A ray of light descended from the moon, piercing through the unnatural darkness that still clung to the sky. The beam widened, becoming a column of silver radiance that gently deposited three figures onto a campsite deep in the twilight zone. As their feet touched grass, the moon's hold on the day released. The sun reasserted itself, though it now hung low and orange on the horizon.

  The Thunder God, the Winged Lady, and the Moon Mother stood in silence for a moment, each processing their retreat differently.

  "Go ahead and gloat," Sayid said with a bitter tone, not meeting the Moon Mother's veiled gaze. Blood still trickled from his split lip while his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

  "Gloat?" the Moon Mother asked.

  "You were right after all. The Pictomancer was a threat. You warned me yesterday that underestimating him would be foolish. And here we are, retreating like beaten dogs."

  Bernadette placed a hand on Sayid's shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

  "The fact that you think I would gloat says more about you than me," the Moon Mother replied, adjusting the layers of her veil as a evening breeze picked up. "I take no pleasure in being right about dangers."

  Sayid fell silent. Because she was right, he would have gloated. Would have reveled in proving someone wrong. The realization stung almost as much as his defeat.

  They headed back to their camp in uncomfortable silence, following a winding path through sparse woodland. The journey took nearly an hour, during which Sayid replayed every moment of his humiliation.

  Their camp materialized from the treeline, a collection of dark tents arranged in military formation. Two arachnoidal soldiers greeted them at the perimeter, their eight eyes tracking the trio's approach.

  "Thunder God," one clicked in its chittering language. "The General awaits your report."

  "Tell the General he can wait," Sayid snapped. "I need time to think."

  The soldiers exchanged what might have been glances, difficult to tell with their alien features, but stepped aside without argument.

  They headed inside the largest tent, a structure that seemed modest from outside but opened into a spacious interior bolstered by spatial magic. The space held a war table, several chairs, and shelves lined with scrolls and magical implements.

  Sayid reached into his robes and withdrew a chunk of rubber, slamming it on the table. The material bounced slightly. "They used this. To counter my lightning. This... substance. It made me powerless."

  The Moon Mother approached the table. She picked up the rubber, examining it with hidden eyes. "This is rubber. It's an electrical insulator."

  "Rubber," Sayid repeated, tasting the foreign word. "Where did he even find such a thing? I've never encountered it in all my years of study."

  "The Pictomancer brings knowledge from another realm," the Moon Mother said softly, setting the rubber back down. "His advantages aren't just in his unique magic, but in understanding things you've never conceived of."

  "I should have killed him when I had the chance." Sayid banged his fist on the table. “I was so close.”

  The Moon Mother turned toward the tent's entrance. "Perhaps that's because death isn't meant to claim him. Not yet."

  “I will definitely kill him.”

  “You can try.”

  Before Sayid could respond, she glided away.

  Alone with his thoughts and the chunk of rubber, Sayid stared at the innocuous material that had been his undoing. He picked it up, channeling a small amount of lightning into his palm. Nothing.

  "Never again," he muttered, his eyes hardening with resolve. He would study this material, dissect its properties, find its weaknesses. He would develop new techniques, new approaches. The Pictomancer had won this round through knowledge, but Sayid was nothing if not a quick study.

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  "Never again will I lose to that artist."

  Outside, the Moon Mother made her way back to her personal tent, set apart from the main encampment. The structure appeared modest, white silk stretched over curved poles. At the entrance stood two young girls with white hair dressed in white eastern clothing.

  "Mistress, you have returned," Tsuku and Yomi said in perfect synchrony, their voices creating an eerie harmony..

  The Moon Mother nodded, and the twins parted like a curtain, allowing her passage.

  Inside, the tent opened into a space that defied its exterior dimensions. Paper lanterns floated at various heights, casting soft light over furnishings.

  The twins followed her inside, and their small hands worked in perfect coordination to help her undress. Layer by layer, the ceremonial veils came away, followed by the heavy outer robes. What remained was a flowing white dress. The Moon Mother sat at a low table, her face still hidden by a final, lighter veil.

  Tsuku and Yomi poured her tea, as one twin held the pot while the other positioned the cup. The liquid was silvery, catching the lantern light like captured moonbeams.

  "How was your trip?" The voice came from the corner of the tent.

  A girl stepped forward—or perhaps materialized would be more accurate. Blue hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and her eyes held depths that seemed to go on forever.

  "Miracles," the Moon Mother acknowledged, her hands wrapping around the warm teacup. "I saw Clive."

  "Oh?" Miracles moved closer, her footsteps making no sound. "And how did that go? Did he recognize you?"

  The Moon Mother's silence was answer enough.

  "Don't be fooled," Miracles said as she held up a mirror fragment. "That is not the Clive you know. Would your Clive do this?"

  Images flowed across the mirror's surface like a tide of memories:

  Clive, with his top off, sweat glistening on his skin after training, while Lucia’s cheeks flushed pink as she sneaked peeks at his abs with barely concealed appreciation.

  Clive, chatting with the Saintess under moonlight, their conversation intimate.

  Clive, sketching a rose into existence, each petal crafted with loving detail, before presenting it to the Saintess with a gentle smile.

  Clive embracing both Emma and Lucia, his arms around both women, all three laughing at some shared joke.

  The Moon Mother's grip on her teacup tightened. The ceramic creaked dangerously.

  "These are taken out of context—"

  "Are they?" Miracles tilted the mirror, and new scenes flowed past. "Look at him. He's moving on. Building a new life. New connections. New..." she paused delicately, "affections."

  "You're trying to hurt me," the Moon Mother said.

  "I'm trying to help you," Miracles corrected, setting the mirror fragment on the table where it continued to play scenes of Clive's new life. "You came to this world for a reason. You made a deal for a reason. Stick to the plan, only then will you find your happy ending."

  The Moon Mother stared at the fragment in silence, watching Clive's smile play across its surface.

  Why? Why was he smiling. How could he find joy in a world without her.

  She snapped her fingers, and the fragments exploded. Each piece fell differently, some drifting like snow, others dropping like tears. All of them still showing fractured images of Clive’s new life.

  Tsuku and Yomi moved without being asked, gathering the fragments from the floor. Their small hands were careful not to touch the sharp edges, though the Moon Mother suspected they couldn't be cut even if they tried. The twins were more construct than human.

  "Careful with those," Miracles said, though she made no move to help. "The man you knew is dead. Died in a fire that night. There is only one way a miracle will happen, and it requires great sacrifice.”

  “I know.” She stood, moving to a window that hadn't existed moments before. The window looked out, not into the woodlands of the Twilight Zone but instead into Marblehaven which still bore the scars of today’s battle.

  "Tsuku, Yomi," she said without turning. "Prepare my materials. I need to send a message."

  The twins moved as one, producing scroll and ink from hidden compartments.

  "To whom, Mistress?" they asked.

  "To the General." She paused, her shoulders tensing beneath the white dress. "I will provide my report."

  The scratching of brush on paper filled the silence as the twins prepared the materials.

  Miracles picked up the last remaining mirror fragment, tilting it one last time. The images of Clive finally faded. “And what of your Pictomancer?”

  The Moon Mother's stillness was absolute, like a held breath before a scream.

  "Leave me."

  "Very well." Miracles smiled. "But remember, I'll always be watching."

  With that, Miracles presence evaporated into the air, leaving no traces of her behind.

  "Mistress," Tsuku and Yomi said in unison, approaching with the prepared scroll. The moon-silk paper glowed faintly.

  The Moon Mother took the scroll. "You too. I need to think."

  The twins exchanged a look. They bowed low, then retreated with a backward walk, never turning their backs on their mistress until they passed through the tent flaps.

  The fabric fell closed with a whisper of silk against silk, and finally, finally, she was alone.

  The scroll slipped from her fingers, dropping to the ground. The Moon Mother stood frozen for a moment longer, then her carefully maintained composure crumbled like a dam giving way. She reached up, pulling away the final veil.

  The face beneath was exactly as Clive would remember it—if he could see it. Jill's face, though marked now with signs of power and burden that hadn't been there before. Tears tracked down her cheeks, silver in the lantern light.

  "I'm sorry, Clive," she whispered to the empty tent.

  The moon sees everything. That doesn't mean she wants to.

  —The Moon Mother