” Syra asked.

“That’d be nice—certainly for Ariksi and the others. But at this point the old ways are just stories and party tricks, just like Muhmuh's nightlight—nothing of ‘real value’. Like an old shoe that doesn’t fit anymore. What else would they do but throw us away?”

Leti jumped at Aidan’s hand suddenly gripped to her shoulder.

“They could give you to someone who could use you.” His head was bent by the ceiling, but his grin was wide and sincere. “I hope it doesn't come to this, but you're welcome to come live in Altaira. It might be rough now, but I'd like it to be a place that always welcomes the Gifted,” he passed a quick glance at Syra, “even if they are a little different. That's the plan, anyway.”

Leti gave his hand a firm squeeze but continued on, granted a slight happier.

A carved archway marked the entrance to the memorial. Beyond it, pale light filtered through the old exhaust tunnel above the domed ceiling, illuminating the wide, sculpted chamber. All along its walls, carvings told the story of sister cities, separated by distance yet melded together by the throes of magic and ingenuity—a prosperous time. And a dangerous one. On the far wall, the gold-trimmed centerpiece depicted the crumbled city of Dorrak in finely etched detail. And at its center, a ring of five shards presented the words of warning engraved above them.

“Some doors must not be opened”, Leti recited in solemn Nordic.

“You think it’s literal?” asked Aidan, analyzing its cracks and creases. “Maybe this is the door?”

“Could be—we still used magic back then. But no one I’ve asked could figure it out. Not even Rasu.” She passed a shy eye to Syra, “I was hoping another mage would know.”

Shit.

Syra’s skin prickled from all the eyes on her and she hesitated.

“I can’t even read all of the words on here, Leti.”

“That’s alright, I’ll translate.”

“Is it even magical?” Aidan asked. “Can you any sense anything?”

“Well, yes, but we’re inside an xeric vein so mana is flowing everywhere.”

“But is it all the same?” asked Cassius. “The seal is a spell, right? Maybe it’s more concentrated, or the caster left behind some magical residue—like a scent. Could you isolate that?”

“Probably. But it’s been what, a century? I doubt I could pick up on something that faint.”

Petra nudged her in the shoulder with a slight grin, “You could at least try, right?”

The tension left Syra’s shoulders and she nudged her sister back, “Yes, that I can do.”

She steadied herself and focused, the others falling still and silent, watching. The ripples came quicker this time, and stronger. More like waves in the ocean tide. Petra, Aidan, Cas…and now Leti’s mountain breeze passed over her as she sifted and searched. But nothing came.

Damn it, come on. Where are you?

“Anything?” asked Petra.

“Shh—let her focus,” Cassius said.

But Syra’s focus was waning under their heartbeats and her growing frustration.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s alright.”

Syra felt her hand warm as Cassius held it firm.

“It’s alright, just breathe. It’ll come when it’s ready.”

She let his warmth seep into her chilled hand and travel up her arm, saturating her bones until even her toes wiggled the cold away.

“Thanks, Cas. I—”

Her eyes opened to see him surrounded by waves of color. Not small, thin layers like with the kila, but a vibrant, thick spectrum that bled into the air around him.

“You see it, don’t you?” he asked with a quiet, happy smile.

She could only nod as her wide eyes stared and took in the wavering kaleidoscope around her.

“I can see them,” she said, staring almost infant-like at Aidan and the others.

“See what?” Aidan asked. “The seal?”

“The ripples.”

“The…ripples?” He turned to Cassius, “What ripples?”

“I could only feel them before,” Syra went on, “but now…”

Her smile split her face in two as she watched the flickers of white light flow and swirl through the air, filling the cavern with a flight of fireflies. Some floated from one wall the other. Others sprinkled over them like grains of sand, then soaked right in, disappearing. And then there were others that swarmed the center mural, filling its cracks with sparkling dust.

“Now, I can see all of it.”

“You can see it then? The seal?” asked Leti, eyes lighting up as much as the wall.

“It’s definitely here.” Syra waved her free hand over the mural, watching the dust swirl through her fingers like water, then slowly return to the center of the mural and fade away. “Something is soaking up mana, so I bet it’s some kind of barrier spell.”

“So, we just break down the wall?” asked Petra. “That’ll take way more time than we have.”

“Looks like others already tried,” Aidan said, pointing to the splattering of chip marks on the floor.

“Then what about your sword? It can cut through barriers, right?”

Petra’s hope was cut down by a smirking Aidan holding empty air.

“We don’t have our swords, remember?”

“Suck a toad.”

“Maybe,” Cassius cut in, “it needs another spell to break it? Like how Syra broke Pel’s shapechange spell.”

“You did what?” asked Leti.

“Long story. And it was Pel that actually made that spell, not me. And it probably took him decades of research to do it. All we have here are pictures.”

“But, maybe these pictures can tell us something more than a history lesson.” Aidan wandered off to scrutinize the images and inscriptions with Leti and Petra, but Syra kept her hand in Cassius’ and her attention on the floating dust.

Alright, then. What can you tell me? She asked the dust.

She let her eyes follow the specks’ movements, here and there, until her vision lost focus. The image on the stone blurred and she let her gaze wander in the fog. And then, there were lines. Her vision snapped back and locked on to the chiseled image of rubble near the bottom of the mural. Hidden among the masonry scratchwork, a line of runes stood out like a snake among vines. Syra’s fingers traced the familiar symbols as the words played on her lips.

“You said Dom sealed this?” she asked Leti.

“Yes, why?”

“So, he was a mage?”

“No, but it’s said he brought in a wandering archmage from far away.”

“But why? Why not one of your own?”

Leti pondered this a moment, “I suppose he wanted to guarantee that no nord could open it.”

“This could certainly do that.”

“What could?”

The others gathered around and Syra pointed to the line of script whose curves had no right to be there.

“These are Draconic runes. Old Draconic,” she said, passing a finger over them as she read, “‘Others just need the right key.’”

“So there is a way to open it,” said Aidan.

“But why?” asked Leti, “It’s supposed to stay sealed.”

Syra shrugged, “In case of emergencies?”

“Well, I’d consider this an emergency,” said Petra. “So, we’d better find this ‘key’ and do it fast.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of key,” Syra said, feeling about the mural. “There’s no sign of a keyhole, and all the mana seems to be flowing into this blank spot in the mid—”

Syra stopped, her hand frozen to the bare stone inside the ring of crystals.

Seriously? This again?

“What? What is it?” Aidan asked, a concerned hand patting her shoulder. “Did you find something?”

“Possibly. I think it might be a bloodspell.”

“A what spell?” Petra yanked her hand from the wall.

“‘Others just need the right key’,” Syra repeated. “I swear I’ve heard that before.”

A bloodspell that…opens a door? Where have I—

“Baba!” Syra’s sudden eureka made the others jump. “Leti, give me your dagger.”

“Hold on,” Aidan grabbed onto her hand. “What for?”

“The bloodspell.” She shooed his hand away and took the dagger, “I think it’s like Baba’s closet.”

She pricked her finger and smeared it within the ring of the mural.

Please work.

She held her breath as the tense moments passed, but finally the flickers came.

“Yes!”

Glimmers formed the glowing ring and the dial of runes appeared as before. To her surprise, however, these runes were also in Old Draconic and the five crystal carvings alit as well.

Alright, so five shards probably means five runes. She read each of the runes of the dial slowly to herself. What five-rune command would they use, though? She jumbled the runes around in her head until one word made her stop. Well, it is a door.

One after the other, she swiped the runes for ‘open’ into the crystals and pressed a finger against each. The cold stone under her fingertips suddenly warmed and she startled as her fingers sank into the rock like mud.

“You did it!” Leti bubbled over and pawed at Syra’s arm.

“Almost.” Syra grimaced and braced herself for the next part.

“Can’t have students losing fingers,” Baba’s words froze her hand in place.

A weaver is nothing without fingers.

She stared at the pulsing light around her knuckles, at the silver ring and its morakii with three other shards tucked inside, then at the anxious faces around her.

Draco, help me.

And with bated breath, she twisted.

Her fingers screamed as the stone bit down like tiny needles. But then it vibrated and hummed, then released her fingers as quickly as it snapped down. She winced as she retracted her hand, seeing the thin trickles drip onto the ground.

“Good Erd, are you alright?” Leti cried.

“I’ll be fine,” Syra said through a groan and wiggled all five fingers. “I still got ‘em.”

Her blood glowed purple and traced the bloodied circle over and over, each time sinking deeper into the stone as if to bore straight through. When the light faded, a small nook remained with a little wooden box peering out at them.

“And there it is,” said Aidan with a heavy sigh. “The shard must be inside it.”

But Syra hesitated. The air around the box was still and cold. She reached her hand in, but felt no warmth from the box.

No. Please.

She flicked the box open. But the little wooden box held only air.